Pewter Angels (8 page)

“Have a nice walk?” his mom asked.

“Yeah.”

Before Henry could add anything else, his dad said, “While you were gone, I checked down in the basement for paint. I brought up four gallons you can have them if you want. I left a tray, brush and roller at the back door for you as well.”

“Gee, thanks a lot, Dad! That’s great. What colours are they?” “I think two are white, and the other two have numbers on them. I can’t remember what colours they are.”

Henry went out the back door to the landing. There was the paint his dad had found. Henry picked up one with numbers on it but didn’t recognize the colour either. There was, however, a small trace of paint on the lip from the last time the tin had been opened. It looked like a shade of blue, but it was hard to tell. He set the can down and returned to the kitchen. He was anxious to get started. He wished it was morning already.

“G’night, Mom and Dad,” Henry called out as he walked down the hall to his room. It was cool enough that he decided to put on his pajamas. Instead of reading, as he usually did, he turned off the lights and lay in bed thinking about what to say to Mr. Engelmann about the paint and the door and the insulation.

“Dad’s right,” he murmured. “Mr. Engelmann is a proud man.” Henry considered it for a minute until he had an idea he thought might work.

That issue resolved, his thoughts turned again to Jenny. How they had held hands and what she had said about how he made her feel. Henry liked that, he liked that a lot. The name Camilla popped into his mind. It really was a nice name.
Our first daughter, Camilla.
A kind of restless anticipation flooded him and he chuckled at the very thought of it all. He sure would have liked to kiss Jenny, even if it had only been on the cheek. If it hadn’t been for Timmy and then Mrs. Sarsky, he would have.

But it would feel so wonderful to put his lips on hers.

He could hardly wait.

H
enry gulped down his breakfast
then took two gallons of paint and hung the handle of each can on his bicycle’s handlebars.

“Be careful with all that,” his mom cautioned as he swung his leg over the frame and pedalled off, wobbly at first and then straightening out as he picked up speed.

When he reached Victoria Avenue, he stopped and slid off the bike. Better to cross the street on foot. After a short wait, a break in the traffic appeared, and he steered his bike to the other side and onto Mr. Engelmann’s front lawn. He again secured his bike to the fence-post with a chain and lock. He would need to talk to Mr. Engelmann about finding a safer spot for his bike; even with a lock on it he sure didn’t want it to get stolen. With the wire handles of the full paint tins pressing deep grooves in his palms, he entered the store.

Mr. Engelmann was behind the counter, counting out the float for the day. He peered over his glasses as Henry entered.

“Good morning, Henry, you’re early. What’s that you’re carrying?”

“Oh, this is just some old paint Dad was getting rid of and he said it was okay to take it. After you were so happy with the way the shelves looked, I thought maybe I could paint the basement a little. I hope you don’t mind. I was so excited about making the basement look nice I could hardly sleep. That’s why I’m early this morning.”

Henry beamed at Mr. Engelmann and waited for him to say something. Mr. Engelmann was silent for a long time and didn’t take his gaze from Henry.

“I don’t wish to discourage you, Henry. Still … are you sure it’s old paint? I don’t want something for nothing, Henry.”

“Yes, Mr. Engelmann. My dad was going to throw it out, and I thought it would be such a waste—especially since it could brighten up your basement.”

“Well, it would help Anna to see things better down there. And last night after I told her what you did to the shelves, as sick as she was she made her way down to see for herself. I’ve never seen her look so surprised and happy in a long, long time.”

Henry’s heart soared. Working to improve this place was the right thing to do, he was sure—he felt it in his gut.

“What about a brush? Are you going to put the paint on with your hand?” Mr. Engelmann quipped.

Uh oh
. He’d forgotten the other painting supplies.

“Uh, no. I’ve got some stuff to paint with. I’ll go get it. Be back in a little bit.” Henry was afraid if he told Mr. Engelmann it was still at home, he’d change his mind.

When Henry returned, Mr. Engelmann gave him a hard stare.

“Where were you? I went looking for you, but you were nowhere in sight. I was about to call your mom.”

Henry was totally out of breath from the mad dash home and back. He inhaled and let the air out slowly. “I forgot something at home and went to get it. Sorry if I worried you, Mr. Engelmann,” he made for the storeroom, “I’ll go directly downstairs and get painting right away.”

“Not so fast, Henry. Does your dad know you have his brush and roller?”

“Oh yes, he even set them out for me last night. He said I was welcome to use his stuff.” “Do I need to call him?”

“Oh no, but wait …” Henry paused for a minute wondering if this was the right time to tell him about the door and insulation.
Well
, he thought,
if I don’t do it now, I might chicken out later.

“Yes, yes, what is it?”

“Well, there is one other thing. We were going through the garage last night, and there’s this old door and half a bag of insulation that we don’t need anymore either. I told my dad that you could use an extra door in front of those old ones in the cellar. That would help keep the cold out, especially in the wintertime.”

Again, Mr. Engelmann stared at Henry in a sort of dumbfounded way. “What is going on here, Henry? No, no, I don’t accept charity. No, no, I cannot take that.”

“But you need it,” Henry protested. “It’s cold down there. The cellar doors have so many holes and cracks.”

“For fourteen years it has been like that, and we have survived without anyone’s help.”

“Boy, my dad sure was right about you,” Henry muttered.

“What was that, Henry?” Mr. Engelmann furrowed his brow.

“Dad said that even though we didn’t need the door and wanted to get rid of it, you probably wouldn’t take it. He figured you might buy it, though, and told me to tell you that he wouldn’t sell it for more than a dollar. It would save him having to take it to the nuisance grounds.”

Mr. Engelmann looked away as he considered. “That is a fair price, but I have no tools.” He met Henry’s gaze again.

“Dad said he’d be willing to come over on Saturday morning to put it up just to get rid of it. We really need to make more room in our garage.”

After a brief pause, Mr. Engelmann agreed. “Okay, okay, you tell your father I will pay him a dollar for the door, and if he puts it up, I will give him three pounds of salami for this work. If he accepts that then it’s a fair exchange.”

“My dad will be so glad to clear out the garage, I’m sure you have yourself a deal,” Henry said. “Now, I better get downstairs and start cleaning up so I can paint.”

As Henry passed him on his way downstairs, he heard Mr. Engelmann mutter, “Yes, I think this is fair. I’m sure Anna will approve when I tell her.”

That made Henry think of something else. “Oh, by the way, Mr. Engelmann, do you have a 100 watt bulb? The one downstairs is only a 60-watt. It will give me more light when I paint.” “Yes, yes, of course. I’ll get you one right away.” Mr. Engelmann muttered some more as he moved things around. “Ah, there it is.” A moment later, Mr. Engelmann held not only a bulb but also a flashlight. “Here you go. That should help with the light down there.” He hesitated and then asked, “Do you know how to paint? Do you need help?”

“Nah, I’ll be okay. I painted a lot last summer—my dad showed me how to use the roller and fill the brush when we painted the fence. I got so good at it, Mrs. Goronic next door gave me a dollar to paint hers too. So I have lots of experience.”

“What do you mean, ‘fill the brush’? I’ve never heard of such a thing. Is it a special brush?”

“Oh no,” Henry replied, pulling out the brush tucked into his back pocket.

“But that is an ordinary brush. How do you fill it?”

Henry held the brush in front of him and explained how all brushes have a hollow inside the surrounding bristles. “When you paint, most people simply dip the brush into the paint can, and then wipe off the excess on the side off the can or tray. My dad said when you do that, you’re removing most of the paint except for a little at the tip that usually drips as you carry the brush from the can to what you are painting. And that little bit of paint doesn’t go very far.”

“Yes, that is true.”

“Well, he taught me to pour the paint into a tray and dip the brush into the paint in the tray.”

“And so?”

“Well, after I dip the brush into the paint, I tap it against the upper part of the tray, up and down vertically like this.” Henry demonstrated the movement using the dry brush against the palm of his hand. “When you tap straight down, the bristles spread apart, exposing the hollow inside. When you pull up, as the bristles come back together, they suck up the paint into the hollow of the brush, loading it. When you do it that way your brush holds a lot more paint and because the paint gets sucked up into the hollow, the brush doesn’t drip. That way you can paint more with each brush-stroke and get the job done faster and easier.”

“Wonderful, that is wonderful, Henry. It makes such good sense. In all my years of painting I have never thought of doing such a thing.” Mr. Engelmann looked at the brush in Henry’s hand and then at him and just shook his head. “I don’t think you need my help,” he said sheepishly. He turned back to the cash register. The last thing Henry heard before he went downstairs was, “It is hard to believe. He’s such a young boy.”

Downstairs, Henry retrieved a crate from the corner and set it down just under the light. He turned the flashlight on, stepped on the crate and changed the light-bulb. It was a big improvement, but the basement still could have used more light, especially near the washing machine. He stepped off the crate and headed there.

In the beam of the flashlight, Henry discovered another light fixture just in front of the workbench. There was no bulb. Dragging the crate over, he twisted the 60 watt bulb into it. The rusted socket gave him a little trouble, but as soon as the bulb started to turn it sprang to life, heating his fingers. Just those two simple things changed the whole atmosphere down there. After lunch he would exchange the 60-watt for another 100-watt, which would add even more light.

Henry went over to the cellar doors. The padlock only appeared to be locked and he took it off the hasp. Mr. Engelmann must’ve lost the key but still wanted the basement to look secure. That explained why Mr. Engelmann locked the door leading to the basement at the end of the day. Henry pushed open the cellar doors, flooding the room with sunlight. Fresh air and sunlight flowed into the basement, invigorating the atmosphere but clearly revealing all the work yet to be done. Henry figured he should sweep, take out all the garbage and set the mousetraps before he started painting.

He took the two mousetraps from his pocket and placed them behind the box where he had seen at least one mouse scurry the previous afternoon, then turned his attention to the rest of the space. He filled three garbage cans with old boards, tin cans, bags, papers, wire, old rope and other bits and pieces, carrying it all out through the cellar doors. Just as he lugged out the last load, a mousetrap went off. He set down the garbage can and checked the traps. He had caught one. He deposited the mouse in the garbage can, returned the trap to its spot along the wall, and reset it. By the time he went to pick up the garbage can, he heard the trap snap again. As he swept the basement and moved boxes around, he caught four more mice.

Around ten o’clock, Mr. Engelmann called his name. “Henry, come up and get a drink from the cooler and sit down a minute.” Henry brushed the dust from his clothes and headed upstairs.

When Mr. Engelmann saw him, his eyes opened wide above his glasses, “
Mein Gott
, Henry, you look like a ghost. You better go wash up a little. Go, you will see what I mean,” he said, shooing Henry to the bathroom.

One look in the bathroom mirror confirmed Mr. Engelmann’s assessment. He did look like a ghost. Henry went outside to brush himself off out back so it wouldn’t all turn to mud when he started washing. Satisfied he’d swept off as much as he could, he returned to the sink, emerging fresh and clean a moment later. He opened the cooler and snagged an Orange Crush, Jenny’s favourite, before heading back to the storeroom where Mr. Engelmann was getting down supplies to restock the shelves.

“I caught six mice this morning.”

Mr. Engelmann turned and looked down at Henry from the ladder. “How could you catch mice without traps?”

“Oh, I brought a couple along with me this morning and set them here before I started to clean up.” “There were that many?”

“Well, there’s a lot of food down there, Mr. Engelmann. Now that everything is getting sorted out downstairs, they’ll come up here if we don’t catch them.”

“Yes, yes, of course, we must catch them. I didn’t even think we had any, though Anna did tell me she sometimes hears something while she washes clothes. I thought it was just her imagination. After your break, I will give you some cheese so you can catch some more.”

“Actually, Mr. Engelmann, I don’t think I need any.” “But Henry, it attracts the mice to the trap.”

“That may be,” Henry replied, “but I caught six already this morning without anything.”

“But how did you attract them?”

“My dad told me all you have to do to catch a mouse is to put the trap against a wall. A mouse will always run with its shoulder brushing against the side of a wall because it has poor eyesight and that gives it a sense of security. My dad said they used to have a real mouse problem where he works and the exterminators told him that was the way to do it. Besides, if you put cheese or peanut butter on the trap, it makes a mess and dries up after while, which makes it harder to set the trap.”

Mr. Engelmann shook his head from side to side. “It’s hard to believe that you know so much.”

Mrs. Engelmann appeared at the top of the stairs. She was thin and frail. She seemed taller than Mr. Engelmann, but perhaps her slight figure only made it appear so. She had a kindly face, and her lips had a curl to them as if they were ready to smile. She looked pale, however, and her dark-circled eyes hinted at weariness. Her hair was grey, much like Mr. Engelmann’s, but she wore it in a sleek knot at the back of her head. A full-length wool bathrobe, maroon in colour, brightened her pale complexion. Well-used slippers hugged tiny feet.

Henry watched her negotiate the stairs, uncertain whether or not to offer help.

When she reached the bottom and didn’t have to concentrate on the steps anymore, she looked up at Henry and smiled, showing surprisingly white teeth. Her face lit up as she spoke.

“I had to come down and meet you, Henry. All night long David kept talking about you and how well you organized the shelves. Well, I had to come down and look for myself and I, too, am amazed at what you have done in such a short time.”