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Your mother’s mother and other

relatives attributed this to the thrashing I’d given him. While obviously there was a connection, I have to point out that your mother told me he had had three previous heart attacks.

Your mother was told she would not be welcome at the funeral services.

I managed to get myself assigned to the Army of Occupation, and your mother and I moved to Baden-Baden, where I served as liaison officer to the French authorities.

We were there nearly six months, during which she made numerous attempts to open a dialogue with her family, all of which they rejected.

Then, on a beautiful day in June, we boarded the Mauretania at Le Havre. Eleven days later, we were in New York, a week after that I was relieved from active duty, and four days after that we got off the Texas & Pacific RR “Plains Flyer” in Midland.

There was no more communication between your mother and her family until May (June?) of 1938, when she received a letter (since they had our address, it was proof they had received your mother’s letters) from a Frau Ingebord Stauffer, who identified herself as the wife of Luther Stauffer, and he (Luther) as the son of Hans-Karl Stauffer, your mother’s brother.

That would make Luther your first cousin. In this letter, Frau Stauffer told your mother that her mother — your grandmother — had died of complications following surgery.

When your mother replied to this letter, there was no reply.

We next heard from Frau Stauffer the day of Marjie’s funeral. That night, your mother told me that she had received a letter begging for help for her literally starving family. I asked to see it, and she replied, “I tore it up. We have enough of our own sad stories around here.”

That was good enough for me, and I didn’t press her.

A week or so later, however, she asked me if I had the address from the 1938 letter, that she had thought things over and decided she could not turn her back on your Cousin Luther, his wife and children.

I was surprised, until I thought it over, that she didn’t remember the address, Hachelweg 675, as it was that of her home where I had the run-in with your grandfather. Your mother said she intended to send a “small package or two” to your Cousin Luther’s family.

The next development came when the postmaster told her they could neither guarantee nor insure packages to Strasbourg as they seemed to disappear in the French postal system.

Your mother then asked me if she “dared” to ask you to help. I told her you would be happy to do anything for her that was within your power.

Now, between us, man-to-man.

What this woman has asked for is cigarettes, coffee, chocolate, and canned ham. According to the Dallas Morning News, these things are the real currency in Germany these days, as they were after the First World War.

There are four large packages of same en route to you.

This woman also asked for dollars. I told your mother not to send money, as that would be illegal and certainly get you in trouble.

If you can deliver the packages to this woman without getting yourself in trouble, please do so.

Knowing these people as I do, however, I suspect that if this pull on the teat of your mother’s incredible kindness is successful, it will not be their last attempt to get as much as they can from her.

Do whatever you think is necessary to keep them from starving, and let me know what that costs. But don’t let them make a fool of you, me, or — most important — your mother.

As I wrote this, I realized that while I have always been proud of you, knowing that I could rely on your mature judgment to deal with this made me even more proud to be your father.

Love,

Dad

Cronley was still reading the long letter when Ostrowski and the CIC agent came back with two heavy packages and announced there were two more. Dunwiddie waited until they had returned with these before reaching for the letter Cronley, finally finished reading it, was now holding thoughtfully.

“It’s personal,” Cronley said. “From my father.”

“Sorry,” Dunwiddie said.

Cronley changed his mind. He handed Dunwiddie the letter, and then went to one of the boxes—all of which had white tape with “Evidence” printed on it stuck all over them—and, using a knife, opened it.

He pulled out an enormous canned ham.