Another Angel of Love Read online

  As Edith gazed at her daughter now, however, she had to admit Jenny did have a way with butterflies. She had seen it before and now here she was again with the tiny creatures dancing about her, seemingly guiding, protecting…maybe even loving? her daughter.

  Then, “Oh my, that’s a pretty blue one flitting above her head.”

  For the first time since her own childhood oh, so long ago, Edith was momentarily filled with wonder.

  The sun was already high in the sky and its hot rays warmed Jenny almost instantly as she strolled along. Carlos and his crew were unloading new sod to repair the grass that had suffered winter kill. Carlos saw her and waved. His broad, friendly smile revealed brilliant white teeth set against chocolate brown skin. Jenny held up her diary, waved it and grinned back.

  The stone path wound around a small fountain before splitting into three. Jenny took the one that meandered to the south side where the gazebo waited. The faint smell of the dusty miller lining the pathway tinged the air, but the mix of wildflowers and herbs surrounding the gazebo intoxicated her. Her spirits lifted as she entered the scented space, the fragrance of the mixed bouquet wafting around her. The aroma soothed her and complemented the memories of Henry she’d had since she woke that morning.

  Three years ago today she’d met him and each thought of that special meeting wrapped her in a warm embrace. If only these memories carried the reality of Henry’s touch, of his strong arms around her.

  Jenny took another sip of orange juice and set the glass on the railing circling the gazebo, settling herself into the swinging bench that hung from its rafters, the sun breaking through the latticed roof to land on her golden hair, making it glisten like tinsel.

  Jenny opened the diary to read what she’d written last year on this date. The words touched her heart even more today. Last year she’d penned a prayer of hope and love inspired by the closing sentence of the last letter she’d written to Henry, the one that contained the pewter angel: “Even though we are far apart, you are forever in my heart.”

  A tear fell on the page as she softly whispered the poem once more.

  The star of the east we both can see,

  its bright rays your warmth caressing me.

  I long for evening on this special day,

  for the star of the east to gleam my way,

  to fill my heart through our star

  with all your love, though from afar.

  Jenny ran a finger over the words and smiled. How true the poem was. Each time she gazed at the star in the eastern sky, she felt enveloped by its shimmering rays as if Henry were there, holding her. She felt certain the star was guarded by an angel, its rays always felt so warm and comforting.

  She gazed at the wildflowers and the butterflies flitting about them, touching each flower as if kissing its petals. A glowing butterfly came to rest on the hand holding the pen and Jenny felt prompted to add to the poem she had just read:

  I’ll always remember the day we met,

  into your arms I was easily swept.

  ’Twas your eyes drew me, clear and bright,

  into the depths of your heart with pure delight.

  Oh, dear, sweet Henry, on our anniversary day

  I send an angel just to say

  I’ll love you forever, come what may.

  Jenny gently raised her hand and the snow-white butterfly fluttered away.

  She closed the diary and pushed against the wooden floor, setting the swing into gentle motion, tilting her head up to catch a ray of sun. She closed her eyes and smiled, once more reliving July 6, 1956, the morning she’d met the love of her life.

  The instant the store door had opened and Henry stepped in to Engelmann’s Grocery, she’d been drawn to him like a pin to a magnet. She loved his cute boyish features, could see the man he would become—that awkward transition of out-of-proportion growth, yet in Henry it was endearing. His dark brown hair was thick and disheveled as if he were in a perpetual race with the wind, the latter clearly winning the battle. She loved his ruddy complexion and wide, gentle smile.

  Jenny had watched him from behind the groceries, peeking between glistening bottles of detergent. Henry walked hesitantly into the store and peered down each aisle. She moved over slightly, holding her breath, heart fluttering. Henry had come around to the other side as if looking for someone. Jenny moved yet again, watching—hiding. A grin had grown on her face.

  Then the store owner had bellowed out, “Henry, are you looking for the young lady who came in a few minutes ago?”

  Me? she’d wondered.

  Even now Jenny’s heart raced at the thought. She’d muffled a screech as Henry’s face reddened to fire and he’d turned so quickly he hit a pyramid of salmon tins, scattering them in all directions.

  She’d felt sorry for him then. Still, it had been her chance to meet him.

  Jenny had slowly emerged from the end of the aisle to kneel down and help him pick up the tins. She’d handed him one, asking if she could help.

  Henry hadn’t looked up. Did he even hear me? she’d wondered. Then he’d raised his eyes and Jenny was drawn into depths of dark green. My gosh, he’s so handsome!

  Henry looked down silently, embarrassed. Jenny had instinctively known he was shy—and she’d loved it. She’d picked up more tins, eager to help him, eager to look into his eyes again.

  And then it had happened…

  She’d turned to look at him and their gazes locked. They rose to their feet as if lifted, as if she and Henry had been transported into another world. An electrical energy flowed between them, setting her heart ablaze. She had been helpless to withdraw. If it hadn’t been for a distant voice, calling, she would have gazed into Henry’s eyes forever…

  “Jenny? Jenny! Are you listening?”

  “Yes…yes, Mom. What is it?” Jenny struggled to come back to the present.

  “James is on the phone,” her mother called. “He can’t take you to the movies tonight—something’s come up and his father needs his help. He can take you tomorrow, though—he wants to know if that’s okay.”

  “Tell him that’ll be fine. I’ll call him later.”

  Jenny looked down at her diary and shook her head. Why do I keep drifting back to Henry? She was sure it had something to do with that first meeting. But it was the incredible summer that followed that sealed her fate. Jenny shook her head once more as if trying to dispel her thoughts. I can still feel the wonderful, indescribable sensation of looking into Henry’s eyes…why can’t I feel that with James? Oh, Henry, why haven’t you written back to me?

  Tears welled in her eyes as she opened her diary and stared at the blank, cream-coloured page. After a long, thoughtful moment, she wrote:

  July 6, 1959

  I love James’ dark, jet-black eyes, how they dart and flash when he speaks of his dad’s business and how he will improve it. I was attracted to them that day we met in the cafeteria. But they lack the warmth and care of Henry’s eyes. With James, his eyes reveal an eagerness for opportunity, constantly in search of any advantage by which he might gain or make profit. He says he loves me but does he really? And how do I really feel about him?

  “Oh Henry, why have you not written,” she muttered again.

  She had a feeling their special connection would never leave her. Tears fell on the page. Grabbing the top outside corner, she ripped the page out of the diary. This is so unfair to James… Henry must have lots of girlfriends by now. I just have to move on too.

  “Buenos dias, good afternoon, Señorita Jenny. A wonderful day to enjoy the sun.”

  Jenny quickly brushed away the tear rolling down her cheek as the gardener bent to pull a weed from the flowerbed. “Why yes, Carlos, it is a beautiful day.”

  “There must be many celebrations going on today. I’ve never seen so many beautiful butterflies. Look how many flutter over the wild
flowers. But how can they not, the flowers are all so lovely.”

  “Yes, I am admiring them too. That was interesting what you said though, Carlos—what do you mean there must be many celebrations today?” Jenny asking, still thinking of her own anniversary.

  “Ah, yes, our people believe las mariposas—the butterflies— bring messages from loved ones as a reminder of their parting. My mother sends her love to me on the wings of a butterfly. I know it’s her because the butterfly is always yellow and lands only on a freshly budding rose. It happens the same every year. This morning the petal had a drop of water. Santiago said it was dew but it’s too late in the day for that. I know it was a tear from my mother’s eyes. When she was alive she always cried when she was happy. It is three years today she went home to the Lord. Look how beautiful and happy the butterflies are,” Carlos said, gesturing at the wildflower patch. And then almost as if reading Jenny’s heart, Carlos added, “Perhaps you are celebrating a special day too?

  Jenny looked at the smiling gardener in amazement, he had read her thoughts exactly!

  “And look at the beautiful blue butterfly here!”

  Jenny looked down and slowly moved her hand closer to get a better look at the small creature that had alit there. It made her think of Henry. Blue was his favourite colour. She smiled; perhaps Henry too was sending a message of love on the wings of a butterfly. Sunlight glowed through its gossamer wings. As Jenny studied and admired the depths of its colour, thoughts of Henry surfaced again. Thoughts of Henry were never far, it seemed. She felt Carlos’s gaze on her and pink tinged her cheeks. She looked up and caught his tender smile.

  “Is it a special friend you think of?” he asked in a soft, low voice. “A beautiful butterfly sometimes appears following the departure of a loved one. It is an expression of love and comfort to the one who remains behind.”

  The thought was soothing.

  “I’ve loved butterflies ever since I was a little girl,” she told him. “I enjoy their graceful beauty and their beautiful colours, but there is something special about them…” Jenny’s words trailed off and she started again. “They seem to be such a—a spiritual side of nature. Do you think that’s possible, Carlos? Oh, it’s probably silly of me to think that.”

  “Oh no, Señorita Jenny, butterflies remind us of the beauty of love and of our loved ones, like my mother did today. Perhaps that blue butterfly was sent to you as a reminder that someone special loves you. Look how it has stayed with you…does it remind you of someone, señorita?”

  “Why yes, it does,” Jenny said, surprised he’d guessed. “It reminds me of a boy I once knew and—I miss him very much.” Jenny was surprised to find herself sharing her feelings this way with an almost total stranger. Yet there was something comforting about Carlos, as if he understood and saw into her heart.

  “Loss takes time to heal—perhaps la mariposa comforts you like my mother does me. It is good that you recognize the butterfly as a gift of love. I can see in your eyes you love this boy too.”

  Jenny blushed. “It’s that obvious, is it?”

  “Si. You know, I loved my mother very much. She comforts me to this day. Even in the winter here she sends an angel to me on the wings of the butterfly! During the coldest months when the snow is piled high and the temperature well below freezing the yellow butterfly like a ray of sunshine hovers and taps at my bedroom window.”

  “Really? I’ve never heard of butterflies coming in the winter.”

  “Si. There is much we don’t understand and have to take on faith. Nature is intended to sooth our hearts and replenish us, to give us spiritual food each day. It is only natural that our good Lord uses nature and its creatures to comfort us in this way; they know how to serve our Lord perfectly.”

  Jenny studied the gardener, amazed by this conversation.

  “My, my, Señorita Jenny, that blue butterfly surely has a message for you. It stays so long! But me, I better be off. The grass will not grow if I do not plant it soon!”

  Jenny watched him walk away then looked down again at her hand, lifting it closer to her ear, listening for the flutter of its wing, the whisper of its song, letting it touch her with love.

  She lifted her hand higher. “I love you too,” she murmured, and watched as it flitted away, its blue wings blending quickly into the sky so that it disappeared almost instantly.

  Comforted beyond her understanding, Jenny didn’t allow herself to doubt any of it, not even for a single moment. It all felt so right. Perhaps the butterflies she had seen over the past two summers had carried messages of love she was unaware of. She was glad Carlos had mentioned the possibility. His words still lingered in her mind. Yes, perhaps Henry’s angel had sent a message of love.

  Jenny took in a deep breath of air, the scented air turning her attention to its source, the wildflowers. Nature and its bounty reminding her of her lost loves; butterflies and angels sending Henry’s love and now the wildflowers bringing thoughts of her little girl, Camilla. It was the scent and sight of wildflowers that had helped heal her heart after giving birth to her daughter. Right from the start when her father had asked the garden staff to sow a garden patch for her with wildflower seeds, Jenny had loved the excitement, anticipation and unpredictability of what would bloom and grow so freely. No matter what flower appeared, it complemented the garden and she was exhilarated by the wildness and freedom of it all. She just knew that the spontaneity, gaiety and beauty of each flower that grew would blossom in the heart of her little Camilla as well. She could see Camilla so clearly, growing, unfolding and budding into a wildflower, the most beautifully free of them all.

  The garden patch blurred before her as memories overtook her again. How her heart ached to see and hold her little girl.

  Camilla was two years old now and Jenny would never forget May 24, 1957—the day her little angel was born. Jenny wondered what she looked like and who she took after. The only memory she had to hold onto was the fleeting moment she’d seen her daughter dangling from the doctor’s hand before she was whisked away by a nurse to her adoptive parents.

  Without telling anyone, Jenny celebrated her daughter’s birth on the 24th of each and every month. A yearly birthday was too long to wait; even the monthly idea wasn’t enough. Oh, she wanted to shower her child with gifts and love each day. Yes, every day would be a birthday if she could arrange it. Her little girl would be walking and talking by now. She would be calling someone else mommy and daddy.

  Oh, Jenny, sometimes you torture yourself too much…

  While Jenny’s heart ached with thoughts like this, she accepted these feelings as part of her life. Not that acceptance had been easy or accomplished without buckets of shed tears. Spending as much time as she could in nature, feeling the presence of her guardian angel, gave her strength and hope and saved her from spiraling back into loss and depression.

  It suddenly dawned on Jenny why each time she thought of either Henry or her child she was reminded of the other. It was only natural, after all, Henry had been there the night Camilla was conceived—in fact, she thought of him as Camilla’s father, not the terrible boy who had pinned her down.

  If only Henry were the father, things would be so different now.

  Jenny closed the diary, got up and made her way to the flowerbeds surrounding the gazebo. She snapped off a tall white daisy near the base of its stem, whispering softly to the wildflower as if it were Camilla herself. “And good afternoon to you, Señorita Camilla. Are you playing out in the sun today? All dressed in dazzling white like this flower, I bet.”

  Jenny smiled at the beautiful daisy but it wasn’t the flower that brought the tears. In her mind’s eye, she saw her daughter in a pretty white sundress, hopping and singing amongst the wildflowers, chasing butterflies.

  Yes, thought Jenny, my little girl is truly the prettiest and most free of them all. She brought the daisy to her ear, fully expecting
to hear its song as well.

  Jenny strolled back to the house still holding the daisy, basking in its sweetness. She passed Carlos and his co-worker replacing the dead grass with fresh new sod.

  “Still enjoying God’s creation, señorita?”

  “Yes, I am, Carlos—I can’t seem to get enough of it.”

  His wide smile widened further. “It is a good addiction to have.”

  “I see you’ve added another wildflower patch on the east side of the grounds. The flowers there are really lovely.”

  “Si,” he said. “It was your father’s suggestion. He knows how much you like them.”

  “That was thoughtful of him. I do love the carefree charm of the garden, the waves of orange-coloured poppies scattered with red and blue flowers.”

  “The blue flowers were your father’s idea, too. They are called Baby Blue Eyes like the colour of your eyes. Your father wants you to be happy; he loves you very much.”

  “That is so sweet of him. Thank you for seeding them.”

  “You are most welcome, Señorita Jenny.”

  “Oh, by the way, what’s the name of the plant with the dark green leaves that grows between the walkway stones? It gives off such a wonderful fragrance.”

  “That is thyme. The herb releases its odour when you walk on it. Crushing the plant releases the fragrance.”

  “That’s wonderful, Carlos. What a great idea to plant them there. I won’t be so careful to avoid stepping on them now!”

  “That is their service to you, señorita. We cannot deny them a part of their beauty and purpose.”

  “I never thought of it that way…that’s wonderful.”

  “You have a blessed day.”

  Jenny looked at the gardener on his knees in the soil and nodded. He has such a wonderful outlook, Jenny thought, and his voice sounds as if he were singing all the time.

  She became conscious of the diary in her hand. It felt heavier somehow, even though only a few words had been added today. Her two loves. And James. Where does he fit into all of this…? Once again Jenny’s thoughts trailed off.