Another Angel of Love

by Henry K. Ripplinger

  As Henry drove down 11th looking for a parking space, he saw Eddy getting out of his car.

  Unbelievable! Is that pink Caddy convertible Eddy’s car?! Henry honked the horn and drew Eddy’s attention.

  Eddy saw him and waved.

  Henry pulled up beside his old friend and motioned him in.

  “Hey, Hank, ol’ buddy! How ya doing?” Eddy stuck out his hand and Henry was quick to receive it.

  “Geez, Eddy, is that your car?”

  “Yeah, got it a month or so ago. I saw a magazine where Elvis was driving one like that so I thought I’d join the club. It’s a cool car, Hank. Hard on gas, but what the hell, eh? If you can afford the buggy, you should be able to afford to feed the horse.”

  Henry chuckled. “So did you rob a bank or something?

  “Nah. I just learned how to play the stock market. The guys at Richardson Greenshields can’t believe how lucky I am. But it’s not really luck, timing’s the key.”

  “You must have good timing—looks like you’ve got it made in the shade! But where did you get the money to play the stock market?”

  “I made a deal with one of the boys that if he gave me a loan I’d show him how to make a lot of money. He gave me a small amount at the start and when the time was right, the day before Texaco announced their offshore drilling results, as a matter of fact, I bought options on the stock. Sure enough, next day the stock shot up like a rocket. I took the profits the same day before the stock fell back and that’s how I got some start-up cash.”

  “You’ve always been good with numbers, Eddy. I remember in math you even showed up the teacher a few times.”

  Eddy chuckled, remembering. “Yep, I like numbers and the firm recognized it pretty quick, too. They sent me off on a course to train as a broker over a year ago. As soon as I turned twenty-one and was allowed to play the market, I did. I’ve lost a couple of times when I got greedy and hung on too long, but now I know better. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”

  Henry shook his head. “Well, if I ever have some extra cash, I’ll know who to come to!”

  They heard honking. Henry checked the rear-view mirror. “Geez, I was so wrapped up in your car and your stocks, I’m still double-parked.” Henry stepped on the gas and found a parking spot halfway down the street.

  “So what’s up, Hank? What did you want to see me about? Want a job at the firm?”

  They both chuckled. Eddy reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of Black Cat.

  “Mind if I smoke?”

  “Still the same brand, I see. Yeah, sure, go ahead.”

  Henry shifted in his seat so he faced his friend.

  “I think I told you last Christmas that Julean and I were getting serious and a wedding might be in the wind?”

  “Yeah, I remember you telling me. That’s great, Hank. Julean’s a real good-lookin’ chick…great legs; you got the whole package.”

  Henry laughed. “I see you noticed.”

  Eddy took a deep drag, squinted his left eye while his right, filled with curiosity, studied his friend.

  “You know, Eddy—” Henry coughed at the growing smoke in the car.

  “Geez, sorry, Hank.” Eddy cranked down his window. “So you were saying?”

  “Well, all through high school we kind of hung out and still do whenever we can, right?”

  Eddy kept his gaze on Henry and waited, taking another drag and trying to direct it out of the side of his mouth.

  “Well, Eddy, I consider you one of my best friends, and I was hoping you’d agree to be one of my best men at our wedding.”

  Eddy still didn’t say anything. He stared at Henry for the longest time.

  Henry would’ve loved to have known what was going through Eddy’s mind. They hadn’t always been the best of friends; in fact, we were like enemies to begin with.

  “You know, man, that’s the coolest thing anyone’s ever asked me. Hank, I’d be honoured to be your best man.”

  “Thanks, Eddy; it means a lot to me,” Henry shot his hand out towards Eddy and Eddy pumped it, hard. “Me, too, buddy.”

  “It was great taking in a movie with you, Dad.”

  “I enjoyed that too, son. It’s hard to beat a good western. I’m sure it’ll become a classic. It’s great when they bring movies like that back to the theatres so we can watch them again.”

  “Yeah, I think High Noon won quite a few Oscars, didn’t it?”

  “I recall reading something about that. Wouldn’t surprise me if that Cooper fella won for best actor when it first came out.”

  “He sort of reminds me of you, Dad. You’re like him in a way, sort of on the quiet side and a straight-shooter, if you know what I mean.”

  Bill chuckled. “So how did things go with Eddy?”

  “Real good. He felt great about being one of my best men. I’m sure glad I asked him.”

  “I only met him once, back when you were in Grade 12, seemed like a nice boy. It’s too bad Gary couldn’t make it. Your friendship with Gary goes back a long way.”

  Henry nodded. “Yeah, it is too bad. But I guess Jane is quite sick. Gary sounds very worried about her in his letter. And maybe it’s more important for me to have asked Eddy.”

  “Maybe so, son. There’s a purpose to everything.”

  A silence fell over the car as the Oldsmobile sped down 11th Avenue. Henry and his dad had grown a lot closer over the last couple of years since Mr. Engelmann had encouraged him to talk to his dad about more personal matters.

  But the thing he really wanted to talk to his dad about was the overwhelming sexual desire he felt for Julean. Each time he saw his wife-to-be it was increasingly more difficult to control his overactive hormones.

  He was about to speak then chickened out at the last minute.

  “Was there something you wanted to say, son?”

  “Yeah…geez, Eddy sure hit it big on the stock market.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, I think I told you his parents couldn’t afford to send him to university and so after Grade 12 he got a job at Richardson Greenshields. Well, about six months ago he played what you call options or something like that, and I guess he made a bundle. Bought himself a new Cadillac convertible, lives downtown in a ritzy apartment.”

  “Well, good for Eddy. But he better watch himself. Easy come, easy go.”

  Once again it was quiet in the car and Henry tried to muster up his courage again. Geez, why should I be afraid to talk to my dad about our human urges? He understands these things just as well as Mr. Engelmann, maybe even more, and besides it would be good to share this with him.

  “You know, Dad, what I really wanted to say was, well…”

  “What is it, son?”

  Henry tried to remind himself of the efforts his dad had been making to be more affectionate and show leadership in the family. Well, maybe he should make some effort, too. Even if his dad couldn’t help him much, he still wanted to be closer to him, so…here goes.

  “You know, Dad, I can hardly wait to get married to Julean.”

  “Yeah, Mom and I can see you two getting excited about it.”

  “Well, what I’m having trouble with is that I can hardly wait to…to make love to her.”

  Suddenly the interior of the car really fell silent. Even the drone of the engine seemed to retreat. Bill started to turn and look at his son to see if he was serious, but then he stopped and looked straight ahead through the windshield.

  Henry could just visualize the red blotches on his dad’s neck. He doesn’t know what to say. But encouraged by the words of his mentor that sprang into his mind just then, Henry pressed on, forcing some sort of communication.

  “Did you and Mom have sex before you were married? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I was just wondering because I sure want t
o with Julean and I don’t know if I can wait anymore, even though the wedding is so close.”

  Bill cleared his throat but instead of speaking, he nodded in the affirmative much as Gary Cooper had from time to time in the movie they’d just seen. And then he said, “Yes we did, son. But it was my doing. I pressured her into it.”

  Now Henry was at a loss for words, and the car was quiet again. And just as Henry was about to speak, Bill started again.

  “I knew she did it for me and she was worried about it. You know, if she was pregnant or not. She often said that she would surely die if she got pregnant and had to tell her parents…so if you haven’t done it yet, maybe it’s best to wait.”

  “Yeah, I suppose it’s better too, but I’m sure having trouble with it.”

  “Mom thought it was a special night…I guess us fellas don’t see it the same way, but I know what she means.”

  “Yeah, Julean feels the same. Boy, the Lord sure made it hard to control these drives, didn’t He?

  “Yup…He sure did.”

  Henry could see beads of sweat on his father’s forehead as his dad turned the car onto Broder Street. Light from the streetlights they passed flashed into the car, illuminating them in spurts. Henry could feel perspiration roll down his back and armpits as well. They were only a block away from home and Henry was glad he’d asked his dad. It was the toughest conversation he’d ever had with his father, but it was the most special one too, one he wouldn’t soon forget, as brief as it was.

  Rather than pull into the garage, Bill parked in front of the house. Just before he got out he reached over and touched Henry’s shoulder, and said something Mr. Engelmann might have.

  “It’s the right thing to do, son, to wait—I know you’ll do the right thing.”

  “Thanks, Dad. Thanks for going to the movie, too. I sure enjoyed that.”

  “Me too, that Cooper is sure something. I like his acting.”

  “Yeah, I do too.”

  When they got into the house, Mary was already in bed.

  “Well, son, I think we’d better hit the hay.”

  Bill looked at Henry and for the second time since that moment at the cemetery, he put his arms around his son. It was awkward and sort of clumsy for the both of them, yet it was warm, real and gently beautiful.

  Henry felt the dampness of his dad’s shirt. His dad could probably feel his sweaty t-shirt as well.

  “Good night, son, I enjoyed the evening…all of it.”

  Bill stepped back, quickly turning to make his way down the hall not ready yet to show his tears of care and love.

  Yes, Henry thought, as words spoken by Mr. Engelmann sprang to mind as they often did, God’s divine providence is always at work through His helpers, the Holy Spirit and His fleet of angels. Henry could see the results, not just in himself, but in his dad’s heart, too.

  He turned off the kitchen light, and as he made his way to his room in the dark he softly whispered, “Thank you, Jesus.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  The smell of fresh-cut vegetables and simmering borscht consumed Mary’s kitchen. She had been in her garden most of the morning, reaping the fruits of her summer labour: beets, turnips, tomatoes, carrots, and of course, dill. Everything was washed and neatly laid side by side on the kitchen counter.

  When the doorbell rang, Mary wiped her hands on her apron and went to see who it was.

  A uniformed man carrying a satchel waited on the other side of the screen door. When she opened the door, the postman, holding an envelope, greeted her.

  “Good morning, ma’am. Is Henry Pederson in?”

  “No, he’s at work,” Mary replied.

  “I have a special delivery letter for him. Could you sign on his behalf?”

  “Yes, I’m his mother.”

  The postman handed Mary a clipboard and pen. Mary signed her name and the date, August 27, 1962, on the form.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, then added, “Borscht?”

  “Yes, I’m making it for dinner.”

  “Smells just like my grandmother makes. Have a nice day.”

  “You, too.”

  Mary absently closed the front door as she read the return address.

  “Jenny Sarsky,” she whispered in shock. “After all these years…”

  She sat down in the kitchen and, resting her elbows on the table, stared at the letter between her hands. How many days had Henry rushed home, hoping a letter from Jenny had arrived? How many days had Henry’s heart broken a little more when he was told, no, there had been no letter? Many a day she’d thought of pretending to be Jenny and writing him a letter herself to help alleviate his crushed feelings.

  And now, suddenly, out of the blue, a letter had flown to their door by special delivery six years later.

  “But it’s too late!” Mary put a hand to her forehead and shook her head. Henry was getting married in just over a week!

  “Dear Lord, what should I do?”

  Suddenly the weight of the object inside the letter shifted, rotating the letter downward between the fingertips of her right hand. She shook it from side to side and the weighted object slid easily as if it were flying inside. She grasped the object between her fingers trying to discern what it might be. It felt strangely warm.

  Should she give the letter to Henry when he came home from work? He had such a beautiful dark tan from working outside and looked so healthy and happy, it would be so unsettling for him and might very well renew his heartache all over again.

  Henry and Julean were getting married. They were happy together. This letter could jeopardize their relationship and ruin everything. A chill trickled up and down her spine.

  Henry hadn’t mentioned Jenny’s name in years, and Mary felt certain it was over between them. And what about Julean? It wouldn’t be fair to her, either. She and Henry had been dating for four years. Besides, what had attracted Henry and Jenny to each other might very well have changed. After all these years, would they still find each other the same? There might still be a glow for one another in the recesses of their hearts, but if they were suddenly to see each other, would the fire that once flared between them still be there?

  The odour of boiled-down borscht reached her from the stove. She had forgotten about it, and most of the water had steamed away, reducing and strengthening the broth until the pot was only a third full. She poured some water from the tea kettle into the pot so it was almost half full, where she wanted it. She cut up the rest of the vegetables lying on the counter and tossed them into the pot to simmer. She put a lid on the pot then returned to the table.

  As she sat back down in front of the letter, she decided it was best to just leave things be and not even tell Henry about it. If the letter had come a year ago—even six months ago—perhaps, but now, just days before he and that pretty young girl were to be married? Mary shook her head…no, no, it’s all too late! The impending turmoil, the ensuing unhappiness and grief would all be too much now.

  Before anything further changed her decision, Mary rose and headed to her bedroom, bringing down her treasure chest from the top shelf. She retrieved the key from the jewelry box on the dresser and unlocked it. There on top was the letter Henry had written her two years ago when he had been planning to go to Ottawa after Grade 12. One of the reasons he had aborted that plan was because he had never once received a letter from Jenny. Would Henry go now if she gave him the letter?

  “No! I’ve made a decision, and I believe in my heart it’s the right one.”

  Mary looked into the chest that had once belonged to her mother. It contained her mother’s death certificate, but she’d long forgotten the rest of the contents. Mary reached into the box and lifted out other letters and objects with one hand, and put both Henry’s letter and Jenny’s on the bottom, burying them beneath everything else. She closed the lid to the treasur
e chest as if closing the lid of a coffin, bidding farewell to a relationship between her son and Jenny that she considered dead and gone. She pulled out the key and returned it to the small jewelry box, stirring the contents slightly with her forefinger so the tiny key would work its way to the bottom, out of view.

  With the chest in her hands she stared into the mirror in front of her. Eyes were the mirror to the soul, and try as she might to rationalize her present actions, hers belied a twinge of doubt about this decision to keep the letter from Henry, the letter he’d yearned for, for so long.

  As she stood there, vacillating, weighing the pros and cons once again, she decided that, ultimately, the play was over for Henry and Jenny. The final scene was finished, the curtain had come down and a new play was about to begin. Her son had found a new love. He was about to begin a teaching career, to settle down and perhaps raise a family. Life must move forward, not backward. Like watching an old movie, it was never the same. It had lost its depth. And she was sure that whatever Jenny and Henry had once had, it had lost its depth as well.

  Mary forced a smile into the mirror, but only sadness reflected back in her eyes. She couldn’t quite bury the memory of the anguish and despair her son had suffered. She’d always suspected Mr. and Mrs. Sarsky had prevented Jenny’s letters from reaching Henry. She had prayed over and over that she could forgive them, that the Lord would touch their hearts and allow their daughter to send her letters. Now she had become another villain in the play, keeping this letter from her son and doing the very thing she’d accused the Sarskys of. But the present circumstances warranted such a decision, didn’t they?

  It was best for everyone involved.

  Mary nodded with a sense of conviction into the mirror, trying desperately to change the expression of her reflected image to one of approval. With that, she picked up the chest and walked back to the closet, giving it an extra push to the back of the shelf, hiding it from view, not wanting to see it again. Mary walked out to the kitchen, hoping the room she so loved would give her comfort. She resumed preparing the borscht, sprinkling in a little dill weed, and then a little more. She hoped the savoury aroma would act as a drug, clouding the deed she had just done.