Pewter Angels (38 page)

Before Henry could yell, “No it wasn’t!” Mr. Engelmann said, “He succumbed to temptation, Henry. We don’t know the circumstances that led him to make this decision. It is easy to judge others, but unless you walk in their footsteps and have the life experiences they had up to the time that caused them to choose as they did, we cannot judge.

“Even the cruelty of the Nazis, as terrible as they were, was a result of the experiences they had and beliefs they were taught up to that time. In their hearts they believed they were doing the right thing. It’s difficult to understand and accept, Henry, but we must always try to separate the person from his actions and leave judgment of others up to God.”

“But people have to be punished for the wrongs that they do, otherwise it’s just not fair!”

“Yes, certain actions cannot be allowed. That is why we have courts and jails. But what I am trying to say, Henry, is that even when people do wrong or terrible things, they are still children of God. It is the
decision
that led to the bad action that is wrong, but because God loves each person, it is the
person
that we must always love and be ready to forgive. In short, Henry, we hate the sin, but love the sinner.”

Mr. Engelmann looked at him earnestly and Henry thought he was finally beginning to understand. Mr. Engelmann pressed on.

“Have you always done the right thing, Henry?” Before Henry could answer, Mr. Engelmann made it even more specific. “Have you ever taken something that wasn’t yours or said something that wasn’t true?”

“Yes,” he nodded, contrite.

“Well, they may be little things, Henry, but they, too, were wrong and not based upon right values of truth and honesty, yes?” He looked at Henry.

Henry nodded again.

“Well, if I know you did wrong, should I then see you as a bad person through and through, and hold it against you forever? Should I conclude that if you stole once, you are a thief forever and I should never trust or forgive you?”

“But,” Henry protested, “what my dad did was really bad. It’s a
big
mistake.”

“Ah, that’s right, Henry. It is just as you said, a big mistake.” Henry was glad Mr. Engelmann agreed with him, but then the older man continued, “And a big mistake requires an even bigger amount of forgiveness.”

That one-two punch caught Henry off guard. He could no longer justify his feelings. He’d been so righteous in his hate and anger but now he just didn’t know anymore.

“Hate, unforgiveness, resentment,” Mr. Engelmann went on, “holds others as well as ourselves in bondage, Henry. What about that boy, Eddy Zeigler? Look how he hurt you and Jenny. Just the other day you told me what a good friend he is becoming, and it’s all because you let go of the anger and forgave him.”

“Yeah, okay, but my dad is so much closer to me than Eddy. I never expected my dad to hurt Mom and me …”

“Yes, when family hurts us, it is harder at times to forgive because we are closer and expect more from each other. In the end, though, it still comes down to forgiveness. We must separate the act from the person.”

Mr. Engelmann paused for a moment and nodded before clarifying further. “The person who hurts us knows and feels our unwillingness to forgive, and therefore can’t let go of it. In the same way, we also hurt ourselves for the sake of getting even and trying to make others pay for their mistakes and for hurting us.

“If you hadn’t forgiven Eddy, you would still be hurting. You would still be a victim of your own unforgiveness. And Eddy, too, sensing your anger, would also be in bondage and unable to freely relate to you the way he does now. And it will be the same with your dad.

“Your hope lies in the love and forgiveness that unlocks the spirit and allows us to do the right thing. We must do what Jesus taught us: love our neighbour as ourselves. He showed us the way, the truth and the light. He forgave, even as they nailed him to the cross.”

The whistling blast of the teakettle startled them both. They’d been so absorbed in their talk they had forgotten all about the hot chocolate.

“Ah, finally!” Mr. Engelmann turned off the stove, picked up the teakettle with a thick cloth pad and poured two steaming cups of hot chocolate. As Henry sipped the soothing drink, Mr. Engelmann said, “The big thing about the choice your dad made, Henry, is that it violated his commitment to your mom and to you.”

“Yeah! Yeah, that’s right. What about that?” And before Mr. Engelmann could answer, Henry went on, “He always told me a man is only as good as his word. How can I ever trust him again?”

“Well, your trust in your father has been put in jeopardy and that’s equally as important as forgiveness. The two are very much connected. If your dad comes back, how will you know he won’t do it again? How do you reestablish faith in him?”

Henry looked at Mr. Engelmann, anxious for the answer.

“Once again, Henry, it must start with forgiveness. You wipe the slate clean and start over, building up love and trust day by day. Look at the alternative. Look at how angry you feel now. You want to hit him, hurt him and get even. With such thoughts and feelings, how can you even begin to think about trust or love unless you forgive? If you don’t, Henry, you will suffer along with your dad and your mom, the spirit of the family trapped in a web of anger and unforgiveness. This is one of the most important lessons in life, Henry. If you want peace, health, joy and happiness, then foster a spirit of forgiveness in your heart; it will give you all this and much more.”

Mr. Engelmann’s words were beginning to sink in. Henry did feel trapped, but sensed his anger loosening its hold on him. In a way it was like what he had done with Eddy. If he hadn’t risen above their conflict, they would still be at odds with each other.

“Henry, we were meant to love. Only in the spirit of love can we grow. Love demands forgiveness or it is not love. Love is patient, kind, honest, truthful, forgiving and on and on, Henry. In turn we must constantly make choices based on those values. It’s easy to make hard decisions when they are based on sound values.”

At first Henry didn’t quite get it, but the more he thought about it, the more he understood. If he really believed in his heart that it was important to be honest, truthful, forgiving and kind, and if he really accepted those values as the basis of his life, he could forgive his dad for what he had done. It was just like that time he’d almost made love with Jenny or stolen the six quarters that the well-dressed man had left behind when he’d bought those three packages of cigarettes. This was just another decision—only bigger and harder to make.

Henry looked up at Mr. Engelmann. He was such a wise man, kind and understanding. Henry hoped he could be like him some day.

“Anna and I are committed to each other. When we were married, we made a vow to love and to honour each other in sickness and in health until death do us part. And so it must be. In our lives we, too, have quarrelled. We, too, have been angry with one another—but at the end of each day as the sun goes down, so do our differences and anger. It disappears into the night, and with the sunrise, as the sun comes up to start a new day, so too does our marriage and our love for each other.

“As I said, in a moment of weakness fueled by circumstances, your father broke his commitment to his wife and to you, and now you and your mother face the challenge of forgiving and building up trust once again. It’s up to you, Henry, to choose this minute. What do you want to do? Continue along the path of hurt, hate and anger? Or choose to forgive, to be an example to your mom, to lead your family out of this darkness?

“Even though you are much younger than your parents, you can play a very important role in healing your family, whether your dad comes back or not. Parents are also weak and frail. They need help and guidance just like their children. It is up to you, Henry.”

At that precise moment the phone rang. After Mr. Engelmann hung up, Henry looked at him.

“Thank you,” Henry said, and he meant it. “I’ll try.”

“You have a good heart, Henry. I know you will do the right thing.”

Mr. Engelmann set his empty mug on the counter, walked back to Henry, and wrapped his arms around him. Henry hugged back. As he did, his cup tilted and the little bit of hot chocolate remaining in the mug spilled onto the floor, barely missing the back of Mr. Engelmann’s trousers. They looked down at the puddle and chuckled.

T
he cold weather continued
until the middle of March and Jenny was still able to hide her pregnancy under bulky winter sweaters. She could have stayed in school longer, but she grew tired more easily, and so the Sarskys decided it was time for Dr. Breck to send his letter to the school.

Now that Jenny was home and had more time on her hands, she thought more and more about Henry and the baby. In bed at night, she was becoming attached to the baby, caressed her growing belly, thinking of Henry and her love for him. Day after day that love expanded to include her unborn child, and though the baby wasn’t Henry’s, she could no longer see how she could give it up for adoption. It seemed so cold. She knew, too, that the moment the infant was born, it would be immediately removed from the delivery room. She would not be allowed to see or hold her baby.
My baby.
She’d been told it was best for birth mothers to have no attachment or memory.

It seemed so harsh. Jenny wanted to see and hold the child she was carrying, for the baby to feel, at least once, that it was loved. Just like she knew Henry had loved her. Each kick and movement inside her solidified her connection to the unborn babe. She tracked its shifts and pushings with her hand on her bare skin, trying to touch it, to visualize it somehow. What it might look like. Whether it was a boy or a girl. Oh, she just had to see her baby, hold her child. It was hers. Tears came to Jenny’s eyes just thinking about it.

If only it was Henry’s baby, then she would have something to hold onto, something that would overshadow the horrible experience of that night. She imagined calling Henry to tell him they had a baby. It would be worrying, but joyful, too. He would come to her. They would make plans for the future, and she wouldn’t have to give the baby away.

But there was no Henry, no letters. If only he would write and give her some hint that he still loved her. With each passing day, that hope had faded. Henry was gone and soon the child she loved within her would be gone as well.

At one point, Jenny had thought of writing her feelings about the baby and the pregnancy in her diary, but she just couldn’t. The whole thing was so tangled and tortured she didn’t want to see it in black and white. Or be reminded of what had happened. Instead she wrote letters to Henry, knowing she would never send them, telling him of the baby and how she felt it move under her heart. That she wished it would be a boy so she could name him Henry.

She wrote three letters. It seemed to help for awhile, but the very next week, in a fit of hopeless despair, Jenny tore them up and sobbed.

Jenny was alone one evening while her mother and father were in the city at the premiere of a new play. The quietness of the large house only enhanced her loneliness.
Oh, Henry
, she thought, and smiled sadly at the nickname. She missed him and wanted to talk to him so badly, to tell him what had happened—she wanted to phone him. She’d thought of calling lots of times before, but her mother had always told her the long distance charges were outrageous.
If only mom understood how much I need to talk to him!
Jenny thought. And yet, she carried another man’s baby. Why would he still want to talk to her, let alone care about her or her child?
But, oh, even just to hear his voice …!

Out of this anguish came a new thought. She didn’t have to
talk
to him; she could phone station-to-station and take a chance that he’d answer. If he didn’t, she would simply hang up.

At least then she could hear his voice. She missed him so much.

Spurred on by loneliness, Jenny did the unthinkable. She picked up the phone and dialed the operator. The operator in Saskatchewan gave Jenny the number for Pederson on Broder Street. “Is this call station-to-station or person-to-person?”

Jenny paused for a long moment. She didn’t want to say who was calling. She just wanted to hear Henry’s voice.

“Station-to-station,” Jenny replied, hoping against hope he would answer the phone. The operator dialed the Pederson’s number. Jenny’s heart pounded in her throat as she listened to the phone ring in Henry’s house. After the second ring a male voice answered. Henry. His voice sounded a bit lower … “Hello?”

Tears slid down Jenny’s face as she listened with all her heart to Henry’s voice. She silently sent her love and yearning to him across the miles. She wanted to scream into the phone that it was her and that she loved him and that she wanted him to come to her…

“Is anyone there?” Henry thought he heard someone crying. He listened for another moment and then slowly hung up the phone.

“No! Wait!” Jenny yelled as she heard the click of the receiver. Hearing Henry’s voice had sent her spirits soaring. Her eyes sparkled through her tears. For the first time in months, she finally had something to hold onto. She gripped the receiver, unable to hang up. It had been so good to hear him. She should have talked to him, told him about her pregnancy. Surely he would understand. But it was not his child. Would it be fair to ask him to accept the child along with her?

It was all too much to think about.

After henry hung up,
he returned to the sofa and picked up the magazine he’d been reading.
That was a strange call
. Suddenly, an indescribable feeling swept through him. He got up and went to the phone again, picking up the receiver. There was no dial tone. The call hadn’t been disconnected.

Again he heard sobbing. “Hello? Who is this?”

Henry’s voice startled her
. Panicked, she lowered her voice, trying to disguise it, “Oh, I—I have the wrong number. Sorry to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble at all. What number were you calling?”

Jenny looked at the number she had written down on the pad. She repeated it but changed the last digit.

“Yes, that’s almost our number,” Henry chuckled, “but you’re out by one.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for troubling you,” Jenny said again, fumbling for what else to say.

“Well, have a good evening,” Henry offered, trying to end the call on a cheerier note.

“Yes, good night.” Jenny almost added, “Henry.”

“What was that all that about?” Henry’s mom asked..

“I don’t know. At first I thought it was some kid fooling around on the phone. I heard crying and hung up. Then, for some reason or other, I picked up the phone again, and there was a lady on the line, crying. She must have still been on the phone.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know. She seemed so unhappy. I wish I could have helped her.”

Mary’s expression reflected the puzzlement on his own face.

When Henry sat back down on the sofa, he couldn’t get the sound of the lady’s voice out of his mind. For a moment it had sounded like …
Oh, that’s absurd
, he finally told himself. She would have said who she was. But the thought gnawed at him. Henry now wished he had asked straight out, “Is this Jenny?” With that, Henry rushed to the phone. This time there was only a dial tone.

After Jenny hung up
, she went into the living room, tossed her self on the couch, and cried. She felt so trapped, so confused and frustrated, so in love and unable to express her multitude of feelings.

Surely Henry would understand if she told him she was pregnant. Jenny just knew that he loved her. But if that were so, why hadn’t he written? The same answer echoed through her mind— he had heard that she had been raped that night in the park and was no longer interested in her.
But if he really loves me, it shouldn’t matter.

“Oh, what should I do?” Jenny cried out loud. She had to talk to someone. She would share it all with her mother in the morning. Her mom would help her sort things out and tell her what to do. Besides, her parents were going to know she had phoned Regina when they got the telephone bill at the end of the month, anyway.

When her mom and dad arrived home shortly after midnight, they found Jenny asleep on the couch, her head resting on a tear-soaked cushion.

When Jenny got up
in the morning, her mother was in the kitchen having a coffee. Her father had already gone to work. She knew it would likely upset her mother to talk about Henry, but Jenny couldn’t help that. Jenny slowly built up her courage, and told her mother what she had done. Edith turned pale.

“You did what?!”

“I phoned him, but I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I just wanted to hear his voice. I miss him so much, Mom. I need to talk to him, so badly. Do you think it’s okay to call him again?”

Edith Sarsky gazed
into her daughter’s eyes. For the first time, she glimpsed what Ted saw all the time: how much Jenny loved and missed Henry. It lasted for only a second. Long enough for her to see all the problems and complications that would result if she wavered from her decision.

If Henry got involved in all this, they would have to deal with the letters that Ted had destroyed. If he and Jenny got back together, they might decide to keep the baby and then what? Would Henry quit school? Would Jenny stay home and raise a child? No. Impossible. And besides, Jenny was just lonely and reaching out for someone, and Edith was certain that the two of them would get over it and move on. They were just kids, for God’s sake. It was only puppy love.

“Oh, Jenny,” Edith said, patting her daughter’s hand. “I know how much you miss Henry, but you two are so young. Look how complicated your life is already. It would be unfair to ask Henry to share this responsibility, to carry such a burden at his age.”

“Yeah, Mom, I thought of that, too, last night. That’s why I didn’t say anything to him.”

“See, even you realize what’s best. No, Jenny, it’s hard enough that you have to go through all this. If it was Henry’s child, then it might be a different matter. But you yourself have insisted he had nothing to do with it, and the circumstances are so …” Edith couldn’t finish.

She went over to Jenny and put her arms around her daughter. “I know how difficult this all is, but soon the baby will be born and you can get on with your life. You haven’t heard from Henry in months. Perhaps he has moved on already.”

Edith paused so Jenny could absorb what she had said. Jenny was so much like her father, easily swayed by a little subtle reasoning.

“Jenny,” her mother continued, looking into her daughter’s eyes, “It’s best to just leave it be. Please don’t phone Henry again. Don’t complicate his life or yours any more than it already is.”

Tears rolled silently down Jenny’s cheeks. She couldn’t speak so she just nodded.

“And let’s just keep this between us girls, okay? It bothers your father so much that you’re pregnant. He blames himself for all the disruption in your life. This would only add to his grief.”

Jenny nodded again.