Cole Dust Cole Page 39

“In that case, sounds like it will work out fine,” Ernie said, with a big grin. He took everyone into the living room and asked who would like coffee.

  “I usually don’t this late, but it don’t much matter. I ain’t sleepin’ tonight anyway.” Lottie gave a soft chuckle.

  “Ernie’s coffee is so strong you won’t sleep for a week,” Cole added.

  “I’ll give you a hand,” Georgia said, moving toward the kitchen. This time Ernie didn’t object.

  “Cole,” Lottie said, after they left the room, “you have given us a new life. I feel like this old heart of mine is going to burst for joy. And can you get over how those two have taken to each other? It’s almost embarrassing.”

  “They are two wonderful people who have been alone too long. I never figured myself as a matchmaker but I think something may come of this.”

  “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up back in Kansas, and all this Emerald City stuff is going to be gone.” Lottie smiled quite pleased at her wit.

  It was nearly midnight when Cole opened his front door and said, “Tomorrow I’ll talk to a lady I met from the bank, and see if I can’t get the legals of all this taken care of. I imagine everybody I need to get a hold of will be gone on a Friday afternoon. So I’ll try and catch them first thing while they are still at least thinking about work.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Sarah Connors sat behind an antique oak desk that dwarfed her tiny frame. As Cole hoped, she was more than happy to walk him through signing the deed for the farm over to Lottie. Orvin being the county seat, the bulk of the paper work was just two blocks from the bank at the courthouse. The Clerk Recorder himself helped Cole with the paperwork and collected the filing fees.

  Luckily, Cole thought to get Lottie’s full legal name and social security number before he left the house. At eleven thirty Cole walked out of the courthouse with a new deed of trust for the five acres and the house, and one hundred and thirty-eight dollars poorer, but it felt good. So good in fact, he treated himself to a jumbo chocolate frosty at the Tastee Freeze Drive-in. As he drove through Orvin, for what would probably be the last time, he imagined the town as it once was. He pictured horse and buggy rigs passing him instead of cars, and ladies in big, straw hats strolling and chatting down wooden sidewalks.

  He raised his ice cream cone in a gesture of salute as he passed the Cattleman’s Commerce Bank and imagined his great-grandfather checking his heavy gold watch anticipating the lunch hour to come. Cole had come to love this little town with its shrinking population and big yellow water tower. He honked and waved as he drove past Billy Gibson out in front of his shop with a big feather duster knocking the dust off a new row of bicycles.

  Tonight, he would eat one last time at Big Pete’s and say all his good-byes. No doubt he would get a hug from Miss Betty, and if he was real lucky, the recipe for her peach cobbler. Cole glanced down at the deed sitting in the seat beside him. The yellow post-it note marking the spot for Lottie’s signature was fluttering gently in the breeze of the air conditioner. It was a good thing; Cole felt a sense of pride that was new to him. It is better to give than it is receive, he thought as he reached over and touched the deed.

  As he pulled into the drive he saw Lottie in the front yard watering. She waved with broad wide gestures when she saw the car. She looked right, and from a distance Cole could imagine what Mattie must have looked like watering her flowers so long ago.

  “You look right at home!” he called out as he got out of the car.

  “I am home!” Lottie called back.

  She turned off the water and joined Cole as he went up onto the porch. A pitcher of ice water and two glasses were set out.

  “Just what I need.” Cole smiled and turned over a glass. “Can I pour you some?”

  “No, I been sampling the cool sweet pump water from the hose.”

  “Well, it’s a done deal.” Cole held the deed out to her.

  A thoughtful smile crept across Lottie’s face. She wiped her hands dry on her housedress and reached out to take the paper.

  “All you have to do is sign where the post-it note is. It’s not any good until midnight. The county requires the full thirty days of occupancy before I can “Dispose” of the property. So you can’t kick me out until morning.”

  “Would you mind if I said a word of thanks?” Lottie bowed her head. “Lord, it is a wondrous world You have made. We are so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but still, You have time to look down on your poor servants. Thank you Lord for this fine man You have brought into our lives. Thank you for his love, thank you for his generous heart. Make us worthy everyday for this wonderful gift You have put in his heart to give us. Bless him and continue to bring him great things. In the name of Your precious Son we pray.”

  “Amen,” Cole said softly.

  Lottie stepped forward and gave Cole a hug.

  “Georgia went to the sandwich shop to be ‘trained’. Ain’t that a hoot?” Lottie said.

  Cole laughed. “I never saw it coming. I swear I didn’t.”

  “Be a joke if they got married and I lived next door.”

  “It would give a whole new meaning to “mother-in-law cottage” wouldn’t it?” Cole laughed.

  “It surely would.”

  Cole reached in his pocket and took out his key ring. He twisted the house key off the loop and closed his fist around it.

  “You know, thirty days ago I was planning a trip to the Canadian Rockies.” Cole backed up and leaned against the porch rail. “Then I got a call from this funny little guy from Oklahoma and my whole summer changed. I have never been one to credit the Almighty with micro-managing creation. But just the same it sure feels like somebody had a hand in putting all this together. It’s a wicked world we live in Auntie dear, but every once in a while a light shines. I once read that the poet Leonard Cohen said, ‘There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.’ What at first seemed like a big hassle and interruption to my plans, has turned out to be one of the most important journeys of my life.” Cole stretched out his hand, palm up, offering the key to Lottie.

  “It seems fitting that your life has come full circle. I’m glad I could help mend the hurt. The world has changed a lot. It still has a lot of room for improvement but people like Georgia and Ernie stand a lot better chance at happiness than your parents did. I hope this will be the key to happiness for you both.”

  “Thank you.” Lottie’s voice was a whisper, and her hand slightly trembled as she took the key from Cole.

  The last evening in Orvin, as planned, Cole took Lottie and Georgia to Big Pete’s for barbeque. Miss Betty fawned over them like they were royalty visiting from afar. Cole thanked Miss Betty for the way she made him feel at home in Orvin. He also gave her a greeting from Kelly, to butter her up for later for when he asked for the peach cobbler recipe. Kelly sent no greeting, but Cole was sure she would have, if she’d thought of it. He rationalized the fabrication by telling himself she would agree it was necessary if it would help get the recipe. After all, he speculated, it’s the thought that counts, even in larceny.

  The evening was cool and the sky fairly sparkled with stars as Cole sat with Lottie and Georgia on the front porch talking. Around nine o’clock Ernie joined the group. He catered a VFW District meeting and brought back a bag of sandwiches for Cole to take with him in the morning. Ernie joked and teased Georgia about her “training” at the sandwich shop earlier in the day and asked Lottie if she had a hard time following directions as a child. It was all in good fun and Georgia was obviously enjoying the attention.

  The evening was winding down and Lottie excused herself only to return a few moments later. When she returned Georgia put her hand on Ernie’s knee as a signal for him to pay attention to what her mother was about to do. Georgia then turned in her seat to more or less face Cole.

  “Our coming together has been a thing of wonder to me. You sought us out not knowing who we could be. You took the effort to reach out to peo
ple that your only connection to was shared blood. Well, we were a bit suspect to say the least. But, you turned out to be OK I guess.” Lottie put her hand over her mouth to hide a giggle. “What I’m trying to say is we love you, Cole. Not just because of giving us the house either, although that does help.” Although he tried hard, Ernie could not hold back a burst of laughter at Lottie’s remarks. “It seems unfair that you are going to be so far away from us, just as we are getting to know each other. I have a little something here that I want you to have and maybe it will help you think about us every once and a while.”

  Cole hadn’t noticed but Lottie was standing with one hand behind her back. She held her closed hand out toward him. He met her with his hand palm up. Opening her hand she dropped something into his palm and covered it.

  “I have had this a mighty long time. I think it’s time somebody else got to enjoy it a while.” She pulled her hand back and stood watching Cole with her hand over her mouth.

  In Cole’s hand was a pocketknife. The handle was ivory and yellowed to a deep amber from age. The blades were clean and oiled. There was not a sign of rust anywhere on it. Cole turned the knife over in his hand and froze when he saw engraved in a swirling, filigreed script, the initials G. E. S.

  “Oh, Lottie.” He tried to speak but a lump came up in his throat. Tears filled his eyes and began to stream down his cheeks.

  “My father gave it to Mama Lucille to keep for me the last time he ever saw me.” Lottie tried to say more but she too was touched by the feelings running over her. “Here now, just give me a hug.”

  Cole and Lottie embraced. A moment later Georgia stood and put her long arms around them both and buried her head in between their shoulders.

  Morning brought an uncomfortable tension. Cole announced the night before that he would need to leave by 10:00 to make his flight. He added an extra hour for unforeseen traffic problems or other mishaps. He hated trying to kill time and was less than pleased when he found himself wide awake at seven-thirty. He lay in bed as long as he could stand and took longer than usual in the shower but he still made it downstairs by eight-twenty.

  Breakfast was sprinkled with conversation that felt a bit forced and silences that felt like they needed filled. By nine-thirty Cole had his bags in the car, the windshield washed and an ice chest packed with Diet Coke and the sandwiches Ernie brought over the night before. It was time to go.

  All the words were said, the tears had all been shed and all the promises made. Cole drove down the driveway watching Lottie, Georgia and Ernie waving in the rear view mirror. He turned the car towards town and gave one last wave from the window. He clicked on the radio and turned up the volume when he heard Eric Clapton singing, “When I left Oklahoma driving in my Pontiac...”

  “Close enough,” Cole mused. He was on his way home.

  EPILOGUE

  His third morning home in San Francisco found Cole running late. The previous day he went to see the Giants play a double header with Carnell Thomas, eaten one tri-tip sandwich too many, and gone to bed with the grumblings of a churning, gurgling overstuffed stomach. Bizarre dreams of hot dog carts with spinner rims and thumping stereos kept Cole tossing and twisting in his sheets all night.

  Instead of his usual mocha and onion bagel, Cole gulped a Diet Coke in hopes of getting some relief from his “beef hangover”. Maybe the PETA people are onto something, he thought in a fleeting moment of desperation preceding a huge belch. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the sofa and headed out.

  Opening the front door, Cole caught a UPS driver in mid-stroke, knuckles ready to knock.

  “Whoa!” The man jumped back in surprise.

  “Good morning,” Cole offered.

  “These are for you.” The driver slapped the top of a long rectangular box that leaned against a stack of three large boxes. He thrust the electronic clipboard out to Cole. “Sign, please.”

  Cole took the plastic wand and scribbled on the LED screen. The driver pushed the box just far enough for it to lean against Cole’s leg. With a quick wave of his hand the driver turned and bounded down the walk to his truck.

  The cardboard boxes hardly showed any signs of the twenty-five hundred miles they traveled. Cole ran his hand along the top of a box as he watched the big brown truck pull away from the curb.

  “I’m already late. I guess a few more minutes won’t matter much,” Cole said, patting the box like it was a big dog at his side.

  A few minutes later the print of John Trumbull’s Declaration of Independence was hanging in the living room. Cole stood back and admired the print, the frame, and how at home it looked on his wall. His thoughts drifted back to the little room in Orvin thick with dust the first time he saw the print hanging there. Cole’s eyes moved from black and white engraved face to face. Frocked coats and wigs frozen in an instant of time. Fact, fiction, history or myth; was it American History or the history of twenty or thirty Americans?

  Everyone is part of a history. Cole smiled; he knew he had found his. He gently straightened the picture. Stopping for a moment he looked at the stack of notebooks tightly packed in the three boxes. Cole thought of hauling them up to the attic and leaving them for some future Sage to find. Then he realized there would be none.

  By plan, design, or fate Cole Sage was the end of the line. He slapped the side of the boxes as he made his way to the door. He would write his book. He would take George Sage’s words and embrace the spirit of the man who wrote them. If he did it right it wouldn’t matter that there were no Sages to carry on. Like the old adage, “You only live once, and if you do it right, once is enough!”

  The Sages had lived and died, and it was surely enough.

  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.

  Follow Micheal on Twitter: @MicLeeMaxAuthor

  Become a fan of Micheal on Facebook.

  ALSO BY MICHEAL MAXWELL

  Diamonds and Cole (Cole Sage Mystery #1)

  Cellar Full of Cole (Cole Sage Mystery #2)

  Helix of Cole (Cole Sage Mystery #3)

  Cole Dust (Cole Sage Mystery #4)

  Cole Shoot (Cole Sage Mystery #5)

  Three Nails: A Novella

  “The Return of the Bride” (a short story in the anthology, Eight the Hard Way)

  The Time Pedaler with Tally Scully