Another Angel of Love Page 9

  As Margaret retook her seat, Mr. Engelmann began to clap. Others followed, until the entire congregation was on its feet in a standing ovation.

  During communion, many stopped to say goodbye to Anna for the last time on the way back to their pew.

  When the mass was over, Father Connelly blessed the casket one more time. The funeral director walked up and began to lower its lid until Mr. Engelmann whispered something to him. The director raised the lid and moved away, allowing Mr. Engelmann to step forward. Mr. Engelmann stood there and looked at his wife for a long moment. He bent over and kissed her. He put a hand on top of Anna’s and patted them. For the first time in public, tears rose in his eyes.

  After Mr. Engelmann’s final farewell, the funeral director closed the casket. Father Connelly reminded the congregation they were welcome to gather in the church hall for lunch and refreshments. Those who wished to attend the graveside ceremony could return to the hall right after the internment. The service concluded with “Come and Go With Me to That Land,” a sprightly contrast to “Peace is Flowing Like a River” and “How Great Thou Art” the organ had played during communion.

  When the choir started to sing, the congregation joined in. As they sang people clapped to the music, swayed back and forth, and danced on the spot. By the time the pallbearers, led by Father Connelly and the altar boys, had escorted the casket out to the waiting hearse, the congregation was in a cheerful mood, out of character with what most people would consider a normal, solemn funeral. It was almost as if they were happy Anna had died and gone to heaven. But, Henry knew Mrs. Engelmann was looking down on all this and just a-lovin’ it.

  Because Henry and his dad were pallbearers, they got in the limousine with Mr. Engelmann and watched the people spill out onto the sidewalk. He didn’t see one person without a smile on his or her face. They greeted each other, shook hands and talked about the service. Henry had never seen people mingle and talk to each other like that after a funeral or even after a regular Sunday mass. It was almost as if people’s inhibitions had been exchanged for a spirit of love.

  When Mr. Engelmann had settled himself in the seat next to them, the funeral director signaled the hearse to start what would become almost a half-mile long procession. Other drivers who had stopped out of respect for the deceased must have become impatient as car after car streamed by. Henry was certain they must have thought some dignitary had died.

  “Thank you, Henry, Bill, for doing this last service for Anna,” Mr. Engelmann said.

  Henry’s dad just nodded. Though he said nothing, Henry knew he was feeling it all very deeply.

  The breeze was soft. Birds chirped and flower petals fluttered gently on this beautiful prairie summer day, their sweet, natural perfume filling the air. Mrs. Engelmann was surrounded by all the things she loved—her friends, her loved ones, the glory of nature. What a perfect place in which to be put to rest.

  At the graveside, Father Connelly waited until the hundred or so people had gathered then nodded to the funeral director to open the back of the hearse and slide the casket out. Henry, his dad and the other pallbearers took hold of the rope handles and carried the casket to the grave, weaving among the tombstones until they reached the site.

  On either side of the grave, they positioned the casket over the opening and began to lower it onto three straps that spanned the opening in the ground. All of a sudden, Bill slipped on the vinyl tarp surrounding the hole and fell partially in! Fortunately the middle strap caught him squarely between the legs, preventing him from falling further—though it was undignified, to say the least. The crowd nearest the grave let out a gasp. Those farther away rose on their tiptoes or moved from side to side to see what had happened. Henry almost burst out laughing at the horrified look on his dad’s face. He had to quickly divert his attention to rebalancing the casket in order to maintain his composure.

  The funeral director rushed over and pulled Bill out. Once his feet were firmly planted on the tarp, he took up his position once more and they lowered the casket successfully onto the straps, letting go with a silent sigh of relief.

  Father Connelly then spoke as loudly as he could, trying to project his voice so all could hear his final prayers and blessing.

  Mr. Engelmann stood behind Henry and his dad, and as Father Connelly read the prayers, Henry moved until he stood beside Mr. Engelmann, who slipped an arm around his shoulders.

  At the Father’s signal, the altar boys removed the lid of a small brass container suspended from three chains. Father Connelly took a spoonful of ashes from the container, emptied it on the casket and said, “From dust thou wast made and unto dust thou shalt return.” He bowed his head, focusing his eyes on a prayer in the book an altar boy held open before him. After reading it, he blessed the casket and gravesite by making the sign of the cross. “In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.”

  Mr. Engelmann slid his arm from Henry’s shoulder and went over to the casket. He removed the carnation from his lapel and set it on the casket next to the ashes. Then he knelt and kissed the pine box, the wood warmed by the bright sun overhead. He patted it several times as a last farewell. As he stood, a heavy tear splashed onto the pine box and rolled over the side into the depths of the grave below. A part of him would be with Anna forevermore.

  Mr. Engelmann turned and walked away, the final image of Anna beneath that pine cover difficult to dispel from his thoughts. He headed right to the hearse, not looking back. The crowd stepped aside to make room for him. Most looked on with compassion, while others reached out in support and comfort to touch him as he passed by. Mr. Engelmann’s final quiet goodbye and the long, lonely walk back to the limousine was perhaps the saddest thing Henry had ever seen.

  With the funeral over, David knew the next and hardest phase had already begun. He would return to an empty house. He would no longer have the support of friends or the distraction of the funeral. He would be alone. Even though Anna had been bedridden, at the end of each day he’d had someone to come home to, someone to talk to, someone whose presence he could feel even when she slept. But with Anna gone, the only thing awaiting him upstairs was a lonely and lifeless room.

  The pain hit him as he sat in the limousine, the tinted windows shutting out the light he needed at that moment to revive his sinking spirit. After a whispered word to Bill and Henry, Mary slid into the limousine beside him and placed a hand over his. They sat in silence as the vehicle’s engine sprang to life. The driver pushed a button and the sunroof slid open above them. Slowly the shiny black car meandered through the cemetery, periodically stopping for people crossing the road.

  The sunlight through the trees alternated light and shadow, dappling the glow through the open sunroof as they passed under the thick canopy of elm trees lining the lane, helping to distract Mr. Engelmann. The warm summer breeze wafted over him like a soothing massage. He closed his eyes, rested his head against the high back seat and allowed himself to drift, welcoming nature’s healing balm. Soon they would be back at the church hall, and for the last time that day, he would have to put on a brave front. He wanted it all to be over. He ached to be alone so he could let go and mourn his beloved Anna. Thankfully, the next day was Sunday and a day of rest. The store would be closed and he would have at least a day to contemplate his new life…alone.

  As Mr. Engelmann’s limousine left, Bill pulled Henry aside. “Son, there’s something I want to show you, and something I want to talk about.”

  “Don’t you think we’d better be heading back to the hall?”

  “In a moment; the other limousine isn’t quite ready to go yet. There’s something I want you to see. I saw it as we carried Anna’s casket to the gravesite.”

  Without the parked hearse to guide them through the maze they had carried Anna’s coffin through, Henry’s father had to stop and read the tombstones.

  Henry followed, baffled.

  In the
distance, Henry watched a tractor with a long arm and a scoop at the end of it wend its way up the lane, probably towards Anna’s grave. Once the hole was filled and the sod replaced, Anna’s gravesite would look like everyone else’s, lost among the multitude of those who’d gone before her. Only a brass marker or granite stone would let the world know that Anna Engelmann had lived until 1959.

  “Here it is,” his father called out. He had been weaving in and out of tombstones for almost five minutes and was about quite a number of yards off to the right from where they had started. Henry walked over to his dad, following his father’s gaze to the words chiselled into a granite tombstone:

  Jacob Stevens

  1873-1946

  eternally i ask for forgiveness

  As they stood there under the warm afternoon sun, partially shaded by the leaves of the large tree overhead, Henry’s mind settled on the word “forgiveness.” That’s what his dad wanted to talk about.

  He didn’t look up at his father but kept his eyes on the tombstone. Henry guessed he was about to hear a confession of some sort—and he wasn’t really sure he wanted to hear it—but he waited until his dad was ready to talk, as Mr. Engelmann had done so many times with him.

  “Seems like this man did something he wasn’t proud of to ask for forgiveness in such a bold, public way, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah,” Henry said, “wonder what he did?”

  “I don’t think it really matters. I read it earlier and I guess all the things that were said yesterday and today made me think about my life, and what I needed to do.”

  Henry was going to ask what he meant by that but decided to remain silent and listen like Mr. Engelmann always did when he was trying to sort out and express something important and personal.

  “Son, I did a terrible thing to Mom and to you. I’m not proud of it. I’m ashamed, as a matter of fact. And like I said, when I read this inscription, it struck me hard that I need my family’s forgiveness and that I need to set our lives straight again. I made a mistake, son, a huge one, and I’m very sorry for what I did. I failed, both as a husband and a father. I broke my wedding vow to your mom, and my commitment to you as a parent…I can’t explain to you why I did it, and in the end it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing that can justify what I did. Whether it’s my job, the need to get away from the daily coldness in the plant, some escape—no…”

  His father’s voice had become dry and crackly. Henry could feel the sorrow and regret in the sincerity of his words.

  “I guess I don’t want to be like this Jacob fellow here and have to ask for eternal forgiveness, Henry. I want and need your forgiveness now, when we are alive. I promise I’ll never do such a terrible thing again. You’ll never have to question my trust and loyalty to Mom or you ever again. I want this thing to be over once and…” here he began to cry, “I need you to forgive me.”

  No other words came and he broke into sobs.

  By then, tears had filled Henry’s eyes as well. He turned to his dad and before he could speak, his dad grabbed him and wrapped his arms around him. Henry returned the hug, and it wasn’t anything like the lifeless gesture he’d given his father the night he’d returned from Vancouver.

  Catching his breath, Henry said, “I forgive you, Dad…and I love you.”

  His father’s grip tightened around him. It was the closest Henry had ever felt to his father.

  The words Mr. Engelmann had said to Henry several times before, that good can come even out of tragedy, echoed poignantly in Henry’s mind as he and his father embraced one another among the tombstones. From seemingly terrible things in life the most wonderful moments could arise when people trusted the Lord. From Anna’s death, his father’s infidelity, even the trials of Jacob Stevens, came new life, renewal…forgiveness.

  As they walked back to the paved road, the black limousine slowly approached. The funeral director’s assistant was waiting. Henry understood then that his dad had asked the man to wait after the burial service. The assistant stopped the car just ahead of them and got out of the limousine.

  “Thank you for waiting for us,” said his father.

  “My pleasure, sir,” he replied, with a nod. “It’s a beautiful day.”

  Henry looked out the window at the cemetery before leaving the grounds. For most of his life, he had considered a graveyard to be a fearful place, a place where ghosts rose from the ground to walk or float around at night. But that day left him with a new image. A cemetery was a place of peace, a placeholder marking the end of one’s earthly journey, the end of pain and suffering—and the beginning of a new life with God.

  Chapter Six

  On Sunday, the day after the funeral when Henry and his parents arrived for the ten o’clock mass, Henry spotted Mr. Engelmann sitting about seven rows from the front, but there were no other seats around him. He would have to wait until after the service to talk to him.

  Somehow the High Mass seemed anticlimactic compared to the Low Mass for Anna the day before. Following the service, people approached Mr. Engelmann to express their condolences and offer their help in any way they could. Mr. Engelmann nodded politely and moved from one parishioner to the next. Finally, Henry’s mother had the opportunity to talk to him, and Henry, standing nearby, noticed Mr. Engelmann’s eyes were red and puffy. Last night must have been very hard on him.

  His mom asked if he would come over for supper that evening.

  “Thank you for the invitation, Mary, but I would like to spend today at home. Perhaps next Sunday. I would very much like to come for supper then if the offer is still open?”

  “Yes, of course, David.”

  “Good, I will look forward to a home-cooked meal.”

  Monday morning, Henry awoke and glanced at his bedside clock. Nine-thirty—he’d slept in! His father had already left for work when Henry entered the kitchen.

  His mother had her hands in the dishwater, scrubbing the roasting pan from Sunday dinner.

  “It sure was good to sleep in. I really must have been tired,” he said as he sat at the table.

  “Yes, I could see you were.”

  “How are you feeling today?”

  “Oh, a little tired myself, I guess. When you head off to work, I may lie down and have a little nap before you come home for lunch.”

  An uncomfortable silence settled between them and Henry knew something was bothering his mom.

  “Is everything okay, Mom?”

  “Oh, yes…” After a considerable pause, she asked, “What did you and Dad talk about after the funeral?”

  Henry thought about her question, trying to decide how much to tell his mom. Would it upset her to know that his dad had asked for his forgiveness? Maybe she had forgotten most of it and he would only be reminding her of the hell she’d gone through. Tell the truth, he thought. “Truth is always the best policy,” Mr. Engelmann would say.

  “You know, Mom, I don’t think I’ve ever been closer to Dad than I was on Saturday.”

  “Why?” she asked. “What happened?” She looked at him for a moment, but then turned back to the sink and stared at the dirty dishes.

  “I hope this doesn’t upset you, but Dad asked me to forgive him for what he had done. He told me he felt so ashamed for hurting you and me, and vowed he would never do such a thing again.”

  After another long silence, Mary asked hesitantly, “Did he tell you why he did it?”

  “No, not really. He kind of hinted that it had something to do with his work. I don’t think he likes his job. Maybe he just wanted to get away. I really can’t say. But one thing I do know is that I’ve never seen Dad like that before. He cried a lot, and I know he felt very sorry for his mistake. I forgave him, Mom, and told him I loved him.” And as Henry said the words “forgave” and “loved,” tears welled up in his eyes.

  His mother remained silent, her back still to hi
m. Henry couldn’t read her and didn’t know if he’d upset her.

  “Have you forgiven Dad?”

  There was another drawn-out silence, then, “Yes, I have.”

  “Have you really?”

  “Yes!” she snapped, offended by his persistence.

  Once again, Henry considered whether it was better to drop it or keep the issue alive. And, once again, Mr. Engelmann’s advice popped into his mind. “Always talk things out. Avoiding problems is very unhealthy. They will fester like a dormant volcano, ready to erupt when you least expect.”

  “Mom,” Henry said cautiously, “I don’t think you really have forgiven Dad.”

  Now Mary turned and faced him. She was crying. “How do you know how I feel? How can you say such an awful thing?”

  Henry paused, knowing her anger was superficial. He allowed his gaze to turn towards his parent’s bedroom. Her eyes followed his.

  “Henry!” she blurted. “That is between your father and me and doesn’t concern you one little bit!” Her face was red, but Henry didn’t know if it was because he had looked at their bedroom or because he was challenging her on the twin bed set-up. Henry could feel the anguish his mother held inside, the hurt like knives piercing her heart. The pain she must suffer every day… and Dad carrying that burden…and me. He clearly understood what Mr. Engelmann had told him on several occasions. Unwillingness to forgive holds you in bondage and those around you as well. What his dad must be going through…yeah, it is almost as if the entire family is trapped in an invisible prison.