Angel in Blue Jeans

by Richard L. Coles

“Good. Now, have you asked the people: first, do they want a Youth Centre in the community, and second, will they help?”

  Dana responded. “Well, no, we haven’t asked everybody, just some, but they thought it was a good idea. We thought it would be better if we talked to you first, because if you didn’t like the idea, then that would be the end of it, like.”

  “Good thinking. Now, let’s put that first step firmly behind us. When I first heard of your idea, I must say that my reaction was negative—I just could not see how it could possibly be done. For many years now, I have been concerned about how to dispose of that property. You see, it was willed to me by my father, on condition that it not be sold out of the family.”

  Mr Hennigan paused, and Tony followed his gaze toward two paintings on the wall, of a young man in an army uniform and of a young woman in a nurse’s uniform.

  Mr Hennigan turned back into the group. “But I have no surviving family,” he said quietly.

  Tony did not know how to respond, and he could see that Dana was at a loss for words. They were not accustomed to offering sympathy in such situations. Both their faces must have shown disappointment at Mr Hennigan’s response so far.

  The awkward silence was broken by a quiet knock at the door as Mrs Tovey entered with a tray.

  “Oh, thank you, Sheila, that’s just right.” Mr Hennigan brightened quickly. “Just put the tray on the table here, and we’ll look after ourselves.”

  Mr Simpson passed out refreshments.

  “Now,” said Mr Hennigan, “back to business. As I said, at first I was negative—all I could think of were the problems that would have to be faced. And there are many things that would have to be done. But, my dear, the more I thought about it, the more I liked your idea; I realized that it could be the solution I’ve been seeking for so long. I’ve already asked Mr Simpson to start exploring the legal side of the matter, and how we proceed with the city about re-zoning the land. So, to come back to your plan, yes, I am on side, and I will support you fully.”

  Tony watched Dana’s widened eyes expressing relief. He was surprised that things were already happening.

  “Yes,” Mr Hennigan continued, “as soon as I realized the value and strength of your idea, I didn’t want to waste time. But I did want to meet you personally.”

  “By the way,” Mr Simpson looked toward Mr Hennigan, “I’ve talked to the city people. In principle, it can be done; but they insist on going through all the paperwork and informing the local residents in writing, with all the delays in giving due notice and setting up a hearing.”

  “Of course. I expected they would. Now,” Mr Hennigan looked at Dana and Tony, “it’s up to us to make sure that we have everyone in your community on our side.”

  Tony liked the sound of that. He was warming to Mr Hennigan, and losing his feelings of awe and insecurity.

  “We could write a letter explaining the idea and send it to every house,” Tony suggested.

  “Maybe,” Dana opened, turning to glance at Tony. “Maybe we could take the letters round ourselves and actually talk to people, an’ then leave the letters with them.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Tony, feeling encouraged. “Then we could try to explain things if people had questions.”

  “Good thinking.” Mr Hennigan looked over to Mr Simpson, who nodded his head.

  “Would you do all that yourselves, or would other young people help?” asked Mr Simpson.

  “We-ell,” began Dana, “I know it might seem a bit pig-headed, but, I’d kind of like to be able to talk to everyone—with Tony of course,” she glanced at Tony, “’cause that way, everyone would get the same story, and we’d get all the reactions back. It would make it easier, don’t you think?”

  “Mmm, yes—it would in a way, but would you be prepared to accept quite a lot of negative reactions, at least at first?”

  Tony realized Mr Simpson was right; there could be some people against Dana’s idea.

  “I think that’s something we’ll have to learn to do,” Dana turned and looked into Tony’s eyes. He nodded.

  “Dana, you mentioned the idea of applying for a grant,” said Mr Hennigan, shifting the topic. “Do you know how to set about doing that?”

  “Yes, I’ve already gone to the city hall to ask about applying for city grants, and Mr Johnson—he’s Tony’s neighbour—he told us he knows how to apply for a provincial grant.”

  “You have certainly done your homework.” Mr Hennigan beamed.

  The conversation stalled for a moment. Dana broke the silence.

  “Er—there is—another part to my idea,” she said, rather hesitatingly. Surprised and querying looks converged on her. Tony wondered what was coming next.

  “Do tell us then, Dana,” Mr Hennigan said softly, responding to her uncertain opening.

  “Sir, these buildings were once a brewery,” the formal address tripped off her tongue as she launched into her piece, “and were an important part of life in olden times. Nowadays, there seems to be such a lot more trouble that alcohol causes …” She bit her lip and put out her hand sideways, groping for Tony’s.

  He grasped her hand as a reflex, but then, as the significance of what she was saying began to sink in, he felt tears well up in his eyes.

  Dana sniffed and continued. “Tony and I lost our brothers because of alcohol.” She swallowed hard. “What I’m trying to say is, it would be good if we could make part of the buildings into a sort of museum or display, to tell the story of brewing, the good parts and the not-so-good parts. We seem to see so much more of the bad side these days, but I know there’s a better side as well.”

  Mr Hennigan smiled generously. “Dana, that’s another wonderful idea. I agree entirely with you, and I will give you all the backing you need to achieve what you’ve set out to do. And, to both of you, my deepest sympathies on the loss of your brothers. I remember that now.” He turned to Mr Simpson. “George, you didn’t tell me the museum part—and I hadn’t made the connection between Tony and his father Pino.”

  “That’s because Dana hadn’t told me either. I agree. It would be a good way to bring home a balanced message to our young people—to the whole community. Kurt, if it’s all right with you, I think we should be heading homeward soon.”

  “Of course. Dana and Tony, I am truly grateful for your inspiration, and I admire your energy and initiative. I wish you good luck in this venture, and I want to reassure you that I am with you all the way.”

  They all stood. Mr Hennigan led the way into the hallway, turning to Mr Simpson. “George, work closely with these young people. They deserve our strong support. I have another idea that will help us, but I want to consider the consequences a little more. Will you be available tomorrow afternoon, if I phone you then?”

  “Yes, certainly. I’ll make a point of keeping it clear.”

  “Good.” Mr Hennigan noticed Tony’s interest in the pictures of the ships. “Yes, that one was one of the first cargo steamers to work Lake Ontario. I had the privilege of sailing on her once, not long before she was finally broken up.”

  They reached the front door. Mr. Hennigan shook hands with them all, again in his formal way, but warmly. “Have a safe journey home, my friends.”

  As the car turned out of the driveway, Mr Hennigan waved from the steps, a tall white-haired figure framed by the stone arch.

  So old, thought Tony as he returned the wave, but is he ever with it—wow.

  The first part of the journey home was quiet. No one had much to say. Dana sat in the front again, and Tony sat in the middle of the backseat, to catch the bits of conversation that did take place—none of which were of any consequence.

  As they approached a small village, Mr Simpson turned his head to address both Dana and Tony. “How about a little refreshment? I know a neat little spot here.”

  They pulled off the highway into a small parking area. An icecream stand was open for business.

  They sat at a picnic table, consuming their ice-creams. />
  After a few moments of silence, Mr Simpson shifted his position on the bench, and spoke. “Well, what did you make of Kurt Hennigan, then?”

  Dana jolted, as if from a daydream. “Er—he’s a marvellous old gentleman,” she replied, her eyes brightening again.

  “Yeah,” added Tony, “I was amazed how he seemed to have everything all sorted out in his mind, like, no hesitation.”

  “Yes,” Mr Simpson continued, “he still has a very sharp mind. And, of course, his body too. He’s in excellent health for a man his age, you know. He goes for a walk every day, summer or winter.”

  “Wow, that’s more than most people less than a quarter his age.”

  “Say, Mr Simpson, I liked those pictures of ships on his walls. Was he into shipping or something?”

  “He most certainly was, Tony. That’s how he made most of his money. You see, as I told you the other day, he inherited the old brewery from his father, while it was a profitable going concern. But he was smart, he could see the writing on the wall, and knew prosperity couldn’t last for the brewery. It had to be closed. He’d invested in other breweries in the Kingston region, in Toronto and the Waterloo area, and had also started to invest in shipping. Kurt was able to buy land before the stock-market crash of 1929. Being a smart fellow, he bought up a lot of land on the outskirts of the cities, anticipating that eventually cities would grow, and the land values would skyrocket. And of course, they did.”

  Mr Simpson paused to deal with his melting ice-cream.

  “And,” he continued, “just at the start of the depression, he had had the foresight to buy up for next to nothing an almost defunct shipping line that worked both the Great Lakes and ocean trade. He was able to hang on to it until trade picked up again. During the war and afterward, the Hennigan Line became one of the premier lines on the Lakes and on the trans-Atlantic runs. As a result of that success, and of his land sales in the growing Toronto suburbs and in other cities, he became very comfortably wealthy.”

  “That’s really something,” said Dana, in a tone of admiration. “To survive the Depression, and make money like that—sheesh … We were doing the Depression this last term. It was really hard for so many people back then.”

  They finished the ice-creams and set off again. Tony realized that it had been a long time since the hurried lunch the two of them had eaten at Harvey’s on their way to Mr Simpson’s office that noontime.

  That reminded him of the receptionist at Mr Simpson’s office—she looked familiar, kind of like that woman they’d seen with Dave Adkins that night on the old trail.

  It was a little past the usual supper hour when the car rolled into Brewster Gardens. Almost as a reflex, all three, Mr Simpson, Dana, and Tony, glanced over to the old brewery as the car made the turn.

  Since the building of the townhouses, the view of the brewery from that point was more obscured, but it was still there, as it had been for over a century.

  Mr Simpson stopped the car by their two homes. “Well guys, you made a good impression on Kurt. He’s with you all the way. Keep up the good work. We’ll keep in contact. What’s next, Dana?”

  “I think we should try to write a letter to all the people explaining what we have in mind.”

  “Good. If you want, I’ll be happy to help you with it. Why don’t you two write out a draft letter, and then let’s talk about it. Give me a call when you’re ready.”

  “Thanks, Mr Simpson. Thanks for taking us to see Mr Hennigan.”

  “Yeah, thanks very much,” added Tony.

  “My pleasure. Bye for now.”

  Dana and Tony waited at the roadside as Mr Simpson drove away.

  “That was great, Tony, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  “Let’s hope there’s some supper left.” Dana kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I’ll be over at nine, okay?” And she danced up her driveway to the house.

  “Sure.”

  Tony watched her enter the house, her white sweater and blue jeans almost glowing in the evening sunlight. He turned and crossed the road to his house. Somehow he felt agitated, uneasy.

  Something’s different, he thought, something has changed. Dana isn’t the same. What’s happening?

  - 15 -

  Mike Carson closed the front door behind him and followed Dave Adkins through the house to the backyard patio. “Barb, Mike’s here.”

  Mike had met Barbara a week or so ago, when Dave had first invited him over. He and Dave had slipped back easily into their old friendship, and had enjoyed reminiscing over old times. Quietly, Dave had also filled Mike in on the past few months, and the brighter future he hoped for.

  Mike appreciated knowing all that, and understood why the Adkins household now only carried soft drinks. He would stand by Dave, if needed.

  “Hi, Mike. Good to see you. Glad you could come.” Barb was arranging the table.

  “Can I help with anything?”

  “No thanks, not right now. Just help yourself to a drink, they’re in the kitchen.”

  “So, Mike, how was today?” Dave inquired.

  “Oh, not bad I guess, put an AC window unit into a fifth floor apartment, down on Creswall St. Jeez, you can’t have vertigo in this business. Nearly lost the whole unit out the window once. One of the screws stripped out its hole just before I got the thing secured. Just caught it in time. An’ all the time this old lady was hovering, watching every move—‘shouldn’t you do this, shouldn’t you do that, let me hold it for you’—jeez, I nearly called it quits at one point. But, you know, you have to feel sorry for them. It was probably the highlight of her week. Sure as hell, it was hot in that place before I got the unit turned on.”

  “I bet.”

  Dave busied himself with the barbecue, carefully scraping and oiling the grill bars, tweaking the burners, organizing and re-organizing the utensils. Mike sat and watched absent-mindedly. Barb came out with fixings and set them on the picnic table.

  Suddenly, a new female voice broke the local silence. “Oh, hi there, am I too early?”

  Barbara, momentarily startled, looked up. Dave turned. Mike raised his eyes.

  “Hi, Kelly. No, of course not, come on through,” Barbara replied, reaching over to open the gate. At this time of day, the sun was over on the other side of the house, placing the yard in comfortable shade. Mike stood, bringing his eyes to bear on the owner of the voice. He liked what he saw, recognizing the view from the 7-Eleven store a few days back.

  “Kelly,” Barbara continued, “you know Dave, of course. I’d like you to meet Mike. Mike, Kelly.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mike.”

  “Pleased to meet you too, Kelly.”

  Barbara continued the lead. “Kelly’s a new neighbour living in the Mews. She and I met the other day, so I thought we could get to know one another over a barbecue.”

  “That was a lovely idea, Barbara, thank you for inviting me. I haven’t got to know many people round here yet.”

  Mike moved his glass along the table. “Care for a seat?” he offered to Kelly.

  “Thanks.”

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Mike continued. “Some juice, Coke, Sprite?”

  “Oh, a juice would be fine, please.”

  “Orange, grapefruit, or apple?”

  “Orange, please.” She flashed him a smile.

  Mike walked back through to the kitchen. Wowee, he thought. Quickly he poured the juice, and returned to the table. Kelly flashed him another smile.

  Mike moved over to the barbecue, absently watching Dave as he seared the steaks. Kelly and Barbara had engaged in women-talk, he realized, but his eyes kept returning to Kelly.

  After a couple of minutes, Barbara stood up. “Dave,” she said, “would you come and help me with the dishwasher stuff for a minute?”

  “Sure, no problem. Mike, just keep one eye on the steaks, will you?” Dave handed Mike the tongs, and he and Barbara stepped inside the house.

  Mike poked at t
he steaks for a few moments, aware that Kelly was watching him. “You like it here, in the outer ’burbs?” he opened.

  Kelly stood up and moved to the other side of the barbecue. “I didn’t at first, but every day I feel more at home.”

  “You on your own?”

  “Yes—well, me and my dog.”

  “You have a dog? What kind?”

  “A little Highland terrier. My parents used to breed them.”

  Mike was captivated by her face, but sensed a sudden change in its expression as she said those last words. “They live locally?” He regretted saying it as soon as he saw the sadness in her eyes as they turned downward.

  After a pause she said, “I lost them both five years ago.”

  Mike felt terrible, wishing he had never broached the subject. “I’m sorry, Kelly, I really am.”

  “Thanks.” Kelly looked up at him, and forced a smile.

  “I guess these are about ready for turning.” Mike busied himself with the steaks and the flare-ups as their juices dripped onto the hot rocks below, knowing Kelly was watching him.

  Suddenly, she let out a little cry and stepped back quickly.

  Mike looked over to her, questioningly. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing. I was standing too close. A little sprink of fat just spat at me. It’s okay.” She rubbed at a slightly darker spot on her shirt above her left breast.

  Mike took in the whole picture. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking as I turned that one,” he felt obliged to say.

  Kelly reached out and touched his arm. “’T’s okay. It’ll wash out; I’m fine.” She flashed him that smile again.

  A sound at the patio door made them both turn.

  “How are those steaks, Mike?” Dave called.

  “Should be about done, for those that like rare.”

  “That’s good for me,” called Barbara as she came out, carrying a pile of plates.

  “How about you, Kelly?” Mike asked, as he pulled off one for Barbara.

  “Medium rare, please.”

  “Oookay.” Mike pulled off one for himself, and poked at the remaining two.

  “I suppose, then, you want yours burnt, as I remember, Dave?” he called.