The Angelic Occurrence

by Henry K. Ripplinger

  Thoughts that angels were in the room directing him would normally spook Henry, yet the feelings aroused were warm and gentle, encouraging him to go on.

  He flipped the cover of the diary open to the first page which gave a clue as to Marjorie Hamilton’s age:

  To Marjorie

  On your first teenage birthday of thirteen years, March 20, 1954!!

  Happy birthday, honey!

  Love, Mom and Dad

  A quick calculation told him that Marjorie would be 45 years of age now, the same age as he! The realtor had told him she was a lot older, probably a result of her illness.

  Henry picked up the diary and flipped quickly through the pages allowing only cursory glances. He purposely did so, trying to slowly overcome any feelings of guilt for reading someone’s private thoughts. The pages were old and yellow. A few were quite shriveled and wrinkled from being wet. Perhaps a drop of tea or maybe from a few shed tears. He opened and closed it at random and read the different notations. It quickly became evident the diary was not kept on a daily basis. Sometimes a month or two elapsed between entries.

  The notes were general, not really revealing anything to gossip about. Things like what she did that day, what she was looking forward to and so on. Some entries, however, were personal and expressed sorrow that they were moving once more, but again, very general.

  The second part of the diary could prove to be a different matter.

  The inscription embedded into that cover just above the latch read:

  MY PRIVATE THOUGHTS

  To Which I Only Hold the Key

  There was no button to push; the only way to release the tab was to unlock it with a key. Henry recalled seeing a paper pocket glued to the inside of the front cover. He flipped back and his memory proved correct. He retrieved the tiny key from its pouch and flipped back to the second part of the diary. It had his full attention now along with a growing curiosity. The first part did not seem so intrusive or invasive and helped to relieve his guilt feelings for prying into the personal life of another.

  But now he held the key to Marjorie’s inner most thoughts, her private thoughts. He wondered if the diary would confirm and fit the vivid image he had conjured up over the past months or reveal something that would possibly mar the fantasy he had created. Everyone has skeletons in their closet, was he about to learn about Marjorie’s? In any case he had to find out. He had fallen in love with this lady and felt possessed by a selfish desire to know everything about her. Even his guardian angel seemed to be prodding him onward.

  Henry’s heart raced with excitement as he inserted the key and with the lightest turn the leather tab snapped back, freeing the pages in the back section. A burst of air fanned his face. Perhaps it was his desire to know more of Marjorie’s recent past that caused him to go further to the back of the diary. Expecting to read of some recent romance or hidden desire, Henry was completely taken back by the first line Marjorie wrote there on June 12, 1986:

  Today my son testified against me, it all has to do with that day he called me a whore.

  This was so unexpected. Even the use of the word ‘whore,’ went against the graceful vocabulary he expected Marjorie to possess. He hoped the remaining page would offer some explanation that could possibly justify such a deplorable accusation. He felt the hair curl at the back of his neck, his shoulders tensed at the very thought of a son being so cruel and disrespectful to his mother.

  Henry took a deep breath and read the entire entry:

  I could see the deep hurt in his eyes as he told the lawyer that I was the cause for the demise of the marriage between his father and me. J.J. still blames me for the divorce. He simply refuses to understand my side of the story. His father and I were married by certificate only. James’ real wife was the company. I knew it before and immediately after we were married. Not even our first honeymoon day was free of James’ making business decisions.

  I was so hoping when I became pregnant with J.J. that things might change, but they only got worse. While J.J. and his father grew closer together, James and I grew further apart. Today’s court hearing clearly showed J.J.’s support for his father. It was so sad to see our son come between us in this way.

  This was a whole other side of Marjorie he had never suspected. In his mind, Marjorie had had everything and yet, she was lonely and estranged. It’s funny how people you would least expect to be unloved sometimes are. He read the next page:

  I guess out of loneliness, I began to develop a close relationship with the proprietor of a corner book store. I have several girlfriends, but it just isn’t the same as male companionship. I longed for affection, to be held, and loved., Patrick is warm, affectionate, and loving. Unfortunately I had little in common with James, but with Patrick, he loved books as much as I do. I think it was this common ground which drew us together.

  Unfortunately, Patrick was married and as soon as I discovered it I told him I could no longer see him. It is very unfortunate that J.J. walked into the bookstore when he did, in time to see Patrick give me a peck on the cheek as a farewell gesture.

  Perhaps it was for the best that J.J. told his Father a distorted fact that his mom was cheating on him. I believe J.J. thought it might encourage his father to pay more attention to me, but instead James immediately called for a divorce.

  Henry laid the diary on his lap. He felt such an emptiness in Marjorie’s life. How wrong was his perception of her? He shook his head in disbelief. And the way she wrote in her diary was unusual, a catharsis of sorts and almost as if she were talking to a friend.

  What led up to this? Henry wondered as he flipped back a few pages and read another entry. This one had to do with how she met the bookstore proprietor:

  Today, as I was looking in the used book section at Dole’s Book Shop, I was startled from behind by Patrick. He asked if he could help me. I told him the name of a book I was looking for that was mentioned on a talk show that I had recently viewed. He said that he hadn’t heard of it, but would phone some of the other stores to see if they might have a copy. We had a very nice discussion on inspirational and self-help books. He suggested several others he had read and found helpful.

  I was surprised how quickly we hit it off and talked about books that would help us in our life journey and the challenges we all face. We both seemed very relaxed and natural in doing this.

  Patrick is younger than I. I find him handsome and especially like his soft low voice and the way he looks at me when we speak. He seems so interested in what I have to say and makes me feel as if I am the only one in the store. Even when it is crowded. I haven’t felt this much attention by a man in years. I like him…a lot.

  It was evident from the entry that Marjorie was lonely and that her husband James wasn’t fulfilling her needs. The next two entries confirmed that conclusion. She spoke more intimately about the relationship she had with Patrick. She looked forward to going back to the bookshop and tried to find some reason and excuse to do so. One sentence she wrote, spoke volumes of their growing relationship and of her existing one with her present husband, James:

  “Patrick makes me feel special. No, it’s more than that, he makes me feel like a woman again.”

  The two entries after that brought Henry back to the first entry he’d read.

  Henry closed the diary and laid his head back against the high back of the armchair and thought about marriages, children, and the problems families invariably have in close relationships. He thought about some of the problems and misunderstandings he had with his children as they grew up and about all the problems he heard and dealt with as a guidance counselor of teenagers. Time and time again, he had seen huge walls build up between parents and children mainly due to misunderstandings; seeing things from their world, their perception, wanting their needs met and not seeing things from others point of view. Often we treat our worst enemies better and with more consi
deration than we do family members.

  If her husband had been more supportive of their relationship none of this would have happened. But, then what right did he have to judge not knowing all of the circumstances. From what he had seen and the counseling he had been involved in over the years, in all too many marriages no sooner was the honeymoon over than couples forgot the vows they made. They took each other for granted, daily neglects insidiously built up, little hurts, resentments, pouting, anger, lengthy silences, until eventually there is a distant, cold and unfulfilled relationship. From what he had just read, Marjorie’s marriage was a perfect example of needs not being met.

  Henry recalled the analogy Father Engelmann used for a good marriage in one his homilies about five years ago. He likened it to making a double loaf of homemade bread. It was such a vivid comparison that parishioners still talked about it. Henry had to agree as he thought about it that there was nothing like the smell of homemade bread baking, just as it is to be greeted with a warm loving embrace.

  Henry flipped the pages back to another section of the diary and read something that intrigued him. It had to do with something related to her name, that she really liked to be called Jenny rather than Marjorie, but her husband liked her first name, Marjorie, and told her to use it when signing legal documents. “

  Henry jumped as the phone jangled. An extension phone was just on the table next to him. He reached over and retrieved it.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, is this Mr. Pederson?”

  “Y…yes, who is speaking?” Henry was surprised that someone other than his family or staff knew this number.

  “The lady at your gallery gave me your number, I hope it’s okay for me to call you. This is Angie Fraser, I am Peter’s wife…”

  “Oh, yes, Eddy’s friend.”

  “Yes, that’s right. The reason I am calling is that Peter was admitted into the hospital today to start chemotherapy treatments. I believe his illness in his case is due to the guilt he feels over what happened that night that he and his friends came across you and your girlfriend Jenny.” Angie began to cry.

  Henry was surprised by Angie’s openness, and thankful at the same time that Peter had shared that incident with his wife. He had just been thinking about marriage relationships. In spite of the circumstances he felt that Peter and Angie had a very good, open, honest relationship.

  “Thank you for phoning, Angie and sharing, I understand your concern…what is it that I can do?”

  “I think Peter desperately wants to talk to Jenny and ask her for forgiveness for what he did that night. Since you and Peter spoke at Father Engelmann’s anniversary party have you learned of Jenny’s whereabouts?”

  “No I haven’t, Angie. I wish I did too.” Henry wondered if he should share what he knew about Camilla and her concern that she might be adopted after all. Henry didn’t know if there was any truth or validity to that.

  As if reading Henry’s thoughts, Angie asked, “Do you recall speaking with Peter about a young lady he saw at the party? I believe her name was, Camilla and she is your daughter-in-law.”

  “Why yes, Angie, in fact I was just thinking of her as well.”

  “Peter dreams of her all the time and his dreams are changing…”

  “Oh…?”

  “He now dreams of her the way he saw her at the party. She is walking towards a small round structure…I can’t think of what they call those things that usually sit in a garden area?”

  “Yes, a gazebo is what I think you are referring to.”

  “That’s right, Hank. Camilla is walking towards a gazebo and Peter thinks he sees her twin sitting in the gazebo. Does Camilla have a twin sister, Hank?”

  “No, I think Peter is seeing Jenny. Camilla looks very much like Jenny. That is why I have always thought that Camilla was Jenny’s daughter. But when I met Camilla’s parents I had to give up on that idea as she claimed that Valerie and Stanley Breckhart were her parents but…something has happened lately which may throw new light on all this.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Well, I may be speaking too soon and I don’t want to build up hopes, but I recently learned from my son that Camilla feels she is adopted and was going to check into that. That was a few weeks ago so I am assuming nothing ever came of it. But you know the old saying, where there’s smoke there’s fire.”

  “Oh, Hank, perhaps speak with your daughter-in-law. Peter is so ill and I fear for him. He desires forgiveness…wouldn’t it be something if that young lady was Jenny’s daughter after all?”

  “Yes, Angie, it sure would be something!”

  No sooner had Henry hung up the phone than it rang again.

  “Hi, Henry, it’s Shelly. Sorry to bother you, but could you please come to the gallery. Some people from Vancouver just purchased one of your original paintings. They are very excited to meet you and would also like you to personalize the painting for them. It’s an anniversary present to each other.”

  “Certainly,” Henry replied, “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  As Henry hung up the phone, he noticed a change in light in the kitchen at the end of the hallway; he was drawn to it. The late afternoon sun was flooding the backyard and some of the rays streamed through the kitchen window above the sink. He walked over and peered outside to see beams of warm sun coming between two large pine trees and resting on the seat of the bench in the gazebo. What a perfect time to be there and reading.

  I bet this is what Marjorie had in mind when she had it constructed. If he didn’t have to get back to the gallery he would have really enjoyed going outside and reading the diary there for a while.

  Just as Henry was about to turn and leave his eyes were attracted to a bright glimpse of colour against the glistening white snow. The snow which was piled high in the basket belonging to the marble angel had melted and now was filled with what looked like a fresh bouquet of flowers. He wondered if they were real.

  He headed out the patio doors and stepped out onto the deck. There was still a lot of snow in the yard, but it had gone down considerably. Parts of the winding stone path leading to the gazebo were now exposed as well as some of the brush and decaying flowers on either side.

  Henry made his way down the steps and followed the lane to the angel beside the gazebo. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the colourful flowers; they just had to be artificial.

  The snow quickly worked its way into his shoes as he stepped off the path and plowed his way through the foot-deep snow, stopping just short of the gleaming white angel. Henry touched the velvety soft bell-shaped flowers in the basket along with some yellow daisies. He didn’t know their name, but they were all real; a beautiful mix of flowers in pastel shades of pink, mauve, and blue. And he loved the brilliant red poppies against the blue delphiniums. He was awestruck by this absolutely dazzling fresh bouquet! He wondered who could have put them there? There were no footprints in the snow anywhere in the backyard except his own!

  His mind swirled, again. How could this possibly be? Could Marjorie have put them there before winter and they somehow froze? No! That was months ago. She went into the hospital last fall. The flowers would have wilted and died within days and there was very little snow until mid-December.

  Henry raised his gaze from the flowers to the angel’s face that carried an almost imperceptible Mona Lisa smile. The feeling of angels flying around inside the house and outside overwhelmed Henry in a strange wonderful way.

  He reached up and through his shirt grasped the pewter angel hanging from his neck and softly whispered, “Could this be a miracle?”

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Camilla tossed the book she was trying to read on the coffee table. She just couldn’t concentrate on anything. Last week she had called the Post-Adoptive Registry and asked for Mrs. Blake, the lady Irene Gilmer had suggested to call in regards to her adoption, but her
call still hadn’t been returned. Camilla was certain that Mrs. Blake or someone in that department would provide her with the information he needed to know. Since Ottawa was where she was born and also where Mrs. Hamilton was from it seemed the logical place to start. Since the agency still hadn’t called, Camilla phoned again that morning. She was informed that Mrs. Rita Blake, would return her call later in the afternoon.

  The tension and anxiety of waiting for the agency to call was driving her up the wall. This entire matter has been so hard on Jeremy as well.

  Oh, please call…

  Camilla checked the time, three forty-five. That would make it four forty-five Ottawa time. She felt certain they closed at five. Camilla was pacing the floor when the phone rang. Her heart skipped a beat. She took a deep breath then rushed to the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Good afternoon, this is Rita Blake calling for Camilla Pederson. Would she be in?”

  “This is Camilla. Thank you so much for phoning.” And before Mrs. Blake could speak, Camilla, so anxious to get the facts out in the open and to know the truth, rambled on. “My parents’ names are Valerie and Stanley Breckhart. Both of them passed have away recently, and upon my father’s passing I discovered something that proves I was adopted, something I had begun to suspect. I’m sure if you check your records, Mrs. Blake, you will find a file under the name of either, Stanley and Valerie Breckhart or Marjorie Jennifer Sarsky.”

  “Yes, Camilla, I am very familiar with your file and expected you to call some day. Even if you hadn’t, we were going to call you.”

  “You were?”

  “Yes. Normally under such circumstances I don’t give out information over the phone but there is an urgency surrounding this matter which I will come to. I am happy to hear that you already know of your adoption which makes this conversation less sensitive…”

  “I am a counselor as well Mrs. Blake and I fully understand the need for caution in such situations. However, I want to assure you I am fully prepared to discuss all aspects of this matter with you. So please be frank and fully open with me. I have waited far too long to know who I am.”