Keeping Secrets

by Suzanne Morris

  “Right. Oh Lord, I hope this works.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve done this so much I could do it blindfolded.”

  “Yes, but I haven’t.”

  Nathan was making himself most useful all evening, and I kept watching to see where he’d show up next. The only thing we had going in our favor was that, so far, none of the guests seemed to be interested in taking a stroll out to the summerhouse. Who would, anyway? They were all married couples. Electra told me it was Lyla who insisted on the lanterns, and once she had taken a glance at them, on her way into the party, she gave them no more notice. “That’s typical of her,” said Electra. The punch bowl on a table inside the summerhouse remained untouched all evening long.

  At nine-thirty I managed to disconnect the lights; yet, afraid it would be obvious if I just pulled out the plug, I pulled it out so that it still hung on just barely. Anyone might have stepped on the wire and pulled it part of the way from the socket. Yet the connection was in the anteroom between the dining room and kitchen, and there were no windows, so, after several moments of hesitation, I darted outside to see if the lights had indeed gone out. When I got far enough around to assure they had, Edwin was just coming out the window of the basement with his wire. I started back toward the house when all at once I heard Nathan calling. I could have gone right through the ground, headfirst.

  Nathan had been responsible for wiring the lights, so it was a good guess he’d go feeling around, trying to find out what was wrong with them. I couldn’t warn Edwin to get back in, because of the noise of the party drowning my voice unless I shouted. Edwin couldn’t see Nathan because of the bushes concealing him and his ladder. Thinking fast, I rushed toward the summerhouse and yelled, “Over here, Nathan.” I hoped Edwin would hear my voice, but as luck would have it, he didn’t.

  Nathan came charging toward the summerhouse, each step more indignant than the last as he mumbled his irritation over the failure of the lanterns. Finally when he mounted the little steps he demanded, “What are you doing out here? Mrs. Cabot has been looking all over for you.”

  “I came to check on the punch bowl. Look, the ice has melted and it’s about to run over. Do you think we ought to take it back inside?”

  “Hang the punch bowl. You’d better get inside on the double, young—”

  “Nathan, why don’t we stay out here for a little while? Don’t you think it’s romantic—the lights out, the moon above?” I coaxed him, drawing nearer.

  “What? See here, if you put out these lights intentionally—”

  “Don’t be silly”—I giggled—“but I’ve never been one to miss a perfect opportunity. I might even let you kiss me,” I said, oozing charm. I pretended not to notice his intractability, and kept drawing him on, whispering to him, stroking the white fabric of the shirt underneath his coat. All the while I watched over Nathan’s shoulder as Edwin emerged from the bushes like a determined weed sprouting from the earth, and started with the wire up the window facing, quickly driving tacks toward the opening above. But Nathan was too stubborn, or shocked—I’ll never know which—to do what any ordinary red-blooded young man would have done in the same situation. I pleaded for him to return my kisses, one eye fixed on Edwin, then suddenly Nathan just yanked himself loose from my embrace and began to lecture me on what would happen if I didn’t get myself back to the party. He was about to walk off, right toward Edwin. I turned from him, unsnapped the apron, unhooked the uniform blouse, and pulled down my undermuslin, then turned toward him just in time to catch his arm. “Please, why don’t you like me?” I pleaded. He looked down at my bared breasts, then his glance shot up again to my face. He opened his mouth. “I can’t believe—” he began, then gulped. Poor Nathan, poor me. Dear God, it was horrible!

  However, it worked. He was soon taking off his coat and looking (thank goodness) to his right, away from Edwin’s direction, out of politeness. “Here, keep this over you while you get decent,” he commanded. “I won’t look. Hurry up. The very idea. You ought to be horsewhipped. Hurry up.”

  There was no time to think about it through the evening. While Electra and I washed dishes after the party, she brought up the subject of his sudden disappearance just now when we could have used his help. To divert her, I sliced the tip of one finger with a small knife, and made much over the injury to keep her otherwise occupied.

  Much later, home in bed, I lay wide-eyed, unable to believe the things I had done. Were all the previous months of intrigue and daring to blame for my quick and drastic decisions? I kept piecing it together, rationalizing, telling myself I saved the day, that any good spy would have acted the same. But the truth was still there: I had never bared my breasts in front of anyone. Past the age of nine, my brothers were locked out of the bathroom when I was in, and likewise I was never allowed to see them unclothed. How could I ever face Nathan again, not to mention continuing my efforts at getting information from him? Oh heavens, what must he think of me? What did I think of myself? Was I ruined, tarnished forever? What if he told someone? Lucky, he wasn’t the social type. One day I’d have to tell the man who proposed marriage to me, out of fairness, if I intended to spend the rest of my life with him. Yet how could I? Oh dear, what would Mother say?

  By morning the situation was better in perspective.

  So I’d acted hastily. Nathan probably hadn’t even gotten a good look. The moonlight was fairly bright, but not that bright. Anyway, why did anyone else ever have to know? I’d just have to gather courage … sometime in the next couple of weeks … and swear Nathan to secrecy. Let him think me a foolish young girl—he did anyway—play on his honor as a gentleman, yes, that was it. I raised my cut finger and succumbed to the temptation of congratulating myself. Now, that took real courage. Electra would never guess her line of talk was hitting too close to home.

  In spite of the way I bolstered myself over the next few days, the first time I was forced into another meeting with Nathan all my defenses were down and anticipating it was a plain case of out-and-out torture. If not for the fact Mr. Tetzel sent me to Cabot’s office to pick up a string of pearls with a broken catch that Sophie had lost during the party, I would have put off seeing Nathan again forever, if possible.

  By the time I spanned the few blocks between the bank and Cabot’s office, my hands were as cold as ice. I hoped Nathan would react to my appearance with his usual detachment, and maybe even have the decency not to look around from his desk. In fact I found him surprisingly kind. Though I could not have judged at the time, in the light of everything that happened afterward, I believe this was my closest look at the man Nathan might have become if his life had not taken a sharp detour long before I met him. He was like a flower that had unfolded too near sundown, and thus never fully bloomed, all too quickly secreting the finery that was lodged deep down and close to the stem, as shadows gathered.

  He handed over the pearls and said, “Let’s take a walk.”

  “I—I don’t want to take up your time.”

  “I can spare a few minutes.”

  So off we went, a few blocks down Commerce, and wound up sitting on a bench. We both faced ahead. I don’t think he felt any easier about looking into my eyes than I felt about looking into his. Normally spasmodic in movement as well as speech, he was calm and almost nurturing that day. He spoke first. “Listen, Camille, I’m probably the last person in the world to be handing out advice, but you just can’t go around chasing after men. Heaven only knows why you chose to like me, but regardless, one day you might fall for a fellow who’d take advantage of you. I wouldn’t tell anyone what you did the other night, but some men—”

  “Thanks, Nathan … I really have dreaded facing you after that. I don’t know what could have gotten into me,” I told him honestly. “Maybe you can understand, though. I’ve done everything to get you to notice me. Have you ever liked someone who didn’t like you back?”

  “Of course. I’ve liked lots of girls—I was quite serious with one—yet some of them didn’
t return the feeling.” There was just a touch of defensiveness in his voice. “There’s nothing wrong with you that a little growing up wouldn’t straighten out. But you are wasting your time on me.”

  “I don’t see why.”

  “Because I’m not going anywhere that would interest you,” he said, then turned to face me for the first time. “You need to find a man who can offer you a decent future.”

  “I don’t see why that couldn’t be you,” I told him, thinking maybe I could press him just a little further.…

  “I can’t tell you that.” He looked away again. “I wish I could, but I can’t. I have to get back to work.”

  “All right. But we could still be friends, couldn’t we?”

  He stood up. “I suppose … I don’t have much time,” he said, and walked away. I assumed he meant he was awfully busy. Watching him as he disappeared down the street, I wondered what might have happened between us if we’d met under different circumstances. It was the first and only time I ever came halfway close to being truly attracted to him.

  I was spared further shadowing of the Cabots for a while. I’d just hang back and check on the appearance of the Cabot automobile in the garage. When it was there I would call Edwin, who’d come out and turn on the confounded machine.

  The information we gathered through it turned out to be of little more help than anything else, and only proved to further illuminate Cabot’s growing impetuosity and moodiness. We also learned he apparently confided little in Electra. He seemed, in fact, to keep everyone in the dark as far as possible. One point of interest we did learn from Edwin’s hours of wearing the headset was that he spent much time riding Nathan’s back when he was at home. I hadn’t realized the full extent of this from Electra’s remarks on the night I toured her house.

  Again it led me to wonder just why Nathan was so loyal to Cabot. One day I asked him how he’d like to apply for a position at the bank, just to see what his reaction would be.

  “There’s a job in bookkeeping opening up, and a chance for eventual elevation to auditor of the bank,” I told him.

  “No, thanks.”

  “But it would be such a good opportunity. Mr. Tetzel’s bank is one of the fastest growing in San Antonio. One day you might even be an officer.”

  “No, I think not. Thanks anyway.”

  “Boy, it must be peachy working for Mr. Cabot, if you won’t even consider leaving him—regardless of the offer.”

  “That’s right. I’ve got a good deal—a great job.”

  “What would it take to get you to leave him?”

  “Why do you ask?” he said guardedly.

  “Just curious.”

  “Well it would take a lot more than anything you could dream up. So just forget it, all right?”

  Even that brief exchange didn’t seem of any importance, except in terms of my growing curiosity about the whole group of people who lived at Beauregard and Washington. Otherwise, we still were gathering almost nothing in the way of information about Tetzel. His conversations with Cabot centered mostly around the difficult situation faced by all mine owners in Mexico at the time, wondering what Carranza would finally decide on as his policy for governing foreign investors, wondering what would become of the increasingly hot situation with Pancho Villa. He’d been terrorizing the countryside in all directions since the night he raided Columbus, New Mexico, bringing on the punitive expedition under General Pershing across the border. Villa was no man’s friend now, with the exception of the Yaqui Indian and his ever-decreasing band of raiders. If it was Germany’s intention to finance trouble below the border that would suck us into a hole, and keep us too occupied to bother them in their own war, you couldn’t prove it by Tetzel. And the queer fact was that we were convinced he participated very actively in what was going on.

  The slow pace gave me a chance to accept invitations from Keith, yet all he talked about was the work of the aeronauts in Mexico. Half our time together was spent around Fort Sam, watching the testing and dismantling of the planes that were destined for use on scouting missions down there. He would have given the clothes off his back to be among the eighty men of the first squadron sent below the border, although he predicted before they left that the planes weren’t going to be strong enough in lift capacity to be useful in the mountainous terrain, and nodded in wisdom when returning aeroscouts reported they almost lost their necks. He was more approving of the planes sent later, but still itching to be down there himself.

  “Can you imagine, Camille, they’re the ones who found Villa being carried around on a litter. I tell you, one aeroscout can do the work of a hundred foot soldiers.”

  “Yes; now if they could just guess whether he’s alive or dead, we’d really have something.”

  “I didn’t say they were wizards. Boy, for two cents I’d quit school and join the reserves. As much as I’ve studied about flying, I know I’d be a natural up there.”

  “No doubt about it,” I told him, in all seriousness.

  Then he paused and became thoughtful. “I know you think I’m silly sometimes, Camille, but it’s important for a guy to think about how he’s going to make his mark in the world. I get so tired of just being the second Butler son who helps out at the grocery store. I want to be where the action is, and I want to see it from the air. That’s where the real power is.”

  “Doesn’t seem to be much we can do from the ground,” I admitted.

  17

  At last, in early summer of 1916, results of our efforts began to come through. Edwin set up a meeting one Sunday afternoon at the Navarro Street bridge.

  “Cabot’s money is tied up in saloons down in the red-light district,” he said. “We know now he has been trying to sell out at a good price.”

  “But failing.”

  “That isn’t all. He’s dealing now with some real pros, an eastern syndicate. Those guys would as soon kill you as look at you—we’ve got an agent who knew something about them before the war—and it’s a cinch Cabot is desperate. Tell you another thing. Those guys deal strictly in cash.”

  “Hm … that would mean he could bypass paying income tax on the sale, wouldn’t it?”

  “Right.”

  I thought that over for a few moments, then asked, “Is all this money he’s trying to make going toward Barrista’s rise to power?”

  “We think a lot of it is. Financing Barrista, plus buying all the good properties he can get his hands on down there, must add up to a small fortune.”

  “And if Barrista fails, his properties won’t be worth any more than his saloons … maybe less.”

  “I have some news about Tetzel, too. Now we know why he has suddenly become very idle. Since the border has become such a hot spot, with Pershing down there, the Germans have been getting arms into Mexico another way. They’re pulling into coastal ports, aboard free-lance oil tankers.”

  “Still going to Pancho Villa?”

  “Yes. But from what we can learn, von Eckhardt, the German ambassador in Mexico City, is handling it. For the moment Tetzel is sitting tight. For a while we thought he was at work on sabotage of Russian arms, but—”

  “Russian arms?”

  “German money is helping finance the revolution in Russia. We’ve found out lately that munitions made in this country consigned to the Tsarist field forces are being switched out at the factory for scrap iron. Now and then a box of ammo is mislabeled, with the wrong caliber, so that when it arrives in the field, it doesn’t fit the guns.”

  “Oh, that’s really dirty … but Tetzel isn’t involved in that, is he?”

  “No. We think that Tetzel is working directly with the German Foreign Office on something highly secret. It doesn’t appear anyone else is in on it, and that explains why the memos to Francke in New York have stopped. He’s probably wiring information back and forth, probably coded.”

  “But I thought the British cut the cables at the beginning of the war.”

  “They did, but not through Holland. H
e could wire messages from here through the Dutch cable, and if they were carefully coded they’d go right past and into Germany.

  “Our electrical wizard could be brought down to tap a telephone wire into Tetzel’s office, but just now he’s busy on other projects.”

  “Sometimes I feel as though we’re the orphans of the BNA.”

  “Between the Bohemian National Alliance and the Slovak League, we have around three hundred and twenty thousand people. Do you know how that compares to the German espionage system? They have around three million sympathizers.”

  “Golly … I guess we’re spread pretty thin.”

  “You get the picture.”

  “Well … how about one person—a spy in the telegraph office here?”

  “We’ve already tried that. It’s tighter than a cork on a bottle of vintage wine.”

  “Anything turned up on Aegina Barrista?”

  “Not yet. Have you got anything more on Electra Cabot?”

  “No. I really don’t think she’s into anything, do you?”

  “It’s possible, because we haven’t been able to trace anything on her in Colorado. For all we know she could have come out of any crack. I think the Dexter name was a fake. Why don’t you try to get with her again, find out a maiden name if you can?”

  “All right,” I said petulantly. I wished we could leave her and Cabot and Nathan Hope alone. Whatever their personal motives, it was my guess they were being used by Tetzel. Shortly after, however, I was in for a number of surprises.

  One day in July while I was out on a banking errand, I glanced toward the post office to see Electra hurrying out the door, gripping a letter which she soon began tearing to shreds as she descended the stairs, obviously in a huff. I stared at her in wonder as she reached the bottom stair, looked both ways, and drove a fistful of paper fragments down into her handbag. Next she turned in the direction of her home and it was then I got a good view of her face. I had never seen her look so distressed. Even her normal gait had changed from one of grace to a quick, animal stalk. I stood there for a while, wishing there were some way I could have a look at the letter she picked up. I felt it would tell us an awful lot.