Pewter Angels (27 page)

Ted buzzed his secretary. “Please call Mr. Engelmann back. Let him know that I am in meetings all day and will return his call first thing in the morning.”

After jenny went to her room
later that evening, Ted found his wife in the living room and sat down next to her, holding out the letter he had read in the car.

“Edith, I think we need to talk about our decision not to mail Jenny’s letters to Henry Pederson.”

Edith’s head snapped up. “Why do you want to bring that up again?”

Ted knew he was in for a battle. He looked Edith straight in the eye. “Edith, I feel very guilty about destroying Jenny’s letters and I don’t think we’re doing the right thing. On my way to the city, I read the letter Jenny gave me to mail yesterday morning. Not sending her letters is hurting not only Henry, but our daughter, too.”

“Oh, Ted, don’t be so dramatic. They’re just kids. They’ll get over it. Someone has to be strong here and see the sense in all this. Don’t worry. It will soon be over and forgotten.”

“But, Edith, Jenny has a right to send letters and Henry has a right to receive them. Here, read this.” Ted thrust Jenny’s letter towards his wife. “See for yourself what a terrible mistake this is.”

Edith rolled her eyes and yanked the letter from Ted’s hand. As she read the letter, her expression of annoyance changed to one of triumph.

It wasn’t exactly the reaction he had been hoping for.

“See, Ted, just another week and it’ll all be over. I’m glad you read this—it confirms what I’ve thought all along: the whole thing was nothing more than a summer romance, Jenny attaching herself to someone to get some stability in her life after all the moving around we’ve done over the past few years. I can’t believe you’re talking this way. It’s so near the end and you want to open it all up again? I don’t think so.” She quickly rescanned the letter and reiterated, “It’ll be over and done with in just another week.”

She tossed the letter on the coffee table, dismissive.

Ted picked it up again.

As he reread it, Edith continued, “If you stir things up now, after all this time, God only knows what will happen. What if she wants to visit him, or he asks to come here for a week or so?

What if she gets pregnant, Ted, then what? Would you admit I was right when it’s too late and the damage is done? They’re just kids, Ted. For God’s sake, let it go. You have enough on your plate with your new job. And besides, can’t you see the terrible mess we’d be in if we suddenly sent one of Jenny’s letters? Their next question would be
Where did all the other letters go?
Are you willing to tell your daughter you destroyed them and have been lying to her all along?”

Ted sat back, confused again. The word pregnant resonated in his mind. If he got those kids back together again and Jenny got pregnant, he’d never hear the end of it. This morning he’d been so sure that Edith would see things his way after reading Jenny’s letter. But maybe Edith was right, after all. How had he allowed himself to get so emotionally involved? If Jenny found out that they had destroyed all the letters … “My God, I hate to even think about it, but it really bothers me still,” Ted murmured.

“What did you say, Ted?”

Ted was reluctant to share his feelings any further, afraid of what Edith might say, yet he still felt he should protest. “But, Edith, we’re lying to her. She thinks I’m mailing her letters when I am, in fact, destroying them. I just took another six or seven down to the furnace room the other day and tossed them into the fire. You have no idea—”

“Ted, we’ve been over and over this. You have to look at the bigger picture, the overall good. We don’t know much about this Henry. And the two of them are only fifteen! Besides, we’re here in Ottawa now. Jenny has to make new friends and move on. Continuing a relationship with someone so far away, prolonging it by mail, will only stop her from going out with other boys and getting on with her life.”

There was a long silence. Edith could see Ted was once again on track, but for added measure, she pushed her point. “Ted, sometimes we have to do things we don’t like because it’s best for all concerned. Look at the executive you had to fire back in Regina. Remember how you stewed about it for weeks, how difficult it was for you to let him go because he was married and had three children? Yet when you finally did it, remember how everything improved, how the atmosphere in the workplace immediately got better and sales went up.”

“Yes … that’s true; sometimes positives can come from negatives,” Ted conceded.

“Exactly. And things worked out well for him, too. He started up his own business and is doing really quite well now, right?”

Ted was becoming more and more convinced that Edith was right. “You know, it’s a good thing Jenny has only written to Henry. I’d hate to think what we’d have to do if she wanted to phone him. She’d find out immediately that he hasn’t received a single letter she wrote.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Edith said with confidence.

“Why not?”

“About two weeks ago Jenny asked if she could phone Henry or the grocery store where he worked.”

“What!” Ted exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You have enough to worry about.”

“Well, tell me what happened?”

“I simply told her that it was very expensive to phone long distance and we didn’t want her to start doing that, that writing to Henry was best and put less pressure on him. That way she would be leaving it up to him whether or not to write back. Boys don’t like to be chased, I told her. I didn’t want to upset her, but she was going to have to face facts sooner or later.”

“And Jenny just accepted that without any argument?”

“She seemed to. She said, ‘Perhaps you’re right, Mom.’”

“And she hasn’t brought it up since?”

Edith looked away. After a long moment, she answered, “No…”

“Well, good. You may have convinced her. But something else has come up.”

Edith looked at Ted quizzically, “Oh? What do you mean?”

“Yesterday morning, I received a call from a Mr. Engelmann.

I believe he’s the owner of the store where Henry works. Elaine told me he wanted to speak to me about a personal matter. I’m certain it has to do with Jenny and Henry.”

“Well, it’s hardly any of his business,” Edith countered sharply. “And I’m rather perturbed he was able to get your office phone number.”

“Hmm. You’re right. We did leave instructions with the real estate company and the manager of our Regina office not to give out our forwarding addresses or telephone numbers. I will have to check on that.”

“In any case,” Edith continued, “if his call is in regards to Jenny and Henry, you can simply explain to him that Jenny is no longer interested in the boy and has found new friends. Certainly he will understand that.”

Edith had it all figured out. He looked down at the letter in his hand and the sentence on which Edith had based her argument.
If I don’t hear from you in the next week I’ll assume you have either found someone new or no longer want me to be your girlfriend.
Ted hoped Jenny would be true to her word. He didn’t know if he could take much more. In any case, he reasoned, things had already gone too far.

Edith was right. There was no turning back now.

Ted pushed himself up off the sofa and walked towards the fireplace. The fire was almost out, sputtering into nothing the way his guilt just had. He drew back the screen, took one last look at Jenny’s letter and tossed it on top of the dying coals. He watched as the edge of the paper lit with orange and burned its way down, erasing each heartfelt sentence Jenny had written.

Edith’s eyes bored into his back and he shivered.

Slowly, the glow of flames reflecting on his face dimmed then died. The warmth was gone, leaving behind a troubled man.

Ted stared at the ash until the last spark of what had been Jenny’s letter went out. He pushed his last doubts from his mind, took a deep breath and resolved to see the thing through. He’d decided how to respond to Engelmann in the morning.

Ted turned away from the fireplace, went directly to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a stiff drink.

While her letter
turned to ashes, Jenny lay in her bedroom, crying. She hoped the letter she had sent the previous morning would find Henry swiftly and bring back the answer she desperately wanted to hear. Surely there would be some response. She couldn’t go on like this.

A
s soon as Ted
got to his office the next morning, he dialed Mr. Engelmann.

“Hello, Engelmann’s Grocery and Confectionary, how can I help you?”

“Good morning, am I speaking to David Engelmann?”

“Yes, you are.”

“This is Ted Sarsky, returning your call from two days ago.

Sorry I couldn’t do it sooner. What can I do for you?”

“Yes, yes! Thank you for taking time to call me back, Mr. Sarsky. I called concerning a young man who works for me. His name is Henry Pederson. I believe you know him as Jenny’s friend.”

“Yes.” Ted steeled himself for what he had to do.

“Apparently when Jenny left, she promised to write to Henry and let him know her address so they could correspond. Up until now Henry hasn’t heard from or received any letters from your daughter. I know this is not any business of mine, but Henry seems deeply troubled that he has not heard from Jenny at all. Out of concern for Henry, I thought I would phone you to find out what has happened.”

Ted paused, his wife’s argument replaying in his head. He took a deep breath.

“I understand your concern, Mr. Engelmann—and my heart goes out to Henry. But this is one of those things that happens in life. When Jenny got to Ottawa, she was faced with the challenge of starting in a new school and making new friends for the second time this year. We moved into our new home and before we knew it, a month had elapsed. Jenny expressed to her mother that she felt she should write Henry, but she’s gotten so involved with her classes, extracurricular activities and music lessons, she’s barely had any time to herself.”

Before Mr. Engelmann could speak, Ted continued. He wanted to get this over with.

“My company assures me we will not have to move again; we’re in Ottawa to stay. Jenny has had so many disruptions in the past four years and is finally experiencing some stability. Besides, she and Henry are both very young and there really is no future for them at this stage. To get right to the point, Mr. Engelmann, we are all hoping this little summer romance is over, and that Henry and Jenny—and me and my wife—can finally get on with our lives.”

“I see,” said Mr. Engelmann. “So, you are saying that Jenny will not be writing to Henry?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

“And you do not want Henry to have your address so he can write to her?”

Once again Ted paused, Edith’s words sharp in his ear:
Be firm with him, Ted. Just get it over with, once and for all. Let’s not prolong this for another minute.

“Yes, Mr. Engelmann. I am afraid this is the way it has to be.

The three of us have given it a lot of thought and we feel that it’s best for everyone concerned. I hope you understand,” Ted’s tone was final.

“Yes, I understand all you have said,” Mr. Engelmann sighed.

It was as he had suspected. “Yes, life has many problems, a series of ups and downs. We cannot avoid them or control them. I won’t trouble you again, but please know you can call me anytime if you wish. I will leave you with this thought, though. Is this the right thing or the easy thing?” And then with some trepidation, he added with unexpected boldness, “Who are we really protecting, Mr. Sarsky, our children or ourselves?”

Mr. Engelmann waited for some response from Ted, but there was only silence. “Goodbye, then, Mr. Sarsky.”

Mr. Engelmann hung up. He was frustrated and upset, but relieved he had told Ted Sarsky how he felt about the entire matter. Mr. Sarsky’s use of the term we bothered him. He got the feeling Mr. Sarsky had not been completely truthful just now. Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Sarsky felt that way, but not Jenny. And Mr. Engelmann was not convinced that Jenny’s father was entirely comfortable with this solution.

Still, it wasn’t his place to push the matter any further, although he could have added some choice words about not meddling in the lives of others and letting things unfold according to God’s will and not our own.

He sighed once more.

Mr. Sarsky listened to the click
of the receiver, the dial tone aggravating his already troubled thoughts. He hung up, thinking of Mr. Engelmann’s final words. He’d only met the grocer once while they’d lived in Regina, but the old man had surprised him even then with his ability to read people and situations. Now, as he sat back in his leather armchair, he became aware of the perspiration soaking the back of his shirt.

“Have we done the right thing or the easy thing?” Ted repeated. The question and its answer were painfully clear. He wanted to be upset with Mr. Engelmann for having the audacity to criticize the way they were raising their daughter, but that feeling soon evaporated upon closer inspection of their motives.

Mr. Engelmann had been both accurate and astute. He and Edith had done the convenient thing, not the right thing. They were protecting themselves from the worry that went along with raising children, especially a daughter. By thwarting Jenny’s relationship they had denied her the knowledge that she was loved and the life experience that went along with it. How was she to learn if they let her experience only the things they wanted for her? How was she to learn to trust others if they didn’t trust her themselves? Worse, he and Edith had also denied themselves the opportunity to grow as parents, to help and guide their daughter. And their lack of trust and faith in Jenny was contrary to the values they had tried to instill in her.

If this was a test, they had failed.

A chill surged through his body; they might have avoided inconveniences and potential problems now, but what about in the future? His only real objection to the relationship was that the two of them were too young for such an intense relationship. But what if Jenny, in another year or two, chose someone completely unsuitable? Jenny had spoken with such pride about Henry, his artistic skills and business aptitude. She had said he was a good student, too.

Life was complex and hard at times, and yet parents still had to let go of their children. They couldn’t protect Jenny forever. And he wanted her to grow into an adult capable of making her own choices, yet they’d given her no chance to be part of this decision. They shouldn’t have tried to control her life.

Ted rose from his chair and walked over to the floor length window. Not even the beautiful view of the Rideau Canal running its course behind Parliament Hill or the late fall colours of the maple trees could quell the unsettled feelings swirling inside him. When he was around Edith, her resolve quickly doused his feelings of guilt, but as soon as he was alone, they flared up to convict him.

Ted studied his faint reflection in the glass, superimposed on the cityscape of downtown Ottawa. He felt as if he stood naked before a very tough judge, a judge who knew his past—every nook and cranny—from whom he could not hide. A judge who lived by the highest standards and with whom there were no compromises. And before this judge, Ted knew he was guilty.

He felt like he was on a merry-go-round with headless horses, with no way to stop, no reins to pull in, and no way to get off. The right thing to do was to confess all to his daughter, but he would never be able to convince Edith. She was firm in her resolve and he’d left the bulk of the child rearing to her while he’d focused on his career.

My first responsibility should have been family, not work
, he thought now. Then he would have had the leverage to challenge Edith on this. But how could he impose his will over Edith’s now? It was too late. He would simply have to go along with his wife’s wishes in the matter, caught between his value system and hers, his perception and hers, his conscience and hers. And there was a substantial gap between them.

Ted knew of only one way to fill it.

He walked over to the tall oak cabinet beside his desk and tugged open the two doors by their solid brass knobs. Presidency had its perks. On the glass shelves in front of him was every kind of liquor imaginable. The mirror in the back reflected every bottle, giving the illusion of an endless supply. With one hand he selected a glass and with the other he reached for an almost full bottle of Canadian whiskey. He poured himself half a glass and downed it in two swallows.

It was ten-thirty in the morning.

He set down his glass as softly as he could then returned the bottle to the shelf, avoiding his image in the mirror. He didn’t want to see the guilt reflected in his eyes or watch himself in the act of washing it away. He shut the liquor cabinet and returned to his desk. He took a deep breath, sat down and reached for the call button on the intercom.

“Elaine, I’m ready for my eleven o’clock appointment.”

“Certainly, Mr. Sarsky. I’ll send him in as soon as he arrives.”

David Engelmann wondered
whether he had said too much or not enough to Jenny’s father. One thing was certain: Jenny’s parents didn’t want Jenny and Henry to continue their relationship. But what could he do? The Sarskys were only doing what they thought best for their daughter.

Perhaps the greatest sadness was that there would be no closure for either of the young people; Jenny had no way of knowing if Henry still loved her and Henry had no way of knowing if Jenny even thought of him at all. It was, the old man thought, a particularly terrible kind of torture. There was only one thing to do and David Engelmann did it.

He bowed his head and prayed.