Pewter Angels (40 page)

Shortly after the clock chimed eight, a car door slammed, and then another and another. Henry felt like bolting to his room, but didn’t. His heart hammered against his ribs as footsteps climbed the front stairs and the handle of the front door turned.

Suddenly Henry’s mom, Aunt Darlene and Uncle Ron were in the kitchen, and Henry thought for moment his dad had not come, but then he appeared. Henry’s heart raced faster. He got up, but his legs felt all rubbery. His dad stood there with his coat on, like a stranger in his own home.

“Hi, Henry,” he said, his voice tight with emotion.

Mr. Engelmann was right. His dad was nervous too.

“Hi, Dad.”

That seemed to galvanize his dad and he came to Henry and hugged him lightly. “It’s good to be home, son.”

Henry stood there, arms hanging motionless. Finally he said, “I’m glad you’re home, too.”

“Well, let’s get the coffee on,” Aunt Darlene said, with as much cheer as she could muster. “I’m still so cold.” She wrapped her arms around herself, shivered and shook, trying to make fun of it all, cutting through the tension. With that, everyone took off their coats and pulled up a chair around the kitchen table.

Henry was grateful Aunt Darlene and Uncle Ron were there. He thought he would have died if he’d had to be there alone with his mom and dad. Soon the smell of fresh coffee filled the air and that was one small step in the direction of normal. Ron started to talk about work and the stunts the boys had played on one of his coworkers on his birthday. Everyone laughed when Ron talked. He was a storyteller, and the way he said things and the expressions on his face made people laugh even when the story wasn’t really all that funny.

While his Uncle Ron was talking, Henry studied his mom. She seemed happy and content, but he wondered what she was really thinking and feeling inside. Her eyes were still a little red and swollen. She looked tired. He bet she’d hardly slept the night before. His heart went out to her.

Every now and then, Henry cast cursory glances at his dad. His parents were sitting next to each other. Their hands rested on the table side by side, almost touching. Henry wished they were. His dad was staring at Ron, but Henry sensed he wasn’t really listening to him as occasionally he glanced at Henry as well. When that happened, they both turned away, shifting in their chairs.

In spite of Ron’s efforts and Darlene’s cheery disposition, Henry felt the undercurrent of pain and sorrow tug at them all. His dad would be feeling so ashamed and guilty. Henry’s knees bounced up and down as he thought about it. He was glad his legs were under the table.

Henry wondered when his Uncle Ron and Aunt Darlene were leaving; he didn’t want to be around his mom and dad when they did. When the conversation petered out, Henry said good night to everyone. As he passed his mom and Aunt Darlene, he gave each a kiss on the cheek. He felt compelled to put a hand on his dad’s shoulder to let him know he was glad he was home. “Good night, Dad.”

“G’night, son.”

Ron cracked another joke that Henry didn’t really hear, he was so anxious to get out of there. He went to the bathroom and then to his room. He quickly changed into his pajamas and crawled into bed. He wanted to be asleep before his aunt and uncle left and his parents were alone. He turned off the lights and lay there, wide-eyed. He couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned and stared at the ceiling, frustrated, tense and worried.

Would this ever get better?

About an hour later, Henry heard his Aunt Darlene and Uncle Ron leave. There was a long silence, but then he heard his parents’ voices. They started out soft then grew louder and he knew they were arguing. It was only the fourth or fifth time he had heard them quarrel.

Henry could make out some of the words but didn’t want to hear them. He grabbed his pillow, put it over his head and pressed the ends over his ears, trying to shut it out. He wanted to hear voices of love, not anger and betrayal. He wondered if everything would ever be the same.

God, please make us a family again.

He squeezed his eyes tightly together, trying with all his might to convey to God the earnestness of his prayer, trying to influence His decision. Henry stayed like that for the longest time, and finally his brow relaxed as sleep overtook him and provided temporary relief for his troubled mind.

In the days that followed
, things began to revert to normal, yet tension hovered between his mom and dad. His dad had gotten his job back, with only a reprimand. By eavesdropping, Henry had found out that the woman his dad had gone off with had stayed in Vancouver with her cousin. She was married, too, and had wanted to get away from her husband, who beat her. Henry wondered how people could treat each other that way.

Once, when Henry and his mom were alone, he asked her for the novena prayer book, explaining he wanted to say the novena also, in the hopes that Jenny would write.

Mary opened her mouth as if about to say it wouldn’t work for him, but then, after a long pause, she merely said, “Yes, I’ll ask Aunt Darlene for it, and maybe we can say it together.”

“That would be great, Mom,” Henry’s relief was palpable.

Two days later, he had the novena booklet in his hands. His mother encouraged him to embrace the scriptural passage of Mark 11:24: “‘What things so ever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them.’ Faith is important, you must believe God’s word.”

She promised to come to his room each night and they would say it together before he went to sleep. She did not want his dad to know about it for reasons Henry didn’t want to pry into. The nine days came and went, and still no Jenny. Somehow it wasn’t the same. Their prayers seemed to lack the anticipation that they would be answered. It was almost anticlimactic compared to what had happened in his parents’ case. Yet deep down, Henry still believed God heard their prayers, and in His own time and way, He would answer them.

About three weeks after his dad returned home, things seemed to be mostly back on track. Grateful, Henry had almost forgotten what his dad had done, and his parents seemed to be getting along okay. All that changed, however, when he arrived home on a Thursday afternoon after school. Two trucks were parked in front of their house. The first truck was just leaving. Brown’s Auction was written on the side. The second truck was from Simpsons Sears. Two delivery men in blue coveralls emerged from the house as Henry walked up the front stairs. Inside, he asked his mom what they had brought.

“Oh, it’s nothing, Henry, just some furniture for our bedroom.”

“What kind of furniture?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” It was clear his mom didn’t want to talk about it. “Don’t you have to go to work?”

“Yeah, I do. I have to shovel the snow off the walk. It’s too hard for Mr. Engelmann to do it. Do you want me to do ours before I go?”

“Oh, that would be great, Henry. Then your dad doesn’t have to be out in the cold when he comes home.”

Henry was curious about the mysterious new furniture, but was hesitant to open his parents’ bedroom door. Two days later, he knew. The bedroom door was ajar and his mom was in the kitchen. He peeked in. His parents’ double bed was gone, and in its place were twin beds, at least three feet apart. His mom had not yet forgiven his dad and was punishing him for his unfaithfulness.

It all made sense now. Since his dad had come home, he was always the last to go to bed and the first to rise. That had not been the case before. Usually he went to bed before Henry or shortly afterwards. And one morning when Henry went to the bathroom, he had seen his dad sleeping in his clothes on the living room couch. His parents were no longer sleeping together and he guessed that’s what they had been arguing about, at least in part, the night his dad had returned home from Vancouver. The twin beds told the unspoken story of the status of their relationship.

Henry wanted to talk to Mr. Engelmann about it, but it was just too private. It was his mom and dad’s problem and if they wanted to talk to someone, they would have to do it themselves.

They never did.

T
owards the end of April
, Jenny’s water broke. Edith confined her to bed, with minimal walking. A few hours later, labour started.

Fortunately the hospital wasn’t far from where they lived. Each time Jenny cried out with a contraction, Ted stomped on the accelerator. Edith had phoned the doctor to alert the hospital to be ready for them. Two interns were waiting with a stretcher when they arrived.

All Jenny could think about in the delivery room was how she wished Henry were by her side. Her mother stayed with her, while her father paced the floor in the waiting room. As Jenny’s pain increased, she was given gas through a mask to ease it. She was slow in dilating, and the two doctors on hand considered a cesarean section. These teen births were never easy. A month ago the baby had been in a breach position, and Jenny had worried about having to be cut open. Thankfully, the doctor had managed to turn the baby and the baby had stayed head down.

As soon as henry woke
that morning, the nervous feelings he’d had for months intensified. Usually the walk to school settled him down, but not today. In fact, by second period, the feelings of uneasiness strengthened into pain and nausea and he had to excuse himself from history class. At the very hour and moment that Jenny gave birth, Henry’s stomach pain became so excruciating, he threw up. The school nurse attributed it to indigestion—there was no sign of fever. But Henry knew differently; he was sure it had something to do with Jenny.

For the next ten minutes
, Jenny laboured in a sort of giddy stupor thanks to the laughing gas, and requested that it be stopped. She didn’t want to sleep or be distracted in any way when the baby was born. She knew she had only one chance to see her baby. All she could see right now was the white sheet covering her knees. She wished they would take it away. Her heart rate jumped when she heard someone say, “The head’s out.”

“Push, Jenny,” one
of the doctors commanded. Jenny complied, and the baby was born.

Edith squeezed Jenny’s hand and rose in her chair to peek at the baby. Jenny felt an overwhelming rush of love for her child.

She just had to see it. With all her might Jenny struggled up on her elbows. She saw the doctor holding the baby by its feet. The baby let out a loud cry.

“What is it?” Jenny asked.

The doctor turned to her. “It’s a girl.”

“Oh, Mom,” Jenny pleaded, “I want to hold her, give her a kiss … just for a minute.”

Edith looked at her daughter. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she was unable to speak. A nurse approached the doctor, wrapped the baby in a white blanket, and scurried out of the delivery room.

Jenny heard the baby crying for her and lay there, helpless.

“Goodbye, Camilla,” she murmured, collapsing back on the bed.

Jenny was immediately moved out of the maternity ward to another floor. The sight and sound of babies were the last things she needed. In her private room all she could think about was the memory of giving birth, the image of her baby dangling there and the sound of her cry for her mother, a mother who would never hold her, feed her, care for her, love her. Jenny would never see Camilla grow, take her first steps or say her first words. Jenny could only imagine those things happening to a faceless baby and envy other mothers who enjoyed those simple moments with their children.

Jenny rolled over and buried her head in the pillow, but the thoughts kept coming. Jenny could picture the nurse carrying her baby from the delivery room to the waiting arms of the adoptive parents, their hearts filled with joy. Would Camilla be feeding now? Would her adoptive mother be holding her, cuddling her … loving her?

“Oh, it’s not fair,” cried Jenny. “It’s just not fair … I want my baby.”

Jenny remained in the hospital for another day. They all thought the sooner she got on with her life, the better—and that included returning to school as soon as possible.

After he threw up at school
, Henry no longer had stomach pains or that pervasive gut-wrenching feeling. He wondered how Jenny was, and if she ever thought of him. He still longed for her and wished there was a way to investigate all his thoughts and intuitions, but he was helpless to do anything. He had no address, no phone number, nothing but a business address for Mr. Sarsky, who had so far ignored or blocked all Henry’s attempts to communicate with Jenny. All Henry could do was pray and hope that someday they would be together again.

It was that latter thought that set a plan into motion, a plan that might take years to carry out, but Henry was determined to make it happen. The following Saturday after Mr. Engelmann paid Henry his wages, he went straight home and placed the money, together with the delivery tips he had made that day, into an envelope, hiding it in the bottom of his desk drawer.

In the weeks that followed
, Jenny fell into a serious state of depression. No amount of counselling seemed to help, neither from the social worker assigned to her by the hospital, nor from the psychologist Dr. Breck referred her to.

For days, Jenny locked herself in her room. She lay in bed most of the time, and her appetite had not returned. Somehow in the months leading up to Camilla’s birth, Jenny had been able to ward off the full impact of the pregnancy, but the turmoil of giving her child away, Henry’s ongoing rejection and the acknowledgement of having been raped bombarded her full force.

She tried to shut her feelings out, but the pain of motherhood wouldn’t let her forget. Despite the medication they’d given her, Jenny’s breasts nearly doubled in size, filling with milk, and reminding her of her loss. Jenny longed to hold and feed her baby. Body, mind and spirit screamed to carry out what nature intended. She felt trapped but accepted the pain as punishment for giving up her child. Eventually the milk would dry up and the physical pain subside, but would the agony of losing both her loves ever go away?