Pewter Angels (45 page)

“Do you think I’ll ever see Jenny again, Mr. Engelmann?” The sparkle in Henry’s eyes that had reflected the success of the store had been replaced by a more forlorn look when he spoke of his parents troubles, and now suddenly deepened with pain, loss and heartache.

Mr. Engelmann was so startled by the question his spectacles almost slid off the end of his nose. He adjusted his glasses and after a thoughtful moment said, “Yes, Henry, if it’s meant to be, you will see Jenny again …. You have not mentioned her for some time.”

“Well, I promised you after we sent that box of letters to Mr.

Sarsky that if I didn’t hear from Jenny I would get on with my life. But even though I’ve tried really hard to forget her I just can’t. When Jenny left, you told me that time would heal our separation, but it hasn’t! I ache for her as much now as the day she left … even more, maybe. Shouldn’t I be getting over her?”

“It
is
unusual to still have such strong feelings—”

Henry interrupted, “I have a confession to make, Mr. Engelmann. I never told you but I sent another letter to Mr. Sarsky to give to Jenny last Christmas. I—I copied his business address off the box of letters.”

Henry studied his mentor for a moment to see if he was angry with him for doing so and for breaking his promise. Mr. Engelmann held his gaze, but his expression was neutral. He nodded for Henry to continue.

Henry took a deep breath and rushed to explain.

“I missed her so much last Christmas I just had to do it and besides, I’d found a gift to send her. It was a pewter angel. It was perfect because I know how much Jenny loves her guardian angel. I thought for sure Mr. Sarsky would give it to Jenny, being Christmas and all. But not even the pewter angel got a response.”

Henry lowered his head and stared at a spot on the marble counter. If he blinked tears would roll. He rubbed at the spot with his finger, struggling to keep his emotions in check.

“That must have been very disappointing for you.”

Henry raised his chin, “Yeah, and it still is …. Do you believe in angels, Mr. Engelmann?”

“Yes, of course, Henry. From the moment we are conceived, God sends an angel to our side to watch over and protect us.”

“Do you remember that day Jenny almost got hit by the car and at the last moment she was suddenly out of harm’s way? I still dream about it. It was a miracle she wasn’t hurt! Jenny told me she believed her guardian angel had saved her. And you told me the same thing too. Do you remember?”

“I remember only too well. I am still bewildered by what happened—”

“What do you mean, Mr. Engelmann? How Jenny was saved?”

“Yes, that and also how I was at your side so quickly. One moment I was behind the counter, watching you stare out of the front window—and the next I was by your side, supporting you. When you went outside, I followed and felt compelled to tell you Jenny’s guardian angel was protecting her, even though I hadn’t seen what you did.”

“Geez, Mr. Engelmann, I remember that clearly. You were just suddenly right there!”

“Yes. When I told Anna what had happened that day—that it seemed to me I was transported to your side somehow—she told me I was getting absentminded, that I’d probably followed you without realizing. But I’m certain I stayed behind the counter; I was working on an invoice …” Mr. Engelmann scratched his head, brow wrinkling in concentration. Then his forehead cleared. “Ach, well. Perhaps Anna’s right … it all happened so quickly and I have no memory of it other than one moment here and the next there.” Mr. Engelmann shrugged.

“You know, Mr. Engelmann, before that happened, I hadn’t thought about guardian angels since I was little. It was only after you mentioned it to me that day that I remembered I have this unseen helper. Now I feel so many times that he is there watching over me—and so did Jenny. That’s why I was so happy to find that pewter angel for her.”

Mr. Engelmann leaned forward and rested his elbows on the counter.

“When I was five or six years of age, it was then that my mother in earnest explained to me about angels—that they are always beside us, guiding us and that we should always be on our best behaviour.

“From that time on she always reminded me of the importance of living in a manner that glorifies God—because your guardian angel is very hurt and disappointed when you don’t. And she explained the meaning of our family name.”

“Your name? What do you mean?” Henry was puzzled.

“Ah, Henry.
Auf Deutsch,
in German, the name Engelmann means ‘angel man.’ And my first name, David, means ‘beloved.’ So my mother always told me that I was a man beloved of the angels and must forever be worthy of my name.”

Mr. Engelmann smiled gently and pushed his glasses back up his nose. “I don’t know whether it has to do with the name or not but I have always felt a responsibility to help guide those who come into my life, to be a good example to others, and to serve them as well.”

“Angel man,” Henry whispered. “That’s beautiful, Mr. Engelmann. I’ve always considered you to be a kind of guardian …” A quiet joy lit within Henry. “And now I know why.”

Mr. Engelmann chuckled. “I see a guardian angel in you as well, Henry. As I explained to you outside, you have been a huge help to Anna and me … an answer to our prayers.” The rims of Mr. Engelmann’s eyes reddened.

Henry was a little embarrassed by all the praise lavished on him this morning. And besides, he couldn’t take all the credit. There were lots of times Henry was as surprised as Mr. Engelmann by all the ideas he had for the store.

After a brief silence, Henry said, “I sure wish Mr. Sarsky’s angel would prompt him to give my letters to Jenny. I just know he and Jenny’s mom are keeping the letters from her.”

“That may be true, but Henry, you must keep in mind … perhaps Jenny has found new friends and has gone on with her life.”

Mr. Engelmann looked at the young man he cared about, hoping his remarks were not too hard to accept.

But Henry’s answer was firm. “No, I know Jenny, Mr. Engelmann. If she had received any of my letters she would have written back. I’m afraid Mr. and Mrs. Sarsky aren’t letting her write to me either. I don’t think they want me to have their home address.”

Mr. Engelmann remained silent though he almost imperceptively shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head. Henry hoped it was a sign of agreement and he pressed on.

“I still can’t believe the pewter angel didn’t get to Jenny. I know she would have loved it. Jenny’s dad must have a cold, cold heart not to have given it to her. It was Christmas and contained a gift I know Jenny would have loved to receive and—”

“Yes, Henry, that is your perspective. We have talked about this many times over the past year. Everybody sees things from their own point of view. What you consider to be wrong, another may very well see it as the right thing to do. Our only hope is that Mr. Sarsky changes his mind on the matter.”

“Yeah, I suppose so. But someday, Mr. Engelmann, regardless of whether or not Mr. Sarsky changes his mind, I’ll find out what happened. Our guardian angels are going to bring us back together again, I just know it.”

Henry pushed himself away from the counter and straightened his shoulders. Unbidden tears sat on the edge of his eyelids. “I have a plan, Mr. Engelmann. Soon, I will know the truth …”

Mr. Engelmann straightened too. Resting his hands on the edge of the counter, he looked hard into Henry’s eyes and nodded. And Henry saw his own determination to seek out his first love clearly reflected in his teacher’s face.

COMING SOON

The Angelic Letters Series

Book Two

Another Angel of Love

1959-1964

HENRY K. RIPPLINGER

The following is a preview of chapter one

O
n July 6th, 1959,
two days after his eighteenth birthday, Henry awoke thinking about Jenny for the second year in a row. It was three years to the day since he’d first laid eyes on her. He remembered it vividly. Jenny Sarsky had walked past his house on her way to Mr. Engelmann’s store; they had met there, and the moment he gazed into her eyes he’d been completely smitten. It had been love at first sight; the yearning in his heart for Jenny as strong now as it had been back then.

When they’d walked home together, she’d said, “Quickly, hold my hand!” as they rushed across the busy avenue, the touch of her warm palm sending an electrifying surge through his body. He would never forget the wonderful phrase Jenny had said so often that summer.
Quickly, hold my hand,
Henry softly repeated to himself as he lay in bed, recalling it all: their summer together, walks, dates, secret notes, a bike ride at the park, then her sudden departure.

That day at the park … they had almost made love. In a way, he still regretted that they hadn’t, although he knew stopping had been the right thing to do. And then there were those guys who’d dragged her off one night … he still hoped to find out what had really happened.

He knew if he stayed in bed dwelling on it any longer, he’d just grow despondent and self-pitying. It had happened to him a year ago. Memories had flooded his mind and heart so intensely that for days after he could think of nothing except Jenny. He’d started meditating and praying every morning to help him get through it. Mr. Engelmann suggested it and Henry had seen how it helped him deal with and accept his wife’s illness.

He was glad for summer holidays. It had been a good year! He’d finished Grade 11 with excellent grades and had loved his art class. He had been elected president of the student council and gotten along well with most of his classmates.

As much as he liked school, he also loved working for Mr. Engelmann and would be working full-time for the next two months. They’d had incredible success over the past two years. Business had more than tripled and was flourishing in all aspects. Henry loved the challenge of the business and the opportunity to make it a success, but even more so, he loved the talks he and Mr. Engelmann had out back behind the store, sitting on the old weathered crates in the warmth of the sun.

Mr. Engelmann was one of the wisest people Henry had ever met. Mr. Engelmann must have been a great teacher back in Austria and influenced the lives of many young people. Although Mr. and Mrs. Engelmann had every reason to be bitter about what had happened to them and their families during the Second World War, they weren’t. Mr. Engelmann always said, “Regardless of where we find ourselves in life, regardless of our circumstances, it’s what we do with life, how we live it—and ultimately how we serve—that is the important thing.”

And serve is what they did. David and Anna Engelmann dedicated their lives to the service of others. It was evident every day in the store. For Mr. and Mrs. Engelmann, selling groceries was simply a way to reach out to others. They lived modest, humble lives. They never talked about or boasted of their educational background. No one even suspected they were both university graduates and had probably forgotten more about worldly affairs than most people in the neighbourhood ever learned in a lifetime.

Indeed, Henry was privileged to know Mr. Engelmann. If it hadn’t been for his mentor’s help in dealing with Jenny’s sudden departure, Henry was almost certain he wouldn’t have been able to cope. The loss he’d felt, compounded by not hearing from her again, would have been too much to bear without Mr. Engelmann’s support, care, empathy and advice.

He stretched and scratched his head, tugging the sheet up. Summer holidays would mean that they had more time to talk. On school days, they had to wait until they closed the store for the day, but then they talked over the counter for however long it took. “You can’t share your heart in a hurry,” was something Mr. Engelmann often said.

During the summer, either Mrs. Engelmann or Mrs. Schmidt tended to the store so he and Mr. Engelmann could go out back, have a soda pop and talk about life. At times Mr. Engelmann used big words and referenced famous psychologists or psychiatrists: Eric Fromm, Abraham Maslow, Ivan Pavlov, B.F. Skinner, Victor Frankl, Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung and Carl Rogers. He and Henry would compare the different schools of thought, regarding conditioning, Gestalt psychology, existentialism, rational emotive therapy and behaviour modification.

Mr. Engelmann would say, “It’s not the person’s name or who said it or the school of thought that is important, but rather the lesson on life that they taught.”

Henry clung to Mr. Engelmann’s every word as if they were the last ones he ever expected to hear. Mr. Engelmann had a way of explaining the most complex thoughts and topics in a simple and straightforward way that somehow always applied to whatever difficulty Henry was facing. In the end, it usually had to do with making choices based on values, and those in turn, seemed always to relate to the values and principles of the Bible.

“It’s all there, Henry. It’s very important to read the Bible every day, so you stay focused on what is really important in life. All the psychologists, philosophers and psychiatrists in the world have not really discovered anything new. They are simply relating what was already taught from the beginning when our good Lord walked the earth and showed us the way, the truth and the light.”

Who passing by, seeing a young man and an old man sitting on an old crate behind an old grocery store, would have thought that such knowledge was being discussed and passed down?

Henry stretched again. It was only six in the morning and the thin cotton curtains on the window couldn’t keep the bright sun from flooding his bedroom with a soft light. Time to get up and pray. It always started his day off right. Mornings were so peaceful, and because it was summer and he didn’t have to worry about school, Henry actually looked forward to getting up early.

He rolled out of bed, dressed and sat at his desk. He read a few chapters in the Bible and then sat quietly with his eyes closed. He was getting better at emptying his mind of all thought and found it very relaxing. The first step in the process was to focus on his breathing. It brought him into the present moment.

Mr. Engelmann would say, “We need to think about the past at times, and also of the future, but to fret and worry about it constantly is a waste of life. Living in the now is living a focused life, an undivided life and a full life. The more we can live in the present, the more aware we are of our true selves and our ability to serve others.”

Presently, the stillness was broken by the sound of his mother in the kitchen, getting ready for the day and planning her meals. He decided to get some breakfast.

Henry passed his father in the hallway. “Have a nice day, Dad.”

“Yeah, you, too, Henry. You’re up early.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep any longer and I’m anxious to get to the store.”

“Well, I’m glad you like your work.”

Henry didn’t respond because he knew his dad didn’t really care for his own job. He wished his dad could find something else. It must be awful to go to work every day and not enjoy it. How trapped and unfulfilling that must feel.

“What would you like for breakfast, Henry?” his mother asked when he appeared in the kitchen.

“Oh, corn flakes and toast will be fine.”

He looked forward to sitting and chatting with his mom for awhile. The sun beamed through the east window of the kitchen, filling the room with peace and warmth. It complimented the love he and his mom felt for each other.

They chatted about the day ahead, her gardening and her desire to find some part-time work. He sensed a loneliness in his mom as they talked. He knew it had something to do with his dad. His parents’ relationship hadn’t been the same since his father returned home after running off. Henry wanted to talk about it at some point but felt he had already thought too much about life for one day.

When he stepped outside he realized it was going to be another warm day. The sky was clear, not a cloud in sight. A lone jet climbed high above him and left a long double trail of white vapour that converged into one wide streak and dissipated into the cerulean blue sky. He took in a long breath of fresh morning air. Many of their neighbours had already turned on their sprinklers before the water demand got too high, reducing the pressure to a trickle. It hadn’t rained in days, and homeowners were putting a heavy strain on the city’s tenuous water supply. Henry reminded himself to put the hose on Mr. Engelmann’s front lawn as he walked between the houses to get his bike.

Henry waved to Mr. Weichel, who was always up and out working in the yard if the weather was nice. Mr. Weichel’s garden and the flower bed in his front yard were the nicest on the block.

And there was Mrs. Kartush, watering her petunias.

“’Morning, Mrs. Kartush,” Henry yelled as he sped past her. He didn’t know if she had heard him; her hearing was starting to go. Henry loved the people in the neighbourhood, and because of his job he knew almost everyone. They were mainly European in origin, hardworking and God-fearing. They helped each other out whenever they could. Henry felt a strong sense of belonging.

Mr. Engelmann was always up and downstairs in the store by seven-thirty and usually had the front door unlocked by eight in anticipation of Henry’s arrival. When he entered the store that morning, however, the front door was unlocked, but the lights were still off and Mr. Engelmann was not downstairs.

Henry went to the back storage room and flipped the light switches to both the back and front parts of the store, bringing a bit of life to the old building. It was unusual for Mr. Engelmann not to be down yet. He hoped the old man wasn’t sick. Perhaps Anna needed his attention; she hadn’t been well again lately.

In tenth grade, Henry had started visiting Anna in her bedroom on occasion. On his first visit, he’d found her resting in an ornate antique canopy bed, her face as pale as the lacy white sheets. Anna’s parents had owned such a bed, and when she’d seen one like it in an antique store, she’d told her husband she just had to have it. So they had purchased the bed, along with two end tables to go on either side, a dresser, chest of drawers and two lamps. The end tables didn’t match the other furniture but they seemed to fit because they were antiques and elegant in their own right.

Since that first visit, Henry had visited Anna many times. He liked talking to her. She was as wise as Mr. Engelmann but softer spoken, preferring to listen. Henry often worried about her health, and hoped his visits cheered her and weren’t too strenuous. Mr. Engelmann was very protective of Anna’s need to rest and she didn’t often come down into the store anymore.

Over the months, Anna had conveyed to Henry how much she and her husband enjoyed having him around and what a blessing he was to them. One morning, she had told him they thought of him as their son. Henry sensed such love when she’d said that, he couldn’t help but lean over and kiss her on the cheek before he left. And after that, each time Henry visited her, he did that as naturally as if she were his mother.

When nine o’clock came and went and Mr. Engelmann didn’t appear downstairs, Henry knew something was wrong. Obviously, Mr. Engelmann had been down at some point because the front door was open, but for some reason, he hadn’t stayed downstairs or turned on any of the lights. Yet he didn’t want to intrude on the Engelmanns’ privacy, especially if Anna was having one of her bad days.

The phone rang, startling Henry.

“Engelmann’s Grocery, how may I help you? And good morning to you, Mrs. Neaster. Yes, it is a beautiful day. Sure, we can deliver that. Two pounds of salami, a loaf of fresh French bread and a pound of butter. Is there anything else, Mrs. Neaster? Do you need it before lunch? Okay then, we’ll deliver it sometime today. Goodbye.”

Henry replaced the receiver and left the order for Mr. Engelmann. Mr. Engelmann always knew how each customer preferred their meat cut. The sun streamed in, making the dust motes dance and Henry remembered the front lawn. He went to water it, hoping Mr. Engelmann would be down by the time he finished.

A half hour later, Henry was back inside. But Mr. Engelmann was still nowhere to be seen. There was no choice but to go upstairs and find out what was wrong.

The staircase was dimly lit by the south-facing window. It was usually brighter up here, especially by this hour of the morning. The blinds must still be closed. Not a good sign.

Henry always worried that he would be intruding or might startle Anna by going up there. But at that moment he was more afraid than nervous.

“Mr. Engelmann,” he called out in a low whisper. After a moment, he repeated the call again, a little louder this time. There was no answer. Henry climbed up a few steps and peered into the dim light, trying to see. He wondered if he should call the police.

But then it might be nothing. Maybe Mr. Engelmann had just gone back to bed after opening the store for him. He’d never done that before but he’d been awfully tired lately.

Henry summoned up more courage and climbed a few more stairs. Once again he called out for Mr. Engelmann, but didn’t receive a response. At the top of the stairs, he looked around. All the lights were off, and as he had assumed, the blinds on the window beneath which Mr. Engelmann and Anna usually sat and read were closed, the only light seeping in around the edges.