Back we go to the 1960s for this story. Back to Pittsfield, Massachusetts.

… and Mom‘s dear friend Lorraine Lauzon.

Mrs. Lauzon was a remarkable artist. She was just the right match for Mom, as the friends shared similar interests. Similar souls.

They loved books, art, music, museums, and theater. Plus, both had children in Sacred Heart Elementary School. Mark Lauzon was really good friends with my oldest brother, Harry. Stephen Lauzon was in my class.

Here’s a painting Mrs. Lauzon sent to Mom back in 1977. It’s the Pittsfield Popcorn Wagon.

I remember that iconic landmark well:

Last night, I happened upon a manila folder with the word “Prose” written across it. On the tab, though, it specified “Stories (Children’s).”

A quick peek inside turned into a longer sit-down. Story after story, some dated and some not. They were handwritten on all sorts of paper. Some stories on the back of a church bulletin or school notice. Others on the piece of cardboard that came back with Dad’s dry-cleaned shirt. Even one on the brown paper that came wrapped around a magazine in the mail.

But one story in particular caught my eye, because there are four copies in the bulging folder. One is handwritten, another is typed – with hand-written notes throughout – and dated May 20, 1969, a year before we moved to Connecticut. Two other copies are typewritten, apparently the finished product.

And in amongst all those copies are two sheets with artwork signed by Mrs. Lauzon. Apparently she and Mom hoped to catch a publisher’s attention with their collaboration.

Here is that story, with illustrations:

The House of Many Candles

Janie was lucky enough to live next door to Miss O’Malley, the old lady who lived in a house with many candles in it. After school Janie would often go over to gently open the sea captain’s chest or the corner cupboard where most of the candles were. She learned that the windmill candle came from Holland twenty years ago and the bayberry candles were made by Miss O’Malley’s niece.

Miss O’Malley was not beautiful but all her candles were: some in a bright and happy way like the seven Easter ducklings, others in a delicious spooky way like her goblin tree. Janie and all the neighborhood children liked Miss O’Malley because she shared her hobby. She told them stories about the candles and even let them touch them because she believed children should learn to live with beautiful things. On dark nights the children would beg their fathers to walk with them by Miss O’Malley’s house to see whatever special candle was shining in the little window by the chimney.

“A light in the window is a welcoming thing,” Miss O’Malley always said. “It brings hope out of the darkness.”

That Fourth of July Janie woke up to a dark sky in the morning.

“Oh, no!” she said.

“Weatherman predicts rain,” said her father.

“He’s been wrong before, dear,” said her mother.

There was no rain in the morning for the big parade and no rain in the afternoon for the big picnic. But early in the evening the sky grew black as night. Wind lashed the trees and the rain came. Thunder and lightning followed.

“No fireworks display tonight,” said Janie, sadly.

“What about those fireworks?” asked her father, pointing to the sky.

“It’s not the same,” said Janie.

Suddenly in all the houses she could see the lights went out. Janie called to her mother, “Where are all the lights?”

“There,” said her mother, standing in their doorway, “in Miss O’Malley’s windows.”

One by one the candles were filling every window with light. Then all the doors in all the houses on their street opened and all the children and all the fathers and all the mothers took each other’s hands and went to Miss O’Malley’s. Her door was open, too, and she was calling, “Come in, come in.” And they all did.

There was enough lemonade and cookies for everyone and they sat on chairs and couches and stairs and stools and rugs and laps and talked and watched the candles burn.

When Janie and some of the other children began to yawn Miss O’Malley put a lighted candle in every father’s hand and they all went home to bed.

~ Joan Vayo May 20, 1969

Even though Mom and Mrs. Lauzon didn’t get their book published …

… I’ve no doubt they enjoyed trying.

To this day, I’m not surprised when I find a beautiful hand-made bookmark (signed Lauzon) tucked away between the pages of one of Mom’s books.

The dear friends stayed in touch through the decades, until Mrs. Lauzon’s passing in 2009.

While searching online for Mrs. Lauzon’s obituary, I sadly came upon her son Stephen’s, too. He passed away in 2019. I remember him being an “itchy britches” in class. It was only when I glanced across the aisle in sixth grade and saw he had completed the assignment and was now sketching a beautiful drawing that I realized there was a wildly creative mind at work. Rest in peace, Stephen, and your parents as well.

“The House of Many Candles” © 1969 Joan Vayo. Illustrations by Lorraine Lauzon. All rights reserved.

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