Another Angel of Love Read online

  “And I can’t promise that the Coca-Cola sign hanging out front won’t be changed to Pepsi-Cola, either,” Mr. Engelmann quipped.

  Doug laughed. He knew Mr. Engelmann was teasing; there wasn’t a manipulative bone in the man’s body. But as Doug left the store, Mr. Engelmann’s comment simmered. Engelmann’s Grocery sold a lot of pop. Doug’s local branch manager had even attended Anna’s funeral and was very impressed by the huge gathering. It was obvious Mr. Engelmann had a lot of influence in the community. People in the neighbourhood tended to follow his judgment.

  If the store sign were to change, it would have a substantial effect on their local sales. Doug knew Mr. Engelmann would never do what he had joked about, but his superiors didn’t know Mr. Engelmann the way he did. He just might mention the sign when he gave them Bill’s application.

  A little spicy food for thought never hurt.

  It took until Wednesday evening of that week for Mr. Engelmann and Henry to catch up with all the orders and get things back to normal. They couldn’t believe how closing for just one day had affected the lives of so many people.

  After receiving the application from Henry Monday night and much hemming and hawing, Henry’s father had finally filled out the two-page application for Coca-Cola.

  Mr. Engelmann and Henry were sitting on a couple of boxes in the back storage room when Henry remembered the filled-out form in his bag. “Here’s that application form. Dad decided it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

  “Oh, that is good to hear! I was hoping he would take this opportunity. Doug is here first thing tomorrow morning. I will make sure he gets it.”

  Henry gulped the last third of his bottle of Orange Crush.

  “Oh yeah, we’ve been so busy I also forgot to ask if you’d be interested in having my mom work for you. She’s looking for a job and is real organized and very quick.”

  “Yes, I remember her saying she was interested in finding a job. That would be very good. I need help, especially with you going back to school at the end of August. To have your mom here would be a blessing.”

  Chapter Nine

  Ican’t believe you finally took a day off, James,” Jenny said as they finished a game of tennis at the country club.

  “See? I told you I wasn’t all work and business. We Hamiltons know how to have fun too.”

  Jenny rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m so happy you’re enjoying the summer; it’s half over and I can’t think of the last time you spent a day in the sun. That was a great game you played.”

  “Once the Hamiltons learn a skill, Jen, they never forget it.”

  Jenny gazed at her handsome but vainglorious partner and shook her head. “James, I think you’re given to vaunting,”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “You don’t understand it because modesty never was one your virtues.” Jenny smiled at his bewildered look. It was true. He was totally unaware of how conceited he was.

  “Oh, if you mean I’m being boastful, well, I don’t see it that way at all, Jen. It’s self-assurance, confidence in your abilities— surely you can see that?”

  Jenny laughed, bouncing the ball against the ground with her racket. “You’re too incorrigible for words!”

  “There you go again! Hitting me with library words I’m not clear about. If I spent all my time reading books like you do I’d sound like a dictionary too,” he sputtered, defending his ignorance, or perhaps more accurately, his lack of command of the English language. And then, finally thinking of something to support his position, he quickly added, “Some of us have to work and run a business and keep the world spinning, you know.”

  Jenny stopped and stared at James, shaking her head again slightly. He certainly was sharp financially, but socially—well, he had a lot of rough edges. “Honestly, James…well, anyway, I guess it’s about the only way I can keep the upper hand with you. Come on, let’s have some lunch.”

  Jenny took James’ hand and led him to the clubhouse. She had to hide a smug little smile; she’d finally found another one of James’ weaknesses—but this one was to her advantage.

  Jenny’s father, Ted Sarsky, had just returned from the branch office in Calgary. Sales there were down and the minute he’d walked in, Ted could tell that the manager there simply wasn’t capable of fulfilling his role. And it had gotten worse from there. The key people under him were no better. Ted shook his head. If only he himself had been more on top of things he’d have known sooner that the branch lacked the staff to secure the contracts the company so desperately needed. Ted was going to have to make more trips, not only to the branch in Calgary but to all of them across Canada.

  The company needed his leadership. Competition was getting keener and tighter; too many contracts were slipping through the cracks and the board was aware of it. But the energy and inner drive he used to have had been gone for awhile now. He was up half the night with these damn angel dreams and at work he was confronted again and again by the angels’ fleeting appearance across the sky in the painting that hung in his office.

  Ted glanced over at the painting now and was glad he’d thought to cover it with a large towel brought from home this morning. He couldn’t bring himself to take it down—what would the angels do to him then? No, covering the painting was the best solution. But he was somewhat embarrassed when Elaine came in and saw it draped over the expensive painting like so much laundry.

  “Oh my, Mr. Sarsky, why have you covered that beautiful painting? Surely you’re not tiring of that peaceful landscape already?”

  Ted struggled to think of something to say.

  “The glare of the sun off the varnish was bothering my eyes yesterday, so I covered it.”

  Elaine looked at him, puzzled. How could that possibly be? He wasn’t even in the office yesterday, or for the entirety of last week for that matter. He’d just got back from Calgary. Still, it was probably best not to question him; he’d had enough worries of late.

  “I need your signature on these three letters, Mr. Sarsky,” she said instead. “Could you please sign them right now? The mail is going out shortly and I want to have them ready.”

  Ted took the letters from Elaine and picked up a pen. He wished she wasn’t there, watching him. To make matters worse, she leaned closer, waiting for him to finish. As slowly and deliberately as he could manage, he began to sign the letters.

  Elaine noticed the trembling of his hand immediately.

  She was beginning to understand why her boss had started to confine himself more and more to the office instead of being out in the field where he should be. There was something about that painting Ted didn’t want to see. She remembered how once before she’d come in to find him with his nose right up to it, talking to it. It was almost as if he were hypnotized by whatever he saw there. She couldn’t see a darn thing.

  She had picked up a brochure about alcoholism a long time ago and still remembered the symptoms: shaking, tremors, memory loss and hallucinations were listed under the more advanced stages of the disease. Oh, how she wished she could help him. He’d been such a strong, capable leader when he’d first started—and then last Christmas everything rocketed downhill. Elaine was certain whatever was bothering her boss had something to do with those letters, too. She picked up a clean sheet of paper and inserted it into her typewriter.

  Those damn letters. She couldn’t get them out of her mind.

  As soon as Elaine left his office Ted rushed to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. If he went out into the field like he knew he should, the staff would quickly become aware of his condition; when he’d been in Calgary, he could hardly wait for the end of each day so he could get back to his hotel room and have a drink. And yet if he didn’t check up on the branches, he knew darn well the company’s bottom line would continue to slide. He’d always expected his staff to be accountable a
nd now he himself wasn’t; he’d always maintained high standards, but his job performance and that of his staff were now well below the norm. It was just a matter of time before he was called on the carpet. It was all so stressful.

  Ted returned to the cabinet for another drink. Maybe if he relaxed he’d see things more clearly. Heaven knew he had to do something, and quick. He pushed the empty glass away.

  How could I have let things get so bad?

  He went back to the desk and took out a stack of paper. He needed a plan. His attaché case was in the way of the paper and he shoved it aside but still there wasn’t enough room. It was the spark that ignited a simmering mountain of emotion. What was left of his patience unraveled. Frustrated beyond belief, he let the volcano erupt and with a mighty swing sent the briefcase flying across the room, striking the heating register below the large window with a clang.

  Outside, the peaceful Rideau Canal flowed on.

  There was a gentle rap at the door and Elaine peeked in, “Is everything okay? I heard a crash.”

  “Oh. My briefcase just fell on the floor.”

  Elaine’s eyes wandered to where Ted’s briefcase lay next to the heating vent, its lid dented and half broken off, a ream of paper strewn across the floor.

  Ted felt rush after rush of embarrassment after Elaine closed the door. Never in all the days of his life had he lost control. What’s happening to me? Rather than feeling relieved after letting off a little steam, he felt more deeply ashamed than ever. Every fibre of his being yearned for a drink and he would have gotten up for another if it weren’t for the fact that he felt suddenly depleted. He was exhausted; totally emotionally drained. He fell back into the burgundy leather chair and in a matter of minutes sank into a reverie, a censored state in which he projected the responsibility for his wrongdoings more on his wife than on himself. After all, he’d just been following her orders…

  It had all started out innocently enough: two young teenagers meeting and experiencing the usual “puppy love” syndrome. But from there it quickly spiralled out of control. Edith feared the worst about her daughter’s relationship with the boy down the street and made every attempt to discourage and restrict their meetings—all to no avail. Their relationship was stronger than even she suspected.

  Jenny’s farewell to Henry the evening they’d left for Ottawa still haunted him. Edith had been utterly cruel, the way she’d stripped Jenny from Henry’s arms, then decided to stop all communication between them. Jenny had trusted him to mail her letters to Henry, and still believed that he had. But it was all Edith’s idea to destroy them. He’d just done as she’d told him. But to lie to his daughter time and time again when she asked if he was sure he’d mailed them was killing him.

  Then there was that box of letters from Henry. Rather than allowing those tender written words to reach his daughter—who had prayed daily for a letter from her boyfriend—at Edith’s insistence, he had ordered them destroyed. The image of those letters consumed by a blazing furnace fire cycled endlessly through his mind beside Jenny and Henry’s sad farewell.

  The only consolation was his decision not to destroy the two Christmas letters with identical pewter angels tucked into each envelope. Perhaps it was a supernatural warning or simply an attempt at quelling some of the guilt of his previous actions. Or maybe he was asserting his fatherly role in some small way. Whatever it was, something had prevented him from sentencing those final angelic letters to the same fate as all the rest. For once he had stood his ground and defied his wife’s wishes. In all this, he finally had done something to be proud of.

  But whatever satisfaction he had felt died as Jenny’s pregnancy became obvious. The circumstances surrounding the conception of her child and the pain of seeing his daughter’s anguish at giving the infant up for adoption tore him apart.

  How he wished things had been different and that Jenny had kept the child she’d given birth to. He would have been a grandfather, Edith a grandmother, and he knew Jenny would have been happier. Maybe they would even have grown closer as a family. But it hadn’t happened; Edith didn’t want to have anything to do with raising another child. That was her right, but ordering the destruction of the letters was not and the ensuing deceit shredded his innards. The guilt was so deep, he ached from the overwhelming power of it.

  Try as he might to suppress it, the truth continued to surface as often as those angels flitted across the painting. It was like trying to hold a balloon under water. He had no stamina for this, and the increasing pressure of his work sparked alcohol binges, and everything was compounded by the stress of concealing his guilt and denying his problems.

  At first, sleep was his only respite. It no longer provided a safe haven, though. Even now his mind was filled with a vision of the box full of Henry’s letters being thrust into the fiery flames of the furnace that Ted feared the most. No longer was his secretary assigned to the messy deed; in his dreams he himself held the envelopes to the flames. He had to take full responsibility—even though his wife had initiated it. And the boy’s letter to him, pleading that he take Henry’s heartfelt words to Jenny, had been seared into his consciousness; there was no escape.

  Every time Ted had the dream the box turned darker and blacker, making an inscription on it stand out in stark relief. And now he saw that it was his name, glaring at him like the inscription on a tombstone.

  For him, the box itself no longer held merely the letters of a lovelost boy, no longer held simple sheets of paper, their words of love consumed by the furnace fire. It was his very soul he was thrusting into this self-inflicted hell. He could feel the scorching burn of his misdeeds. He alone would be judged, held accountable for his actions. The pain was so excruciating, so unbearable he could no longer bear up under it. He began to scream—and once again there was an urgent rap upon his door.

  Elaine hurried in to see the company president in the throes of some sort of attack. She rushed to his side, trying to help him, to save him from whatever it was, but there was nothing she could do. Ted looked at her without seeing, his face filled with agonizing fear and dread and…bewilderment?

  What the hell is going on?

  Elaine and Ted stared at each another in confusion. Finally Elaine broke the standoff.

  “Mr. Sarsky, I—I think you must’ve had some sort of nightmare.”

  It was the only conclusion his faithful secretary could come up with to justify why she was standing there with one hand on his shoulder and the other clutching a metal letter opener as if ready to defend her leader to the death.

  Ted shook his head. Slowly it came to him that Elaine was right. “Elaine, I think I have to take the rest of the day off—and maybe the next few as well. I guess I’ve been working too hard. I need to think about what’s best to do.”

  Silently each agreed that those few words were probably the most honest he had said to himself in a long, long time.

  Chapter Ten

  After the first week or so while things got back to normal, Mr. Engelmann began to spend more and more time upstairs. Henry and Mrs. Schmidt more or less tended to the store. If Henry had a problem or question about ordering goods, he would go upstairs where he would often find Mr. Engelmann sitting in the chair Anna used to occupy by the south window, reading the Bible. Mr. Engelmann was grieving his beloved wife and the only way he could cope was to immerse himself in the Lord.

  It began to make sense to Henry. Mr. Engelmann had shown so much strength when Anna died, only the odd time had he seen his mentor cry. At the start, Mr. Engelmann had been enthusiastic about Anna going to heaven and all, and being united with Jesus, but her absence was catching up with him now, the loss of her daily love and support. He needed time to heal, to adjust, to accept; he needed the Lord more than ever.

  Henry and Mrs. Schmidt felt the loss in the store too, the grace and charm Mrs. Engelmann brought into the store, her easy way with customers, her wise w
ords. And with Mr. Engelmann spending so much time alone upstairs it seemed like the heart of the store was gone.

  It was hard to move forward for all of them—day in and day out people came in saying how much they missed Anna, constant reminders that Mrs. Engelmann was gone. And without Mr. Engelmann there to talk with and comfort their friends and neighbours, Henry felt, for the first time in the years he’d worked for the Engelmanns, that sadness filled the store.

  One afternoon when Mrs. Schmidt was in and the store wasn’t too busy, Henry went upstairs to find Mr. Engelmann sitting in the tattered old armchair, the bright light streaming through the window onto his face. His Bible lay open on his lap and he had dozed off. Henry went into the kitchen and brought back a chair, set it beside his beloved teacher and sat down to wait. He wanted to reach over and touch Mr. Engelmann’s hand to comfort him but was reluctant to wake him. Sleep was good for him, Henry thought, an escape from the sadness in his heart. Many nights Henry too couldn’t wait for sleep to come, his mind and thoughts so filled with Jenny.

  The sun had moved and its rays were beginning to inch their way across Henry’s face now too. The warmth was soothing, healing. In a way it was kind of like sitting out back on the old grey crates, basking in the sun and letting it’s hot light dry the many tears shared as a result of the talks they had.

  Henry had received so much help from Mr. Engelmann and he wished he could help him now. Henry knew when he hurt, his teacher hurt, and so it was the other way around as well. It was then that Mr. Engelmann’s own words came to mind: When all the words or knowledge in the world don’t help in times of trouble and grief, what is it that most—if not all—of us do? And so Henry prayed for Mr. Engelmann, that Jesus would fill his beloved friend with peace. It was a selfish prayer; Henry knew praying was the only way he could feel peace himself. As he prayed in the silence of the sun-filled room, Henry drifted into a peaceful slumber himself.