Dorothy Garlock Read Online Free PDF Page A

his full weight. He had to move slowly, his left hip pushing itself outward in a sweeping motion. It was very slow
     going. Patience was a virtue he still struggled to attain. Picking his way down the aisle, he used his right hand to balance
     himself on each seat-back. His eyes scanned the floor for any loose bags or wayward shoes that might trip him up or otherwise
     unbalance him.
    “Just keep going, Cole,” he prodded himself.
    Near the door, he glanced up to see the eyes of the soldier open and staring at him. The young man looked him up and down
     and, when their eyes met, Cole could see pity in the soldier’s gaze. He felt the urge to stop, to try to explain himself,
     to say that he wished he could be fighting alongside him against the Nazis or hopping from island to island across the Pacific.
     He wanted to tell the soldier that he should save his pity and compassion, that his handicap didn’t make him any less of a
     man, and that his look of condolence only made Cole feel worse. But in the end he walked on saying nothing.
    Gingerly, he moved down the steps of the train car. An older man offered his hand and Cole took it, steadying himself on the
     platform and nodding his thanks. In front of him, people were hugging, shaking hands, and slapping each other on the back.
    Would such a reunion be waiting for him?
    “Are you waiting on any bags, sir?” a porter asked him, breaking his reverie.
    “No, I’m not,” he answered. “I only have this one.”
    Before leaving Chicago, he had packed all of his clothes, books, and other belongings into a large trunk he had had sent on
     ahead; it would have been next to impossible for him to move something so large and awkward on his own.
    Looking first down one side of the platform and then the other, Cole could see no sign of his father. Had he forgotten or
     simply decided not to come? Had something happened to him or Jason that had kept them from meeting him? Finally, just as he
     was about to resign himself to a long wait, he peered into the gloom of the depot’s interior and spotted his father leaning
     against the ticket counter.
    Robert Ambrose looked much the same as the last time his son had seen him nearly six years earlier. His hair was a bit thinner
     and the lines on his face were more pronounced, but he was otherwise unchanged. Cole felt a brief spark at seeing his father
     but doubted that the feeling was returned; the older man’s face was still an unsettling mix of unhappiness and indifference.
     His hands were thrust into his pockets and he remained unmoving in the shade.
    Swallowing his pride, Cole walked toward the ticket counter. As he stepped awkwardly forward, his father looked down at his
     feet and scuffed the toe of his shoe against the ground. Had something caught his eye or was he just ashamed of the way his
     youngest son walked? Cole stopped in front of him and placed his suitcase down with a thud.
    “Hello, Father.”
    “Hello,” Robert said as he looked up into his son’s eyes.
    “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble for you to—”
    “It wasn’t.”
    For several long and uncomfortable moments, both men stood and silently stared at each other. It struck Cole that each of
     them was appraising the other, searching for a sign of any change. There was little doubt that he no longer resembled the
     youth who had left Victory years earlier. While he still had the same sky-blue eyes, thin nose, and square jaw framed under
     a mop of blond hair, he had grown taller and his frame had filled out across his broad shoulders. With his button-down shirt’s
     sleeves rolled to his elbows, his tie loosened around his neck, and a brown hat pushed back on his head, he now was a man…
     albeit one with a very noticeable handicap.
    Still, neither man spoke; silence was the language they used. Before Cole had left for Chicago, many of their conversations
     had contained only harsh and hurtful words and they had simply begun to say nothing at all.