“Mashed potatoes and gravy.” Erin smiled. “Comfort food, you know?”
“I know just the place.”
Fifteen minutes later, they walked into Gustav’s Hof Brau. The windows were steamed over, and a TV in the corner silently played a baseball game. At the far end of the room was a cafeteria-style counter. Behind the counter stood an ageless Chinese man, who could have been 40 or 80, in a white shirt and apron. On his head was a white paper diner hat and in his hand was a carving knife.
“That’s Lou, he’s owned this place for a hundred years. Your mom and I used to call this place ‘German Mao.’ He’s got just what you need.” Cole turned his attention toward the man. “Hi, Lou, how about mashed potatoes and gravy for the lady. I’ll have a barbecued pork sandwich on a roll and a side of dressing and gravy.”
“Just like when you a kid. You never change order? This your daughter? She look just like mom. Make me feel old, you know,” Lou beamed. He loved showing off his memory.
“It’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time.”
“I read your stuff. Pretty good most of the time.”
“Thanks,” Cole said with a touch of irony in his voice.
“She very pretty girl. How’s your mom? I haven’t seen her in four or five years.”
Erin looked at Cole and smiled warmly, “I think she’s doing fine.”
“You tell her hello for me. She a very pretty lady, nice, too.”
“So, how’s your wife?” Cole interjected.
“She died. Five years now.”
“I’m so sorry,” Cole said.
“It’s okay, part of life, you know? I still got five kids and 13 grandkids. Without my Fay, I would have nothing. It’s good, part of life. I miss her, though.” Lou put two steaming plates on their trays. “Here you go.”
Cole paid and they went to a booth. There was an elderly man sipping tea sitting at a corner table; otherwise, the restaurant was empty. Cole removed their plates, took the empty trays, and slid them across to the table in the next aisle.
“Looks good,” Erin said not lifting her eyes from her plate.
“The Comfort Food Palace.” Cole smiled.
“So, what happened to your face?”
“Ran into some bad guys,” Cole said with embarrassment, having forgotten about his bruises.
The two sat eating in silence for several minutes. Cole’s mind raced for something to say that wouldn’t sound stupid. He was thankful that each time he looked up she was looking down. When he looked down at his plate, he could feel Erin’s eyes on him. Being a newspaperman had put Cole across a lot of tables with a lot of people who either didn’t want to talk or were afraid to. This was a case of neither. The table was silent but not strained. Cole felt he needed to say something because he wanted to talk to Erin, he just didn’t know where to start.
“So, what do we do with each other now?” Erin said, not looking up.
“I don’t know,” Cole began. “What would you like us to do?”
“I don’t know how to say what I am feeling exactly. I want to—” Erin stirred her mashed potatoes with the tip of her fork.
“Let’s pretend I’m not here. You talk to yourself out loud and I’ll listen. How ‘bout that?”
Erin looked up at him for the first time and smiled. “I’ll try that. You see, well, in the last 48 hours, I’ve replayed the tape of my life in my head. I’m not sure if it is the eyes of an adult that is making some things clearer or that I just want to see them a certain way. You know what I mean? You are a kind of mythological figure in my life story. This hero that my mother told stories of, someone who, to me, was untouchable, who was like a character from the books we read at bedtime. As I grew older, the Cole stories were like Aesop’s Fables, the little Cole antidotes for the latest adolescent problems.”
Cole knew his face was flushing, and it was made worse by his realizing it would soon turn beet red.
“My mother, I can see now, never stopped loving you. Allen was a way of making sure I had a home. The fact it turned out to be something like out of Dickens is another matter.” Erin smiled. “What I am trying to say is, finding out you are my father is like one of my mother’s fairytale Cole stories. I know it’s true, but it is just, I don’t know, too perfect, and not real somehow, and I am having a hard time believing it.”
“She didn’t make it up, Erin,” Cole said rubbing his hand across his mouth.
“I’m not saying that,” Erin replied quickly.
“We loved each other very much. I was stupid; I let pride and some kind of macho bullshit get in the way of the only thing that ever mattered to me. I’m to blame for any pain and any hurt that you have been through. Saying ‘I’m sorry’ sounds so trite. I’ve tried time and again in these last couple of days to think of what to say to you, try to explain, and it all comes out sounding like a lame excuse, which I guess in the end, it is. But this you have to believe: Whether we ever see each other again after tomorrow or not, if I could have died instead of your mother, I would have, in a heartbeat. If I could’ve given you two a chance to spend time together again, for Ellie to see her granddaughter, to meet your husband, I would have done anything, anything to have made that happen.”
Erin looked down again at her plate. Cole looked at the top of her head, her beautiful curly brown hair, and tried to imagine her as a little girl. Something he could have seen, could have been part of, but unknowingly threw away.
“I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought.”
“Me either.” Cole reached for a napkin and wrapped the remaining half of his sandwich. He shrugged and sheepishly said, “Starving kids and all that.”
The drive back to the Holiday Inn was quiet. Cole played the radio and nervously hummed along. Erin looked out the window. They exchanged quick goodnights and went into their rooms. As his door clicked shut, Cole remembered he needed to ask Erin about the details and procedures for in the morning, returned to her room and knocked.
“Who is it?”
“Uh, me,” Cole said at a loss for a comfortable answer, “Cole.”
Her door opened a few inches. “What’s up?”
“I guess we have a limo tomorrow, from the funeral chapel, I mean. Would you like to ride there together?”
“That would be nice.”
“About 10:30?”
“Okay.”
“See you in the morning.”
The door closed softly, and Cole returned once again to his room. It had been made up and smelled slightly of cleaning products. He picked up the newspaper that lay at the foot of the bed. In the right corner below the fold was a picture of Ellie and a headline that read, Local Humanitarian and Volunteer Passes. This had Mick Brennan all over it. Cole smiled as he read of Ellie’s impact on local charities and selfless volunteer work on behalf of numerous causes. The article ended with an appeal to give generously to one of her favorite charities. Perfect, Cole thought, she would have loved it.
* * *
At 10:35, Erin knocked on Cole’s door. He was struggling to get his tie the right length. Cole had a habit of always making a bed when he got out of it so his room looked far tidier than Erin’s. After another attempt, he got his tie to reach his belt line.
Erin was in a long-sleeved dark blue dress with large white buttons down the front and a simple white lace collar. She wore a pair of low-heeled navy blue-and-white spectator pumps. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and a pair of large dark sunglasses adorned her face. Cole had a surge of pride suddenly; she was truly a lovely young woman.
As they turned into the cemetery, they could see cars parked everywhere and people walking toward a green canvas canopy not far from the east wall. Several hundred people were already gathered near the wall—people Ellie had touched with her life. Here to celebrate her, to honor her, to show their love. The sight of all these people reinforced what Cole had always believed, that the love that shone so brightly from Ellie, for life and those around her, didn’
t go unrewarded.
“Look at all the people!” Erin said in astonishment.
“We aren’t the only ones who loved her,” Cole said with a wistful smile.
The limo pulled up and stopped across from the canopy.
“Look at all the daisies!” Erin exclaimed.
“I wanted it to look like a field. I didn’t know how many it would take so I ordered one hundred dozen,” Cole tried to explain. “Is it too much?”
“It’s so lovely. She would have loved it,” Erin said softly.
The door opened and Cole slid out. After several seconds, Cole looked back into the limo. Erin sat with her hands tightly pressing against her mouth. She was weeping and gently rocking back and forth. Cole reached out his hand and she took it. He gently pulled her from the car and they walked side by side to the chairs facing the daisy-covered casket.
Atop the coffin was a picture of Ellie. It was at least two by three feet and in a simple walnut frame to match the coffin. From the picture, a beautiful 19-year-old Ellie seemed ready to step out of the frame. Cole took a deep breath as he saw the billowing yellow dress and brilliant summer smile. He remembered the day he took it.
“Where did that come from?” Cole said, as if to himself.
“That’s the picture I always carry in my wallet. I had it done yesterday. Is it okay?”
“It’s more than okay. It’s perfect.”
As Cole and Erin took their seats, people began to draw in closer. E.T. Bates was seated at the end of the front row. Next to him sat a small woman with a dark scarf tied tightly around her head. Bates reached over and patted her arm. The woman rose and went to the head of the casket.
She cleared her throat and spoke softly at first and then with more confidence. “I have cancer. I never met Miss Ellie, but we’re going to meet very soon in heaven. I haven’t got long on this earth, but I know my Jesus is waiting for me on the other side. My time with Him has been the sweetest of my life, and my wish as I face eternity is that I’ll see you there, too.” The woman closed her eyes and in the clear voice of an angel began to sing:
“When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.”
As she sang, Cole studied the picture of Ellie. She was standing in the doorway of a shop on the wooden walkway in Columbia State Park, holding onto a brass door handle and leaning out at a 45-degree angle. Her other arm was raised, and her skirt was flowing around her knees. Her face was tanned and her hair held back by a yellow silk scarf. Her eyes were bright and her smile radiated a joy that just made you feel good to your soul. This old photo captured the essence of the woman he had loved for so long and so deeply.
As the song ended, Reverend Bates stood and asked the crowd to bow their heads with him in prayer. His awesome voice called upon the Almighty to bless each one present and to open wide the gates of heaven for His beloved child to come home. Bates painted a picture of a heaven that Cole thought was just made for Ellie. As the prayer went on, the old Evangelist called upon each person to search their heart and make sure they were ready to meet the Good Shepard on the other side.
Cole had not bowed, nor had he shut his eyes, they were fixed on the picture of Ellie. In the instant that the “Amen” was said, Cole saw himself.
On the edge of the picture to the left of the door was his reflection in the glass. There, at 20 years old, stood the tall, handsome Cole so deeply in love with Ellie. In his hand was the old Hassleblad 500 camera he had lost so many years ago in a Cambodian river running from Communist guerrillas. The young man in the picture was somewhat distorted by the reflection in the old glass, but the smile on his face was not to be mistaken. Here, captured forever, was a picture of the love they shared. Somehow, this image made the loss deeper than ever. How had he ever let her get away?
“Do you see it?” Erin’s voice broke into Cole’s thoughts, “It’s you.”
Cole turned to see Erin was pointing at the photo. Her mouth was slightly opened and a look of amazement was on her face.
“I have had that picture in my wallet since I was in the fifth grade. Mama put it in there,” Erin whispered. “That’s you, isn’t it?”
Cole hadn’t noticed but Bates had stopped speaking. The woman with the headscarf was singing again. Bates was now standing, his hands grasping his Bible, his head bowed. The service must be almost over. Cole had been totally lost in his thoughts and had hardly heard any of Bates’ sermon.
“Yes, that’s me,” Cole leaned and whispered to Erin.
“I can’t believe I never saw it before. It’s so clear, so obvious.”
As the woman in the scarf sang the last phrases of the Lord’s Prayer, “For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever, Amen,” Cole stood. He didn’t know why, but he had to stand. The glory of this small woman’s voice surely reached the gates of heaven. Cole could feel tears streaming down his face. He closed his eyes and let the majesty of this frail woman’s song embrace his heart.
Cole knew in that moment that there was a God and that Ellie was now with Him. He looked out across the crowd gathered to honor Ellie and knew her life had meant something. He swallowed hard to try to lose the lump in his throat. Ellie had touched him most of all. All the years she had been with him in his thoughts and dreams, she had pushed him on. His own selfishness and self-pity had held him back, but no more. His life would now honor her memory by doing what she was always so proud of. He would write and fight for what he believed in. He would once again search out the things that needed to be exposed and put the healing light of the press on them. This was Ellie’s memory put to a use that she would have chosen. If they had been together, she would have inspired him, pushed him, and cheered him on. That’s how it would now be; he knew it, and he believed it.
The Reverend Bates crossed the short distance to face Erin. Cole could not hear what he said, but Erin put her arms around the big man’s chest and rested her head on his broad shoulder. She looked like a little girl in his arms.
“I hope my words—” Bates broke off and looked at the ground, “I hope she would have liked what I said.”
“I think the two of you could’ve become great friends,” Cole said with a small smile.
People began to file past and lay flowers, notes, and cards on the casket. Cole recognized very few of them as they went. Some spoke and called him by name. Many greeted Erin and they shared hugs and a word or two. But the majority was unknown to both Cole and Erin. They filed by, giving a nod of the head or a smile. It took nearly an hour for those who wanted to pay their respects to do so. Ellie would have been so humbled at the outpouring of love for her, Cole thought.
Shortly before she left, Cole had thanked the little woman in the scarf. Her name was Lillian. She told him she had come to The Revival Center just before she was diagnosed. Cole took a daisy from the casket and slipped it through her jacket lapel. They shook hands and she slipped away.
Near the end of the mourners, standing off to the side, stood Ann Christopher. She was dressed in a pair of black jeans and a dark burgundy sweater. She was leaning forward trying to see around a couple in front of her. She had her middle finger in her mouth and was chewing at the nail. Cole leaned in the same direction and acknowledged her presence with a nod. She turned and half-trotted back toward the cars. Ellie had touched even Ann. Cole smiled. Erin didn’t see her.
Two men approached the canopy from the backside. They were dressed in sweat-stained green khaki work clothes, and one carried a shovel. E.T. B
ates went to the men.
“I want all these flowers put on top when you’re done and arranged to look real pretty.”
“Yes, sir, pastor, we can do it right. You don’t worry about it a bit,” the taller of the two replied.
“God bless you, son. I knew I could count on you. See you in church?”
“Yes, sir. This Sunday.”
“And the kids?”
“Oh yes, sir! My wife, too.”
“I’ll count on it.”
One old man who identified himself as Peter Duncan, a neighbor of Ellie’s until she was a teenager, was the last to approach the casket.
“I can tell who you are,” the old man said to Erin. “You look just like Ellie when she was a girl.”
“Thank you,” Erin said smiling.
“You her husband?”
“No,” said Cole.
“This is my dad,” Erin said to the old man. Then, putting her arm in Cole’s, she said, “I think it’s time to go.”
Cole bent and softly kissed the top of Erin’s head.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Micheal Maxwell was taught the beauty and majesty of the English language by Bob Dylan, Robertson Davies, Charles Dickens and Leonard Cohen.
Mr. Maxwell has traveled the globe, dined with politicians, rock stars and beggars. He has rubbed shoulders with priests and murderers, surgeons and drug dealers, each one giving him a part of themselves that will live again in the pages of his books.
The Cole Sage series brings to life a new kind of hero. Short on vices, long on compassion and dedication to a strong sense of making things right. As a journalist he writes with conviction and purpose. As a friend he is not afraid to bend the law a bit to help and protect those he loves.
Micheal Maxwell writes from a life of love, music, film, and literature. He lives in California with his lovely wife of thirty seven years.
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