Keeping Secrets (31 page)

Edwin had been wise enough to provide me with a battery-powered light in the package he brought along to our first meeting. Otherwise I probably would have gotten into the darkened room and realized I couldn't see the files. It was very hard for me to carry on this kind of intrigue. I'd always been known for my openness and candor with people, sometimes to the embarrassment of myself and others, nonetheless.

By five-thirty everyone on our floor seemed to have gone.

I left my desk and took a stroll down to the second floor, passing by the credit department and Giddy's office. The cleaning people were in there. All right. Back to my typewriter for half an hour, to give them time to finish. By then I was so nervous I was making ghastly typographical errors on the letters. Mr. Tetzel must never see them in that condition. I pulled out sheaves of paper and started over time and again. When next I looked up it was six-thirty. I rushed down to the floor below, looked both ways, unlocked the door to Giddy's office, and walked in.

It was eerie in that little room. Lights from outside the windows cast long shadows on the walls and silhouetted me as I walked across the floor, bent almost double because it seemed safer. Within a few minutes I was working through the volumes of the general ledger for names attached to large transfers. I covered three months' business quickly through the expert penmanship, then flashed my light upon the wall clock. Quarter till eight. I had nine firm names noted on my pad: Abel, Dixon, Faultless, Flowers, Gregory, Ismell, Mellyn, Stockton, Stuttgart. Truthfully, none of them looked very portentous. About eight, just as I was finishing on the Abel credit file, I heard the cleaning crew coming back down the hall. I almost had heart failure on the spot. I turned off my light and crouched between a window and a filing cabinet as the shuffle of feet and the sound of voices grew louder. Yet they passed without opening the door and continued toward the front stairs, on their way to the lobby floor. I went back to work.

By nine forty-five I was finished. I felt my information amounted to little more than proof for Edwin that I had tried. He could use the full names of the owners, their business addresses, and the amounts of money loaned as he saw fit. When I rose from my position on the floor, I ached from head to toe. I closed the cabinet softly, pocketed the keys, and left cautiously. Downstairs I passed by the night guard, Hector Bolt. He was a kindly old white-haired man, always cheery and personable. “Get caught up, Miss Devera? Just in time for a party, too. Good night.”

Party, my foot. All I wanted was a good hot bath, some food, and my bed. There was a frantic moment when I thought I'd left my list lying on the floor, but a nudge of my fingers inside my handbag dispelled that worry, thankfully. Much relieved the business was over, I walked hurriedly home.

In my mail was a letter from Mother. “The whole year of 1914 will go down as one of great progress for us,” she wrote. “However, it only gives us time to take a breath of comfort before 1915 dawns and more work lies ahead.” Her thoughts might have been echoes of my own.

She signed her letter “with love.” She signed most of her letters to others “yours in v. for w.”—vote for women—and each time she wrote me I was compelled to glance at the line over her signature first, to be sure it referred to her feelings for me, rather than the cause uppermost in her mind.

There was also a note, slipped under my door, from Keith Butler. I had seen him several times at the store, but had not really gotten to know him any better because he was busy with exams at school and I was busy in my own more and more complex activities, which I couldn't discuss anyway. He wanted to come by on Saturday evening and take me to a dinner at his brother's house. The note was written at 3:15
P
.
M
.

I walked out on the balcony and looked down at the dark store below. Too late now. About that time there was a knock on the door. I glanced quickly toward my handbag, where the list was hidden, then asked who was there. It was Keith.

I opened the door. “I just got this note—I'm sorry, I had to work late.”

“I've been worried silly. I came by at seven, then at eight, then at nine.”

“Well, come in. You needn't be an old mother hen. I might have had an engagement tonight.”

“I thought of that, but I also kept thinking about your living alone. It seems risky, somehow.”

“Why?”

“Young women—nice ones—just don't live alone.”

I laughed. “And how do you know I'm a nice young woman?”

“I can tell, that's all. I'll bet you haven't eaten, either.”

“I was just about to have a sandwich. Would you care to join me?”

“No, thanks. I can tell by what you buy at the store that you don't eat well.”

“You're worse than my mother.”

“Look, come along tomorrow night, won't you? It'll be fun—family, mostly, and a few friends.”

“I'd love to, but I don't know if I have anything to wear. I haven't had time to—”

“It doesn't matter. I'll call for you at half-past seven. My brother's wife, Christie, can cook out of this world, so be sure to come hungry.”

“You can count on that.”

He hesitated a moment. “You look awfully tired.”

“It's been an … eventful … day.”

“Be sure to lock the door behind me. You never know.”

I did as he said, then leaned against it, suppressing a laugh. I had never been so tired, and was hard put to recall the person I'd been a few weeks ago, so full of energy at night I'd scrub everything short of my roommate.

I hope this is the end of it, I thought.

5

Keith's family proved to be a fun-loving lot. Ken and Christie had four children ranging from two to five, boy, girl, boy, girl in order of age. They seemed to be everywhere that evening, crawling around like little mice, in and out of their grandparents' laps, tugging on Christie's skirt and Ken's trouser legs. When Christie asked about my family, I told her I couldn't help thinking our house must have been something like theirs when I was a kid. “The total disorder drives Ken crazy, but it doesn't bother me,” she said amiably. “Ken's mother thinks we ought to have regular help, but a cleaning lady twice a week suits me fine. I like being around my children. When I was growing up we spent most of our time stranded upstairs while my parents had parties downstairs—very strait-laced, you know. Here, cut this apple crisp into squares, will you?” She had blond hair, green eyes that crinkled at the edges when she smiled, and freckles across her nose. She wasn't bothered at all by interruptions from the girls, who wanted first drinks of water, then cookies to eat.

“My brothers were all older—the youngest one four years my senior—and I was never really very close to them. It's nice your children are so near to each other in age.”

“Yes. The Lord willing, we won't get blessed with another one at this point. Keith and Ken get along well enough, though their interests are very different. And I worry sometimes that Ken overshadows Keith, being the first son.”

It occurred to me she was probably right. When we arrived, Ken, who looked much like Keith although he was a bit smaller and two years older, had remarked on how well “the” suit (a hand-me-down) looked on Keith. Keith seemed embarrassed. The coat was a little too narrow around the shoulders and the sleeve length just about half an inch short. Mr. Butler had remarked, “It's lucky Ken takes good care of his clothes. There won't be much extra money for Keith's wardrobe till he finishes school.”

“Right, Pa,” Keith answered, then changed the subject abruptly.

I enjoyed the evening and seemed to fit in comfortably. Keith didn't have an automobile, so we rode to and from the dinner party with his parents. On the way home he seemed pensive and less talkative than usual. When he walked me upstairs I asked if something was wrong.

“Oh, nothing,” he told me, and asked what I'd be doing on Sunday.

“I have to meet a—uh, I have a sort of appointment.”

“Of course. Well, thanks for coming tonight. See you at the store.”

I couldn't believe how easily I'd almost slipped and told him I had to meet Edwin. That was the trouble with living a double life, I was soon to find. Oftentimes what you said was entirely misinterpreted and you couldn't elaborate to clear things up. Keith would just have to assume I had another fellow calling. It didn't matter anyhow. He was only a friend, and that was just as well. Until the situation with Mr. Tetzel was cleared up I'd have to watch about getting too involved with friends of either sex. Even if I did find nothing in his life to incriminate Tetzel, I might one day make the mistake of disclosing the work of the BNA, and I did not want to do that.

I met Edwin near the front of Brackenridge Park on Sunday at two o'clock. I'd taken a trolley close to the church, and arrived early, so I walked around for a while. When we lived in San Antonio before, this place had been among my favorites. My dad took us on Sunday buggy rides along the paths, the big trees on either side forming a moss-laden arbor across them. I could still remember looking up through the trees as we rode along, following the sun till it became hidden by the heavy branches, then waiting for it to appear again in a clearing. Somehow the park seemed an endless labyrinth of trees then, unbothered and hushed. Now, though its boundaries still outlined acres and acres on the north side of the city, it seemed smaller.

Certainly there were more people around, even if it was the wrong time of year for picnics and outings. I couldn't hear the sound of rippling springs as I used to, and was unsure which direction they'd be coming from. I sat down on a bench and waited for Edwin. Soon he appeared—seemingly out of nowhere—and I told him I had the list. He nodded and put a doubled newspaper between us, then motioned for me to place the list on top of it. When I had, he folded the paper once again, and shifted on the bench. I found it amusing. Surely no one could possibly be watching.…

“I don't think it's anything important,” I said, staring ahead.

“We have to check out everything. Were you able to get into that safe compartment?”

“Not so fast. These things take time. I did find an apartment.”

“Good. What's the address?”

After telling him I paused for a moment or two, to give him an opportunity to bring up the money situation, but of course he didn't. Finally I said, “How about a little cash? I'm barely making it, and this is a cheap apartment.”

“I can't get anything for you now, but I'm working on it. Get in touch as soon as you've seen the inside of that safe.”

“Oh, there was one thing. Mr. Tetzel plans a trip to Europe early in January. I have no idea where he is going, or who he is going to see. It's probably banking business. His former secretary made the arrangements.”

“That's very interesting. Ask him if he made an itinerary.”

“All right. He's leaving in a week.”

“Get right on it, then.”

“You know you really make me mad, being so pushy. Remember, I'm not a professional agent, and I'm not getting paid for this.”

“Neither am I,” he said. “We'll be in touch,” he added, then walked off, the newspaper under his arm.

I didn't know whether to be frightened or comforted by his remark. Were they all a bunch of greenhorns? If so, their organization might bumble itself right into oblivion. Espionage was serious work. Spies got killed. Oh heavens, I thought, I wish I could get that list back and call off the deal before I get in too deeply. But Edwin had vanished. He was very apt at doing that.

That night I thought further about the seriousness of what I had done so far. Should that list get into the wrong hands, I could say good-bye to my job. Should Tetzel indeed be involved in anything against the law, supposing my contact were a counterspy actually working for him? I'd never seen any proof Edwin was connected with Michael Stobalt. Neither had I seen Michael Stobalt again. What if Edwin had murdered Stobalt?

Stupid.

Still, not impossible. Didn't I have a right to know before I got into this any further? Tomorrow I was going to have to go another step, actually invading private property. Should I be pressing my luck too far, and get caught with the key to that safe compartment, there was no telling what the ramifications might prove to be. I punched a fist into my pillow and turned over. Why should I be losing sleep over this, I wondered? I got dressed and went downstairs to a phone. Edwin's line rang only once.

“Listen, you're getting me into some risky business. I want some sort of proof you're connected with Stobalt before I go any further.”

There was a long pause. “I'm sorry, but I can't get any. Stobalt doesn't live in San Antonio, and anything written down is too risky for us. You'll have to trust us, that's all. We're not well organized yet, and we're scattered pretty thin—”

“What about my list? Can I get it back?”

“I've already turned it in for investigation.”

“To the police?” I asked in horror.

“No, to another group within our outfit.”

“Did you give them the original?”

“Yes. We don't risk copies except when something has to be returned without being noticed.”

I just stood there. I could think of nothing else to say that would sum up my frustration. Finally Edwin said, “Listen, do you think if we were in the business of professional espionage, we'd run the risk of using someone like you, with no experience?”

He did have a point there.

“If you're hard up for money, maybe I can spare ten or fifteen bucks out of my pocket.”

“Never mind,” I told him, and hung up. I was already realizing that if Edwin were not sincere, he probably would have tried to charm me or otherwise lure me on. His stark candor impressed me. If his organization were really on to something involving Tetzel and I proved an obstacle, I might be the instrument of failure for a good cause. I'd learned enough in history to know of the oppression felt by some of the countries and provinces—especially the small ones—in Europe. It was the very reason so many people came to this country prior to the War Between the States, and after. My father knew lots of immigrants who served with him in the Army, and thought very highly of those he spoke of. He'd probably be proud of me for trying to help the BNA. Yet I still did not believe Tetzel capable of doing what they suspected, especially if his activities involved hurting innocent people over here. This country had offered him the chance of bettering himself … he'd made that clear the day I was interviewed for the job of his secretary. Why turn against it?