The Angelic Occurrence

by Henry K. Ripplinger

  “Are you sure you want that house, Dad? It will require some work, and we all know how you are, once you get an idea, God knows what changes you will make to that place.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Jeremy. I really like the house just the way it is, it’s hard to explain, there is just something about that place that I find very appealing, in fact, I feel such a strong attraction to it.”

  “And, what about all that old furniture…I mean antique furniture. What on earth are you going to do with all that stuff? There’s an entire house full of things. You already have too much at the farm that you have collected over the years.”

  Henry thought about what Jeremy said. It was true, he had more than enough furniture and art and yet…

  “I don’t know, Jeremy, I just don’t know what I would do. Perhaps just leave everything the way it is. I don’t think I would want to make even one change to it. Everything I saw so far appeals to me just the way it is. Maybe I would buy it and keep it as a city home, a place where I can come to on days like this for example, when it’s too blizzardy to go home. Or, a retreat of sorts, when I want to get away from the gallery for a while.”

  “I don’t know, Dad, you can just as easy go home, you know. You already have a retreat in that prayer house you built and don’t seem to use. Why take on another house to look after?”

  “Yes, I know, son. Yet, there’s something about it. I just can’t put my finger on it. It just feels too good to be true.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  The next day Henry and his staff were very busy. The snowfall had put everyone in the Christmas spirit. Henry was physically there, but not mentally. He couldn’t get that house out of his mind. He had wanted to go back there first thing in the morning, but right from the start customers flooded in and didn’t stop coming until mid-afternoon.

  “Is something bothering you?” asked Shelly, “You look like your mind is miles away from here.”

  “You’re too perceptive, Shelly. I am preoccupied with a purchase I’m considering. I have been thinking about it all day.”

  “I could tell something was bothering you. You were not your usual self with the customers, today.”

  “It’s that obvious is it?”

  “I’m afraid so, Dad,” Justin concurred with a smile.

  Some things never change. His mom and Mr. Engelmann had always told him that he was an easy read. His thoughts and feeling always dangled out there for everyone to see.

  “Well, I think I am going to call it quits for the day. I’m sure you and Justin can handle everything.”

  “We do it every day.”

  “Right,” Henry said, taking the hint that he was dispensable.

  Before another customer came in, Henry grabbed his overcoat and rushed out the door. He just had to see the house one more time. Was the attraction he felt yesterday still there, or had it all been just a figment of his imagination?

  His shoes filled with snow as he climbed through the foot high drift of snow on the sidewalk leading up to the front door, the key already in his hand. He stomped his feet, unlocked the door and stepped into the foyer. A table lamp on top of a round table next to a reclining chair was on. It cast a soft, warm glow in the room, welcoming him home. He slipped off his shoes then his overcoat, which he hung into the open closet. He turned and looked into the living room.

  Furniture stood out that he couldn’t remember seeing, yesterday, like the sofa, the long console holding the record changer, and the low round antique table next to the front windows completely covered with plants. The owner sure must love plants. They were all over and yet displayed in such a tasteful way. Henry stood for a moment admiring the many different varieties on the table alone.

  And then just like yesterday, a faint scent seemed to emerge from a multitude of fragrances that stimulated his senses. What on earth is that odour…?

  Oh, it will come to him, he thought as he deliberately focused on the furniture.

  There, in the corner, was a tea caddy. How on earth did I miss that beautiful piece yesterday, he thought? Mint condition. Not a scratch on the flawless dark walnut finish. The caddy, supported by two, 12-inch-diameter wheels at the back and smaller ones in the front gave him a clue as to the age of piece. Hand carved spokes like that must go back close to 100 years. It alone would fetch well over $5000. How on earth could the owner’s son give up such an exquisite piece of furniture?

  Henry almost missed the tray on the second shelf of the caddy. He pulled it out and set it on top. It was a serving tray made out of walnut, all hand carved with ornate wood handles on either end. A quarter inch thick glass covering the bottom of the tray was cut precisely to follow all the curves and lines of the tray. The flaws in the glass confirmed that this item too was of an earlier period. He just shook his head in disbelief at such a treasure.

  Even though the house and its entire contents were up for sale, Henry couldn’t help but feel that he was intruding. A person’s entire life was intricately tied up in their home and belongings. It reflected their likes, tastes, what appeals to them; purchases contain memories of places where they have been, travelled to, heirlooms, family treasures. He should definitely feel out of place and yet, just like the previous day, he felt completely at home.

  Everything seemed to reflect his tastes, his likes, almost as if it were he who had made all of those purchases and collected all of those fine antiques.

  How could this possibly be? He absently walked over to the chair in front of the fireplace. The open book lying face down on the end table that he had noted the day before drew his attention, again. As soon as he picked it up he recognized it, ‘Mere Christianity’ by C.S. Lewis. He had just finished reading that book for the second time less than three weeks ago. He further noted as he turned the pages, the owner also underlined certain passages, a practice which he followed, as well. How strange all this was. It felt so right. He put the book down and saw the pencil. It could very well have been his.

  Henry entered the dining room and began pulling open the drawers of the sideboard. Sterling silver cutlery in the end drawers immediately glistened as they caught the light of the chandelier. Linen and a huge assortment of candles filled the middle drawers while crystal vases of all shapes and sizes stood hidden behind the doors below the small top drawers.

  It didn’t make sense that he should be the recipient of heirlooms which should be willed to some child or relative and yet, perhaps in a way, it was good that someone like himself, who appreciated it so much should take possession of it.

  He was beginning to feel obligated to buy the house and take charge and responsibility of all these rare and precious contents.

  There was so much more to look at in the dining room, but he was anxious to see the bedroom set since Ben and his wife were quite excited about it. He couldn’t resist running his fingers down the edge of the ornate moulding surrounding the large bevelled mirror over the sideboard before turning into the kitchen. The same feeling made him stop and take a quick peek into the china cabinet in the corner.

  “Unbelievable,” he uttered. Even a cursory glance revealed the quality and value behind the curved glass doors. It was overcrowded with crystal and fine bone china. It would take him hours to go through this cabinet alone to appreciate the collection contained therein.

  And again the scent came into his awareness, as he entered the kitchen. It seemed to be getting stronger…

  Drawn to the kitchen window he gazed outside. His eyes scanned the back yard and quickly rested on the angel. The light bouncing off its white marble surface was spectacular.

  “Just beautiful,” Henry whispered. A vision of a guardian angel.

  He searched for Julean’s spirit but felt certain it had merged with the angel before him.

  Reluctantly he turned back into the kitchen as if drawn by the scent. It suddenly struck him why it had seemed so bright
when he entered the kitchen yesterday. The completely white paint of the walls and the kitchen cabinets gave the kitchen such a clean and pristine look, accented by the colourful geraniums on the window sill and paintings on the wall. It appealed to him even though it contrasted so differently to the rich mellow cedar wood of his log home in the valley. It would be a drastic change, but a nice one. A nice alternative when in the city.

  Just as he was about to leave the kitchen, Henry noticed a cook book open on the kitchen counter. The owner must have left in a hurry, almost as if she didn’t have time to put things away. Just leaving like that so suddenly, in the midst of daily living. It must have been so difficult for her. The hair on the back of his neck curled as he glanced at the recipe. It was the same recipe he followed for the Chicken Marsala with mushrooms he made the other night at the farm.

  He looked up and went to the window. His eyes immediately rested on the angel and like yesterday was overwhelmed by its beauty. Julean had wanted to make sure he saw it, he felt certain. She knew how much he loved angels. His eyes swept the back yard in search for her spirit but was drawn back to the marble angel.

  “Unbelievable…”

  Henry wanted to open the cupboard doors and see what was inside; open the drawers and discover their contents, too, but he was now drawn to see the bedroom. The excitement he felt as kid at Christmastime flowed through his veins. It seemed like he was being bombarded by one gift after the other. He could hardly wait to see what was in the next drawer or behind the closed door. What an intriguing Christmas present this would all be. He had not felt so exhilarated in a long, long time.

  On his way down the hall the scent was growing stronger…yet it was still overshadowed by the herbs and blooming flowers that filled the house, without which he felt sure he would have recognized the scent immediately. Searching his memory, he walked slowly as he made his way towards the bedroom.

  He stopped and peeked into the bathroom. He flipped on the light and as he had expected, it contained a pedestal sink with a high ornate back with a matching toilet and tank. The tub was free standing, supported with large beautiful brass-clawed feet. A circular ring canopy hung from the ceiling which supported a shower curtain with a light floral pattern. All the taps, the shower head and even the handle of the toilet tank were solid brass. All of the fixtures were in excellent condition considering their age. Very elegant, indeed.

  The layout of the three bedrooms was well designed. The main one was straight ahead. Now that he remembered the exterior, this room must be the one with the bay window. The other two bedrooms were down at the opposite end. He wanted to see the bedroom set that Ben had spoken of and the closer he came to the bedroom the stronger the scent became.

  He hesitated at the door then opened it into a spacious main bedroom. As he had suspected straight ahead was the bay window. The shades were drawn so most of the light crept in from the hallway. He fumbled for the switch, flipped it on, and was instantly spellbound by what he saw. It almost made him dizzy as his eyes swirled around and around then back and forth, trying to take it all in.

  The vanity dresser, the high chest of drawers and the bed itself were a set. They were all mahogany and stained deep burgundy. The supporting legs of each of the pieces were similar except for the height. After that, each piece took on its own unique distinctive appearance and design. The large headboard had the shape of several flower petals, like a group of petunias overlapping one another so naturally. Henry tried to smell the scent. He marvelled at the exceptional craftsmanship.

  The foot board was simple with straight lines, clearly not wanting to steal any attention away from the intricate head board, but it too carried a design in its shape. Its top edge curved into the bed and continued to curve in an almost elongated ‘S’ shape as it made its way to a crowned bottom, supported by curved legs with hand-carved crow’s feet. Henry’s heart double-beat at the sight. No wonder the agent and his wife were interested in it. But how on earth could the owner’s family bypass such a treasure.

  “There must be a story behind all this.”

  The bed itself had several pillows stacked behind one another. It appeared so inviting and comfortable. The comforter was fluffy and soft and its floral pattern complimented the design on the headboard, almost as if it grew out of the comforter itself. What excellent taste to put the two pieces together like this. Henry sat on the edge of the bed. He sank his hands firmly into the comforter shifting his body around.

  The reflection in the vanity mirror startled him until he realized it was him. He pictured the old lady sitting at the dresser putting her make up on, the antique lamps resting on each side of the dresser top with their frilly lampshades giving light to her features. She must have loved this room and her home. It was all so exquisite, so tastefully done.

  Henry saw himself get up and walk towards the mirror. He held the reflection firmly in his sight and as their eyes met he asked pointedly, “Do you really want this home? You don’t need another acquisition. Just the other day at the Poustinia didn’t you realize that all this property and materialism was keeping you from the Lord?” Henry looked away, afraid of the answer, only to allow his gaze to rest on two chairs on the far corner of the room separated by a small round table. The distraction relieved him from the calling of one Master, but drew him back to the other.

  “My God,” Henry blurted, the Victorian chair covered with brocaded satin was clearly from the 18th century. It was similar to the two in the living room only less ornate and more petite. The rocking chair on the other side of the table was also an outstanding period piece so unique in design.

  “What am I going to do, Lord? This house is filled with such treasures. They are objects of art that have always given me much joy and spiritual sustenance.” As his eyes returned to the mirror a convicting thought stared back at him, “Is not the Lord alone sufficient?”

  His hand brushed by the hand-carved frame of the mirror and flicked off the bedroom light hoping to escape in the darkness. The glint in his eyes, however, caught by the light from the hallway glared back at him like two headlights.

  It is easier for a camel to walk through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to enter the gates of heaven.

  “But, Lord,” Henry dared to ask, “Did not You derive great satisfaction from your creation? Did You not say it was good? Can man not take joy that results from the creative abilities you have granted us?”

  A small voice answered as he walked down the hallway. “But when is enough, enough? You have more than you need, now, and isn’t this pursuit for more just an illusion, an empty hole that can never be filled? Isn’t this just another detour from the true path to peace and your true purpose?

  “Yes, but isn’t this part of your purpose for me. Why was I brought, here? It was not for my son, it was obvious that he didn’t want the house. It was beckoning to me, Lord. I have not felt such peace in a long time. And the angel in the back yard, your very messenger, it was as if the angel had spoken directly to me, welcoming me home.”

  On and on the debate raged in his mind swaying him first this way and that. Absently he slipped into his shoes and overcoat and just as he had his hand on the door knob ready to leave, it hit him…!

  Lilacs!

  It had hit him immediately when he opened the bedroom door, but the sight of what he saw had overwhelmed him so much, it temporally overshadowed what he smelled from the moment he came into the house yesterday and today! The scent was lilacs…

  Without taking off his shoes he made his way back to the bedroom, focused now on the fragrance. The scent was increasing and sure enough once in the bedroom the fragrance overtook him. The hairs at the back of his neck began to rise as they did yesterday, only now he knew why. The lovely scent went into his nostrils but didn’t stop there. It went beyond his ordinary senses and thinking and stung his heart so sharply that instantly he knew the memory that the fragrance h
ad revived of so long ago…

  It was the memory of his first love…a memory of Jenny.

  How Henry drove back to the gallery was a mystery to him. He couldn’t remember getting into his car, turning on the motor, driving…nothing!

  The only thing he recalled for sure was that he had finally made a decision.

  He did however, chastise himself for being so preoccupied, he was lucky he didn’t have a serious accident.

  After he took off his coat, Henry retrieved a business card from his sports jacket pocket and dialed the cell number on it.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Ben, it’s Henry, I guess you know why I am phoning you.”

  A tense silence zinged through the line while Henry pleaded softly with the Lord:

  “Forgive me, Lord, it is you I deeply love, but I just have to make this one last purchase. My heart tells me it is a gift from You. I feel your messenger telling me that that is so.”

  “What did you say Henry? I could barely hear you.”

  “Sorry, Ben, I was just thinking out loud. It comes with old age.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s when you start answering yourself that you’re in trouble.”

  “Well, I guess I’m in deep trouble.”

  They both laughed helping to relieve some of the building tension. Ben held his breath waiting for Henry’s decision.

  “I’m going to buy the house, Ben.”

  He let out a long silent sigh, “I knew you would, Henry. Is there any chance we can buy the bedroom set?”

  “Not a chance Ben, I wouldn’t break up the collection of furniture in that house for anything. I will treat each piece as if they were my own.”

  “And, they soon will be,” answered the realtor.

  Around eleven the next morning, Ben walked into the gallery carrying his attaché case. He plunked it on the counter and brushed away a few snowflakes with the back of his hand.