The boy could be nervous as a cat around the old man when Cole was in one of his moods, causing Danny to act a little scared of him. Cole was aware of his own rough edges and did his best to handle Danny gently. Cole’s own daddy had whipped hell out of him, so he had promised himself that he would never raise a hand against any child. One glance from his cold, gray eyes was all the correction that was ever needed.
Cole took those eyes off the knife long enough to give the envelope a glance. It was in a square envelope made of fine, ivory paper, with his name written on it in script. Looked like a fancy wedding announcement. Some relative expecting him to put on a department store suit and give them a gift.
“Unless it’s the electric bill, I ain’t interested.”
“Gran said you ought to open it right away because it’s from Germany. C’mon, Pa Cole. See what it is.”
“You open it, boy. Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Danny gave a dramatic teenaged sigh. “All right.”
“Here, use this.”
Cole shed his eyeglasses, then handed his grandson the knife blade he was working on, which Danny used to slit open the envelope. Cole frowned when he saw that the knife had struggled a bit against the thick paper, so he took it back and returned it to the grindstone.
“It’s an invitation,” his grandson announced.
“I don’t know nobody in Germany,” Cole said.
“Maybe not, but they know you, evidently.” The boy was always talking like a teacher, which secretly pleased Cole. “They’re opening a WWII museum in Germany, and there’s an exhibit about you and they want you to be there for the dedication. You’re famous, Pa Cole.”
Cole grunted. He didn’t hold with any of that Pee-paw or Mee-maw silliness, or God forbid, Pop Pop. Danny called him Pa Cole and the boy’s grandmother was Gran. As for the invitation, he could not imagine what sort of fool would put him in a museum.
He nodded toward the potbelly woodstove in the corner. “Throw it in the fire,” he said. In Cole’s mountain accent, the word sounded like far.
“No way! Aren’t you even going to look at it?”
“Nope.”
“There’s a note in here from somebody named Colonel Mulholland. It says you ought to come.” The boy’s voice rose an octave with excitement. “All expenses paid!”
Mulholland. Now there was a name from the past. As a young man, Mulholland had been Cole’s sniper squad leader in Normandy and beyond. What the hell did Mulholland want after all these years?
Curiosity finally got the better of Cole. Reluctantly, he put down the knife and held out his gnarled hand. “Give it here.”
Danny hesitated, as if he worried that Cole still planned to toss the thing in the fire. Instead, Cole read the note from Mulholland. Years before, that would have been impossible because Cole had been illiterate. Growing up in the mountains during the Depression era had been about survival, not learning his letters. When he had finally returned from Korea, Cole had set about learning to read and write with a great deal of help from Norma Jean Elwood, who had become Norman Jean Cole in short order.
Grumbling, he shoved his cheaters into place and read:
Dear Cole,
It’s been a long time. Hope you are well. Like me, you are probably feeling the years pile up, but we are a lot luckier than many good men we knew, who never had the chance to live their lives. Recently, an opportunity presented itself to honor their memory with the construction of a large new war museum in Munich. As it turns out, I was asked to be on the advisory committee for this museum. I can’t take any credit for it, but one of the museum exhibits is focused on sniper warfare and you figure prominently.
When the museum board heard that we had served together, they were very excited about the possibility of you coming to Germany for the dedication of this museum. Of course, all of your expenses for you and a guest would be paid. If you are the same old Caje Cole, I know that your first instinct will be to say no. However, let me tell you that the time has come for us to put some things aside so that we can all heal from this war, and more importantly, help future generations remember and understand so that the mistakes of the past are not repeated. Besides, I’ve got to say, I wouldn’t mind seeing you one last time. You and I are just about out of ammo, my friend!
Yours truly,
Jim
Colonel James Mulholland, US Army (retired)
“Don’t that beat all,” Cole said. Mulholland had managed to touch upon duty and a heartstring at the same time. He always had been a smart SOB. Cole hadn’t known that Mulholland had made a career of the military, but he wasn’t all that surprised.
“Are you gonna go?” the boy asked.
“Hell no,” Cole said, but he shoved the letter and invitation into a pocket instead of tossing them into the wood stove.
“You and Danny are going,” Norman Jean announced at suppertime, once she heard the news. Of course, it was Danny rather than Cole who had spilled the beans.
Cole stopped chewing. “What?”
“It will be good for you. Hillbilly, you ain’t hardly been out of these mountains in ten years.” It was just like Norma Jean to call him by his old nickname. “Besides, it will get you out of my hair for a spell. My sister might come down from Baltimore to visit.”
Norma Jean’s uppity sister had moved north and married a steelworker, and Cole got along with her about as well as magpies got along with hawks. Which was to say, not at all.
Cole felt like his wife and grandson were ganging up on him, so he found an excuse after supper to head back out to the workshop, where everyone would leave him the hell alone. If it hadn’t been dark, he would have taken his shotgun and headed into the woods.
But Norma Jean wouldn’t let him be. No more than half an hour passed before she came through the door. Unlike Danny, she never bothered to knock first.
“Can’t you leave a man alone?” Through an unspoken rule, they had long-ago reached an understanding that the house was her domain and the workshop was Cole’s. Both knew to tread lightly in the other’s territory, which made for a long and happy marriage.
“We ain’t done talking about this trip,” Norma Jean said.
“All right. Say your piece, but I ain’t going.”
“You’re only thinking of yourself,” she said. “It will be good for the boy. He’s never been anywhere. It would be good to have some experience before he goes off to college.”
“College?” Cole almost choked on the word. He shook his head. His wife had been pushing for the boy to get a real education, but Cole wasn’t nearly as convinced that it was important.
“Times are changing, you dumb hillbilly. Danny can’t stay on this mountain forever. The world’s a big place and it’s about time he started seeing some of it for himself.”
“The army took care of that for me.”
Norma Jean put her hands on her hips. “The army? You mean those folks who sent you halfway around the world to get shot at? Is that what you would wish on Danny?”
“No,” Cole agreed. Besides, it was all too clear that Danny wasn’t like him.
“You write back and tell them you’re going, and that you are bringing your sixteen-year-old grandson.”
Norma Jean went out and shut the door.
Cole grumped and muttered during the next several days, but Norma Jean ignored him. Gran had spoken, and that was that. Cole knew that he had gotten his marching orders. Sometimes, he thought that General Eisenhower or even MacArthur himself could have learned a thing or two from Norma Jean.