Page 117 of Resilience on Canvas

“You’re really makin’ potatuh pancakes, huh?” Henry’s father said, eyeing the sack that Robert was carrying. “We have flour and eggs here in the house, you know.”

Robert nodded. “Yeah, I know, but you and Lillian made it clear that you weren’t too keen on wastin’ either of those on the pancakes, so...”

He trailed off and held up the sack. Henry’s father rocked back on his heels, raising both his eyebrows in tandem. It was an expression that Henry knew meant he was biting his tongue.

“Well, I’ll take these from you, then,” he said, his tone slightly bitter.

Robert handed Henry’s father the sack. Henry’s mother came over to greet them, wrapping both of them up in one simultaneous hug. Even though Henry wasn’tasworried that his mother might have a horrible reaction to his potential employment with the Works Progress Administration, her warm embrace still sparked a tiny, icy current of fear in his heart. Goodness, for years now, he had failed to live up to her hopes for him, first by not being interested in college and then by not being interested in marriage. Would she be upset with him for this too?

When they pulled back out of the hug, everyone headed toward the kitchen. On the way, Robert nudged Henry with his elbow.

“Do you need me to tell them?” he asked.

Henry swallowed, forcing the saliva through the tightness in his throat. “No, I-I can.”

“Alright, little wolf. I’ll leave and help Clara with—”

“No!” Henry spluttered. He winced upon hearing the pathetic worry in his own voice and took a moment to steady himself. “Ithought maybe you could stay with me? In case I need the, uhm, the reassurance?”

“Alright.” Robert reached out to squeeze Henry’s shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll stay with you.”

Together, Henry and Robert caught up with Henry’s parents in the kitchen. Immediately, Henry noticed that his mother had taken out their only remaining jar of carrot marmalade to serve with the pancakes later. His stomach tightened. It was now or never.

“So, I, uhm, I won’t be comin’ back for lunch later?” he said, hating how his voice had hitched up like that.Are you asking them? Or telling them?Henry tried once more. “I have to head back home right now. I need to... paint?” Darn. One more try. Henry cleared his throat. “I have to spend some time paintin’ so that I—”

“Paintin’?” His father seemed to balk at the concept, and Henry felt another of them cold shivers run through him. “Why?”

“Uhm, there’s this... initiative from the President,” Henry said. “It’s the Works Progress Administration?”

“Oh.” His father furrowed his brow. “Are you creatin’ flyers for them?”

“No, I, uhm...” Henry looked over at Robert who offered an encouraging nod. “I want to work for them. See, they have this new program for creative types. Artists, you know? And they’re willin’ to pay folks a weekly salary to make stuff for them. Uhm, like for the government.”

Henry’s father narrowed his eyes. “Roosevelt wants to pay people to... paint?”

“Y-yeah.”

“And you want them to hire you?”

Biting down on his bottom lip, Henry managed a small nod.

Henry’s father blew out a forceful breath, one that caused his cheeks to puff out. Henry braced himself for the verbal beating of a lifetime.

“Doesn’t the Works Progress Administration haveothertypes of positions?”

“Maybe,” Henry said, heat coloring his cheeks. “I haven’t checked or nothin’. I mean, I haven’tnotchecked for other work elsewhere. Me and Robert, we’re never not readin’ the pamphlets and flyers in the stores and whatnot in case they might say there’s a company lookin’ for workers. But we haven’t seen nothing like that lately. I thought this might be better than the, uhm, the fruit pickin’. Money-wise.”

“I sure hope so.”

Henry winced. He knew that remark must have been hurting Robert something fierce. Slowly, Henry turned to check on his husband, expecting to find him red as a tomato, simmering with rage, but Robert was standing there steely-eyed, his posture proud but relaxed. Goodness, he was bursting with confidence. If only Henry could find that same tenacity within himself.

Henry’s father took a shuffled step forward. “Henry, while I can see how you might think that pursuing something like this could be a good idea, I think you ought to keep trying to find real work somewhere else. I haven’t seen your paintings, but building up a realskillmight be a better plan. Something that’ll help you start your own business someday. Or maybe you can find some work with one of the companies out here. Heck, I still think that you ought to consider college. We have the money for it. I know many places haven’t been hiring lately, which is why I haven’t been harping on you for pursuing this temporary farm work, but they’ll need people once the economy starts recovering. Everything will change. Whatever this program is, it won’t be here forever. And when they cut the funding—”

“We’ll be fine,” Robert clipped. “Henry will find something else when that happens. He’ll paint portraits. Or... or sell his work somewhere. Hell, maybe he can even sell it out of our house.”

Henry’s father shook his head. “Robert, he’ll never make enough—”

“Or teach! He’ll show people how to paint. He’ll teach folks how to use charcoal pencils, how to make scenes come to life with them.”

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