Another Angel of Love Read online

  Just before she went back inside, she turned to survey the new wildflower patch once more. The dots of red flax punctuating the Orange California poppies were nice but it was the Baby Blues that sparkled and gave the garden its life. Perhaps that’s what her father wished for her, to see the sparkle in her eyes once more.

  Chapter Three

  The next day was crazy. There was no other way to describe it. Mrs. Schmidt and Henry were run off their feet. While Mr. Engelmann was making funeral arrangements, they filled orders and answered innumerable phone calls. At times the store was so packed Henry was unable to get to the shelves to fill orders. People talked about Anna’s death and the funeral. Many hoped that their husbands or wives could get off work to be able to attend. One customer said that her son would be flying in from Toronto to be there.

  All their suppliers phoned, too, asking if they could provide food or drink at the hall after the funeral. Somehow the mayor of the city got wind of Mrs. Engelmann’s passing and phoned to pass on his condolences and to inquire about the funeral. Mr. Mahoney, the tax man who had given Mr. Engelmann the ultimatum two years earlier to put the store up for sale or pay taxes in arrears also phoned, asking when the funeral was. Even Henry’s dad, who didn’t know Mrs. Engelmann very well, said he was going to try and get off work to come. Henry was overwhelmed by it all.

  By the end of the day, Mrs. Schmidt and Henry were exhausted. Mr. Engelmann returned to the store around five o’clock. He still looked weary, but surprisingly not as tired as the day before. They filled him in on how busy the store had been and the many people who had called and expressed their sorrow. Mr. Engelmann was touched by it all and didn’t know what to say.

  “When is the funeral?” Henry asked. “There are so many people asking.”

  Mr. Engelmann looked at Henry, and Henry wondered if he’d even heard the question.

  “I was planning on having it Friday.” He hesitated as if to give it some additional thought. “Perhaps Saturday would be better. I didn’t expect there would be so many who would come. Perhaps having the service on Saturday would let those attend who might not otherwise be able to get off work on Friday. Yes, yes, Henry, tell everyone the celebration will be Saturday.”

  “You mean funeral,” Henry corrected.

  “No, Henry, it will be a celebration.”

  Henry looked at him, puzzled. Mrs. Schmidt had the same look of bewilderment on her face.

  “When someone dies,” Mr. Engelmann said, “we celebrate their new life with the Lord in heaven.” He stifled a yawn. “Well, good night, Mrs. Schmidt. Good night, Henry. Thank you for all you did, today. Henry, please turn out the light and lock the door on your way out.”

  Mrs. Schmidt and Henry looked at each other, unsure what to make of Mr. Engelmann’s comments.

  Just as Mr. Engelmann turned to go there was a rap on the door. Eddy popped his head in. “You still open?”

  “Yeah, Eddy, for a minute. Out of smokes?”

  “Naw.”

  Eddy stepped in and made his way over to Mr. Engelmann. He stopped about a yard away and looked the weary store owner right in the eye. “Hey, Mr. Engelmann, me and Pop heard the missus passed on. Folks say she was a good woman. I come to say we’re sorry for your loss.”

  Mr. Engelmann nodded and a gentle smile grew slowly on his face. “It’s good of you to come, Eddy, to tell me that.”

  Mr. Engelmann extended his hand and Eddy leaned forward to take it. He nodded to Mr. Engelmann, then turned to Henry, shaking a cigarette out of its pack. “Some of the boys are coming over Friday for a few beers and a card game. Wanna come?”

  Henry looked at Mr. Engelmann then back at Eddy. “I can’t make it, Eddy. Mrs. Engelmann’s prayer service is tomorrow night.”

  Eddy lit his cigarette and waved the match out. “Yeah, maybe some other time, Hank. See ya.” He nodded towards Mrs. Schmidt and then at Mr. Engelmann.

  As Henry walked home, he wondered how Mr. Engelmann felt about going up to the apartment knowing the love of his life wasn’t there anymore. Mr. Engelmann had told him this year would have been their thirty-fourth wedding anniversary. How empty and alone Mr. Engelmann must feel. Henry wondered where Mr. Engelmann would sleep that night, if he would change the sheets, and how it would feel not to have his lifemate beside him. He imagined the bed would feel terribly cold and empty.

  It was Jenny leaving so suddenly; in a way, she too seemed dead and gone. He’d mourned her absence for months after she’d first left, and even now, three years later, the loss could still catch him off guard. What sorrow Mr. Engelmann must be going through. Life could be good but it could also be cruel. Thoughts of Mrs. Engelmann’s death, Jenny’s moving away, and his mom and dad’s loneliness tumbled over in his mind.

  The sun was just beginning to creep towards the vast prairie horizon, filling the sky with a spectacular array of colours that usually ignited a sense of awe and peace within Henry—but not tonight. No amount of colour could penetrate his sadness and fear. What was it like to die… and what did Mr. Engelmann mean about celebrating Mrs. Engelmann’s new life in heaven? Henry decided he would have to talk to Mr. Engelmann more about that.

  The following day was even busier at the store. Mr. Engelmann worked part of the time, helping Mrs. Schmidt and Henry fill orders and answering phone calls and questions. About mid-afternoon, Mrs. Bueralli arrived and slipped up to Mr. Engelmann’s living quarters. Mrs. Bueralli was the local seamstress and Mrs. Schmidt and Henry guessed she was altering Mr. Engelmann’s suit for the funeral.

  Henry wondered how Mr. Engelmann would look in a suit. For as long as he could remember he’d only seen Mr. Engelmann wear black slacks, a button-down shirt and his checkered vest. The only thing that ever changed as far as Henry could tell was the shirt. Henry wondered what he would wear himself. At the funerals he’d attended so far everyone had dressed in black. But since he didn’t have a black suit that fit him he’d have to think of something else.

  About an hour later Mrs. Bueralli came down, muttering and shaking her head as she passed Henry at the counter.

  “Is anything wrong?”

  She looked him up and down. “Oh, Santa Maria, he’s stubborn! I don’t like the colour.”

  “What do you mean?” Henry asked.

  “You’ll see,” she said as the door slammed shut behind her.

  Prayers for Mrs. Engelmann were to be held that Friday at the funeral home. Most ceremonies held there usually consisted of a brief service and a homily by the parish priest. Mr. Engelmann had decided on an open casket viewing to allow people to say goodbye to Mrs. Engelmann. Henry wondered how she would look after three days of being dead.

  Again around five o’clock, Mr. Engelmann came downstairs. Henry wondered what he’d been doing up there for most of the day. “Were you sleeping?” he asked.

  “No, Henry,” Mr. Engelmann said, “I was reading for most of the day and preparing for Anna’s farewell. There are so many scripture verses Anna liked. And there are so many I like, too. It was difficult for me to decide what the priest should read tomorrow night and the day of the funeral.”

  “I see.” Henry was going to ask Mr. Engelmann what he meant about celebrating Mrs. Engelmann’s passing but then thought better of it. Mr. Engelmann had enough on his mind and Henry would understand as the events unfolded.

  Mr. Engelmann interrupted his thoughts. “I get a lot of peace just praying and reading God’s Word. Someday perhaps you will understand.”

  “I think I do now.”

  Mr. Engelmann looked at Henry and smiled. “I’m sure you do…I’m sure you do.”

  The next day, Friday, Henry opened his eyes at about five-thirty, wide awake and unable to get back to sleep. He thought about the funeral and about the prayers scheduled at the funeral home that night. His mom had told him he should wear his black dress pants, a white shirt, one of dad’s black tie
s and his navy blue sweater. As Henry pictured himself in it, he told himself it would be okay.

  Henry pushed himself out of bed and went to his desk, taking out a few sheets of paper to make a sign for the front door of the store:

  closed today

  celebrating anna engelmann’s life

  st. mary’s church

  Henry was certain Mr. Engelmann would approve.

  He was about to put an extra sheet of paper back into the drawer when he recalled the scene in Mr. and Mrs. Engelmann’s bedroom. As the image hovered in his mind, he picked up a pencil and started sketching. The drawing that took shape beneath his hand showed Mrs. Engelmann lying in her bed with her eyes closed and Mr Engelmann leaning towards her on his chair, holding her hand. Part of the bedside table lamp was visible, giving the image a source of light and shadow. Henry shaded Mr. Engelmann’s face as he remembered it, forlorn and grieving. He sketched the large wooden cross on the wall, centred above their bed.

  Before Henry put the pencil down, an idea came to him. The wings of a guardian angel formed on the page to gently enfold Mr. Engelmann, the angel directly behind the old man, his arm resting across Mr. Engelmann’s shoulders, comforting him in his sorrow. And then Henry wondered about Mrs. Engelmann’s spirit and her guardian angel, her guide in life…and death?

  There was a motherly-sounding rap on his bedroom door. “Henry, are you up? It’s almost eight o’clock.”

  “Yes, Mom, just finishing something. I’ll be right out.” Henry looked at the drawing again. He felt very good about it. He had captured a special moment in time, honouring a love not even death could weaken. Someday he would paint it.

  When Henry joined his mother in the kitchen for breakfast, he showed the sign for the store to his mom. She said it was fine but didn’t know if the word “celebrating” was appropriate. When Henry explained to her what Mr. Engelmann had said the other day about celebrating a new life with God in heaven, she reconsidered.

  “Maybe it’s okay, Henry.”

  When Henry arrived at the store, Mr. Engelmann was up and preparing the day’s cash as he usually did. Henry was glad to see him there. Things seemed to be returning to normal.

  “Sleep well?” Henry asked, thinking a split second after he said it that maybe it was a rude question.

  But Mr. Engelmann responded readily enough, “Yes, yes, I did. I have everything planned and ready. The casket has been purchased. I talked to Father Connelly and he has agreed to everything I requested, and so I’m ready to celebrate my Anna’s new life.”

  “Oh, that reminds me, Mr. Engelmann…” Henry reached into his carrying case, “I made a sign to put on the front door. Is this okay?”

  Mr. Engelmann looked at it and beamed.

  “Yes, yes, that will be just fine. I’m glad you thought of it. It completely slipped my mind.” And then he added as an afterthought, “Only one more thing—the prayers tonight start at seven so I think we should close the store early today. Four o’clock would be good, no? That will give us all time to get ready, have supper and think about what we want to say.”

  Henry wasn’t exactly sure what Mr. Engelmann meant by that but he would find out soon enough.

  As usual, the grocery was very busy, but around quarter to four the store emptied. Most people knew of Mrs. Engelmann’s passing by now and those who could planned to attend the prayer service.

  Henry knew he needed to get going, too. But as he headed out the door, Mr. Engelmann called him back.

  “What is it, Mr. Engelmann?”

  “I have something for you. I forgot to give it to you yesterday. Wait here a minute.” He disappeared into the storeroom, his footfalls echoing up the stairwell and then back down. He reappeared holding a brown paper bag. “This is from Anna. She asked me to give this to you after she went to see her Lord.”

  Henry took the bag. “What is it, Mr. Engelmann?”

  “It is her Bible. She wanted you to have it.”

  “Oh!” Henry was surprised. “Th-thank you. Uh, are you sure you don’t want it?”

  “No, no, she wanted you to have it and so do I. I have my own and it’s marked the way I like. There’s one more thing. You will see that there is a little note from Anna to you. Be careful when you take it out because it marks a passage she wants you to read at the mass tomorrow.”

  Me? “Uh, yeah…for sure, Mr. Engelmann. Which passage, do you know?”

  “When you get home tonight, you will see. It was her favourite. Now go and get ready for prayers. I will see you there, yes?”

  “Of course, Mr. Engelmann.”

  Chapter Four

  Henry and his parents arrived at Speers Funeral Home at about quarter to seven. They thought they would be early, but many people were already there.

  Mr. Engelmann, still wearing his black slacks and vest, shook hands with everyone as they entered. There were no tears in his eyes. Instead, he was smiling and cheerful. The only thing that had changed since Henry last saw him at the store was that he was wearing a clean white shirt and a dark navy tie, and that his glasses were clear for once.

  His father shook Mr. Engelmann’s hand. “Sorry for your loss, David.”

  “Thank you, Bill.”

  The funeral chapel was already packed when they entered. The only seats left were in the second last row. Henry was disappointed. He had hoped—and wanted—to be up front to see it all. Just after they were seated, a funeral attendant approached and asked if they were the Pedersons.

  “Yes, we are,” Henry’s dad replied.

  “Mr. Engelmann would like you to sit up front with him. He doesn’t have any family and considers you folks to be his closest relatives. Would that be satisfactory?”

  “We’d be honoured,” Henry’s father said.

  The attendant held out his arm for Henry’s mother. As they walked up, people turned their heads; as hundreds of eyes fell on Henry, he felt important and nervous at the same time.

  The coffin rested at the front of the chapel. As Henry and his parents drew closer, Henry could see the outline of Mrs. Engelmann’s face, though it was partially obscured by some sort of white netting and by the edge of the coffin itself. Before he could see the rest of her, the attendant let go of his mother’s arm and stood in front of the pew, resting one hand on the rail and motioning to Henry to go in and be seated with the other. Henry’s father squeezed in first, then his mother and lastly him, leaving enough space for Mr. Engelmann on the end.

  As they waited for the service to begin, he tried to discreetly peer into the coffin at Mrs. Engelmann, but the only thing he could see at that angle was the sheer white net above her face. On either side of the casket stood two wooden plant stands, white, each holding a simple but beautiful bouquet of assorted flowers. Another modest floral arrangement lay atop the closed bottom half of the casket.

  The casket was nothing like the elaborate oak caskets he had seen some of his relatives buried in. There was no gold trim or brass handles. It was made entirely of clear light pine; it didn’t even look varnished. Henry knew Mr. Engelmann could afford more. Why would he go with such an inexpensive casket for the woman he loved so much? Wasn’t the casket a symbol of how much you cared for the deceased? Mrs. Engelmann’s coffin was a—a pauper’s casket; it would rot away in weeks! Would it even support the weight of the ground on top of her? Henry was certain most of those gathered must be feeling slightly ashamed of Mr. Engelmann and sorry for his wife. Henry was embarrassed for him at the thought.

  When the organ finally started, it wasn’t a familiar funeral hymn. It wasn’t even mournful. It sounded more like some type of classical music. Perhaps baroque? It was very pleasant to listen to, anyway. Rather than setting the stage for tears, it was more likely to encourage foot-tapping. It sounded like the music Mr. Engelmann often turned on in the store.

  Henry had expected—and figured eve
ryone else had, as well—Mr. Engelmann to come down the aisle at any moment accompanied by a funeral attendant, but once again Mr. Engelmann surprised them. The door to the right of the podium suddenly swung open and Mr. Engelmann appeared. He walked to the pew where Henry and his parents sat, faced the congregation and gave a brief nod of greeting, almost like a conductor greeting an audience before a performance. This was completely outside of the norm for him; it was almost like a celebrity coming on stage and was so unlike Mr. Engelmann, who shunned any kind of showiness most of the time. Henry wondered what else Mr. Engelmann had in store.

  After a moment Father Connelly emerged also. He walked over to the podium and cleared his throat. “Good evening. It is so nice to see so many of you here to share in prayers for Anna Engelmann. I am sorry there is not enough room for everyone in the chapel but the funeral director has turned on the speakers in the foyer so everyone can hear and participate.

  “We will not say a mass this evening as we sometimes do. A Low Mass will be celebrated tomorrow at St. Mary’s Church, beginning at ten a.m. Following the mass you are invited to the Regina Memorial Cemetery to attend Anna at her final resting place.

  “After I say prayers for our dearly departed, there will be a procession to the front at which time you may say goodbye to Anna and offer a parting prayer. After the viewing, Mr. Engelmann would like to speak to all of you, and following that any of you who knew Anna are welcome to come forward and say a few words of remembrance.”

  Father Connelly moved behind the altar and opened a large red book. “Please stand.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Father Connelly said prayers and gave a blessing over Anna. Walking over to the podium, he reached into an invisible pocket in his black robe and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. After a pause to unfold it, he began to talk about Mrs. Engelmann, her life as he knew it. He recalled some of the chats they’d had during their visits over the years, as well as the ways she had helped both the parish and community. Perhaps most impressive of all had been her service of care and kindness to the customers at the store.