Soul Intent

by dennis batchelder

  “If I had plugged that hole correctly, somebody else would have stolen the gold,” Madame Flora said.

  “Who would have gotten it?” I asked. “The Nazis?”

  She nodded. “Back in the forties, before the Soviets took over, I got in contact with the mine’s owners. I learned that the captain of the barge didn’t buy my story of both Dieter and Major Callaghan having an accident in Bratislava.”

  “He was a Nazi?” Val asked.

  “No, but he shared his suspicions with them, and they followed our trail to Presov. Then they found old Vlado. He brought them to the mine and told them my story about the vampires.” She looked at George. “If the mine hadn’t flooded, they would have found and taken the gold.”

  Archie had been sitting and staring into the camp fire. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “Wait a minute—the journal in my desk drawer—it was yours!” he said.

  I threw a glance at Val, and she gave me a tiny smile.

  Archie pointed at me. “And that is how Scott figured out you stole the gold,” he said.

  “What are you talking about, Archibald?” Madame Flora’s voice was sharp.

  “The journal in Hermann Goering’s soul line collection,” he said. “It must have been yours—and Scott must have figured out how to read it.”

  “It was my journal.” She glanced me. “But not anymore—I snuck in your office and burnt it up. Didn’t you notice?”

  “You destroyed Soul Identity property?” He stood up and shook his finger at her. “How dare you!”

  She shrugged. “You had already left a copy for Scott, anyway. I wasted my time.”

  “What did you write in there, Flora? You need to tell me everything.”

  Madame Flora shook her head. “There is so much you don’t understand.”

  Archie dropped his hand, but he remained standing, staring at her. After a minute, he said, “If I do not understand, I must request that you enlighten me, Flora. Enlighten us all.”

  Madame Flora’s face flushed. “You can’t handle the whole story.”

  “You could give me the chance!” His shout echoed off the hillside.

  Val looked at her. “Maybe he’s right, Flora,” she said softly. “Maybe you shouldn’t wait any longer.”

  Madame Flora let out a groan. She patted Rose and Marie’s hands, then let go and stood up. She walked up to Archie and put her hands on her hips. “Sit back down,” she told him. “Then we can trade secrets.”

  Archie returned to his chair. “I have hidden no secrets from you.”

  She sat between the twins and took their hands again. “I’ll ask you one question, Archibald,” she said. “And if you’re honest with your answer, I’ll tell you everything.”

  He nodded.

  Madame Flora took a deep breath and glanced at Val, who smiled at her. Then she stared at Archie. “Do you ever wish things between us worked out differently?” she asked.

  Archie broke her gaze and looked at the fire. “Why are you asking me this?” he whispered.

  “It’s the price of the whole story,” she said.

  Archie glanced at George and Sue, then at Val and me. He dropped his eyes back to the fire and grimaced. “Yes,” he whispered.

  Madame Flora leaned forward. “I couldn’t hear you.”

  “Yes.” He raised his eyes to meet hers.

  “Yes what?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “I wish things between us had worked out differently.”

  She nodded. Her features softened. “How?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I answered your question honestly.”

  She shook her head. “I need more.”

  He looked down and let out a long sigh. “You understand that I have dedicated my current life to Soul Identity.”

  “You have put them before everything else,” Madame Flora said.

  He nodded. “Even ahead of my own needs. Every decision I ever made was factored against whether or not it aligned with the organization.”

  “But at what cost?” she asked.

  “At all costs,” Archie said. “I want the rest of your story, Flora. But as you suggested, first listen to mine.”

  forty-five

  June 1949

  Sterling, Massachusetts

  Archibald Morgan knocked on Flora’s guest house door. He smiled when he heard the sound of running feet.

  The door swung open, and little Jamie grabbed Morgan’s legs in a tight embrace. The boy looked up and gave him a big toothy grin.

  Morgan reached down and tousled his dark curly hair. “Hello, Jamie,” he said.

  The boy reached up and grabbed his hand and led him into the guest room quarters.

  Morgan reached into his pocket.

  Jamie giggled and jumped up and down.

  Morgan smiled and squatted next to him. He held out his fist and allowed Jamie to force it open.

  The boy squealed and grabbed the three Tootsie Rolls lying in Morgan’s palm. He ran through a door in the back of the room. “Mommy, candy!” he hollered.

  Morgan heard a voice reply, “What did I say about candy before dinner?”

  “It is only three pieces,” Morgan called. “Besides, today is a special day.”

  Then Flora walked into the room. She untied her apron, unpinned her hair, and ran her fingers through her long, dark curls. She wore a white sleeveless evening gown, and a single ruby pendant dangled from a fine gold chain around her neck. “Mr. Morgan,” she said, “how nice to see you.”

  She grew more beautiful every day. When she crossed the room and kissed his cheek, he caught a whiff of the Chanel No. 5 he bought her the previous Christmas.

  “Happy birthday, Flora,” he said.

  She smiled and gave him a curtsy. “Thank you.” She gestured toward the sofa. “I need another minute or two, and we’ll have to wait for Mrs. Beasley before we can go.”

  Morgan sat and watched her sweep out of the room. He closed his eyes and brought to mind the image of the thin and ragged seventeen-year-old appearing in Nuremberg almost three years ago. She had blossomed since then.

  He felt a tugging on his trousers, and he opened his eyes to Jamie’s smile. He cupped the toddler’s red cheeks in his palms. “Did you eat all that candy already?” he asked with a knowing smile.

  Jamie nodded and beamed. Then Flora called, and the toddler ran out the back of the room.

  Morgan sat back. Where had the time gone? Next month would be Jamie’s second birthday; Flora said she was going to bake him a Howdy Doody cake.

  The little boy brought joy to the whole office. Every weekday at three, when Mrs. Beasley marched him up to the second floor and into the overseer section, the ladies would gather around and fuss over him and pinch his rosy cheeks.

  And Jamie soaked it up, flirting with each of them in turn. Freshly awake from his nap, he would giggle and laugh as the ladies played with him. Even Morgan would get in on the fun, putting the boy into his big overseer chair and spinning him around.

  Yes, life in the Soul Identity office these days shone a lot brighter, now that Flora had accepted a position as his special assistant. She and her son had brought balance into the politically-charged halls.

  And today was Flora’s twentieth birthday. Her coming-of-age, as far as Soul Identity was concerned. She would now join the ancient organization as a full-fledged member.

  It had not been an easy journey for Flora. After reaching America, she and her grandmother and soon Jamie kept to themselves in these same rooms. But then her grandmother passed away a little over a year ago, and with nowhere else to go, Flora turned to him for help.

  Morgan was reluctant at first. Yes, he retained some twinges of residual guilt from the Nuremberg assignment, but he had paid her for her work, and he had brought her and her grandmother to America. Jamie too, for apparently Flora had gotten herself pregnant before they reached Boston.

  In any case, it was only after he met the baby that he decided to see what he could do for Flora. Jami
e captured his attention in ways he could not explain. Morgan had never asked Flora who the father was, and she had never volunteered. The rumor mill in the office had her in a love affair with a famous Croatian freedom fighter, and he hoped this was true. He certainly didn’t want Jamie to be the son of James Little the elevator man.

  Not that he was jealous, but nobody needed a mental cripple for a father figure. Morgan had made sure Little had been well cared for upon their return to Sterling, and he was a good and dependable Soul Identity worker. His sacrifice to the organization was something all employees could point to and be proud of.

  So Morgan decided to help Flora. He did owe her, after all, for her grudging assistance as he deposited the gold into Hermann Goering’s soul line collection. And the letter of commendation she had Mr. Goering sign certainly helped his career: Morgan was now firmly next in line for executive overseer. Unless Isabella Vida, the old witch, managed to outlive him.

  Enough of work. Today he was here to see Flora purely on a social level. For over a year now he had been watching her, biding his time until she turned twenty. He encouraged her education, helped her find child care, and augmented her meager lifestyle with a good job. He even was liberal with her time off when Jamie got sick, as he supposed all babies were wont to do.

  But most of all, he was there for Flora. Morgan was delighted with the ladies’ comments he overheard in the office. They all thought Flora was special, and they all encouraged him to court her.

  At first he resisted the idea, mainly because he remembered how much Flora hated the work in Nuremberg. But after seeing her mature, and after falling under the spell of little Jamie, Morgan began catching himself dreaming about a life that included the three of them.

  It was a good dream. Although Flora lost none of the passion that had filled her in Germany, she learned to harness it. Instead of losing her temper, he saw her become more determined. And instead of yelling at Jamie, he saw her laughing as she played with him. In Morgan’s imagination, he saw her passion driving him as he guided Soul Identity and their family with his wisdom and vision.

  Archibald Morgan, the most eligible bachelor at Soul Identity, was in love. And although he had never mentioned it to her, he was sure Flora knew, and he was confident she approved.

  That confidence was why he was here today. Three weeks ago he worked up the courage to invite Flora to a birthday dinner and dance at Worcester’s Lakeside Ballroom. After considering his request for five long days, she accepted.

  The last two weeks in the office had made him giddy with anticipation. The ladies swarmed around Flora, helping her choose the right dress and giving her advice on makeup and perfume. The fellows in the office, even crusty old Alexei Ivanov from the depositary, dropped by to congratulate him. Morgan felt like he was walking on clouds.

  And at long last today had come, and here he sat in the guest house rooms of the most desirable woman he knew. He reached into his pocket and patted the red velvet-covered ring box. Tonight would mark the ending of their office courtship and the beginning of their engagement.

  Marriage would follow. Not too soon, because the office girls would need time to plan the event. But not too late, as Jamie wasn’t getting any younger, and Morgan had already detected some glimmers of character deficiencies that would only fester without a strong father figure in his life.

  A knock on the front door woke him from his daydreams. He let Mrs. Beasley in and politely listened to her chatter. But his mind was on the evening ahead.

  At last Flora was ready, and the two of them paused at the door for a final hug with Jamie. Morgan’s heart skipped a beat as he and Flora kissed Jamie’s cheeks simultaneously. And then they were off, Flora hanging onto his arm as they swept down the stairs, out the door, and into the back of the limousine.

  “Please drive us to the Lakeside Ballroom, Mr. Hutchinson,” Morgan said to the driver once they were under way.

  “Yes, sir.” The driver looked back in his mirror. “Ms. Drabarni, how are you this evening?”

  Flora smiled. “I’m fine, Franklin.”

  “And little Jamie?”

  “Into all kinds of mischief.”

  The driver chuckled as he pulled out of the Soul Identity gates. “As he should be, ma’am.”

  Morgan and Flora chatted about Jamie on the drive down to the ballroom on the shores of Lake Quinsigamond. In less than an hour they arrived.

  He climbed out of the limousine in time to assist Flora. He was thrilled when she continued to hold his hand as they walked toward the entrance.

  “Mr. Morgan, thank you so much for taking me out on my birthday,” she said.

  “The pleasure is all mine, Flora,” he said. He dared a slight caress of her wrist with his fingertips. “But you must call me Archibald while we are out of the office.”

  “Archibald.” She pointed at the pavilion. “Will you take me dancing?”

  “Of course,” he said, and after thirty minutes of whirling around the floor, they made their way into the restaurant. They sat on the outdoor terrace overlooking the lake. A waiter lit the candle on the table and gave him a hand-printed menu.

  He peeked at Flora over the card. She was watching a couple walk along the shore in the late summer twilight. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was humming along with the music spilling out of the pavilion. A smile crossed her face, and he felt a wave of affection sweep over him. The evening could not be more perfect.

  When the waiter returned, Morgan ordered for them both, then he chose to commence the serious conversation while they waited for its arrival.

  He cleared his throat. “Flora, when we met three years ago in Germany, I would never have imagined we would be sitting here together.”

  She turned to face him and smiled. “Neither would I,” she said softly.

  “I have watched you grow from a girl into an enchanting lady.”

  She raised one eyebrow, but said nothing.

  “You and little Jamie have brought a breath of fresh air onto our second floor.”

  “Jamie is my life. Especially now after Baba passed away,” she said. “How I wish she was still here!”

  He patted her hand. “Is it hard raising Jamie on your own?”

  “I’m making it.” This with her eyebrows lowered, just a little.

  “You are making it, Flora,” he said. “And we are all glad to help you however we can.” He grabbed her hands with both of his.

  Her fingers trailed over his palms. “You have been very good to us,” she said. “I don’t think we could have done it without you.”

  “It has been my pleasure.” He leaned forward. “And it would be my pleasure to help even more.”

  She looked up at him. “You’ve done so much already.”

  The moment had come. He pulled one hand free from hers and reached into his jacket pocket. He grasped the ring box and took a deep breath. “Today is your twentieth birthday,” he said, “and first thing Monday morning I can walk you through the membership process.”

  She tilted her head. “Membership process?”

  “Soul Identity,” he explained. “Now you are twenty years old, you may join.”

  “Ah.” She pulled her hands free and ran her fingers around the base of the candlestick. “Archibald…” She looked up with a solemn expression on her face. “I’m not going to join.”

  He was afraid this might happen. “Flora, you have a great job at Soul Identity. You live on campus in our guest house. You are friends with all the ladies in the office. How can you not want to join?”

  “I love the people—but not the organization.” Her eyes narrowed. “I just can’t bear the thought of joining the group that fought to protect the memories of the people who killed my father.”

  He sat back, astonished at the strength of the vehemence in her voice, surprised it was undiminished after three years.

  She sighed and reached for his hand. “This is the one area where you and I do not agree.”

  He gave
a wry smile. “I have been hoping for you to come around and see my side.”

  “And I have hoped the same of you.” She leaned forward and smiled. “But this is only a small difference of opinion between us, Archibald. There are many things we have in common. Many joys we share.”

  “That is true.” With great reluctance he pulled his hand out of his jacket pocket and abandoned the ring box. He forced his lips to lift in a nonchalant smile. And he said, with barely a tremor in his voice, “If you refuse to join us, what will you do for work?”

  “I have a job.”

  He shook his head. “Once Soul Identity employees turn twenty, they either have to join or quit.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “It is not my policy, but an ancient one. We will not have employees who will not believe.”

  She bit her lower lip. “Do you think you could bend this policy for me? At least until Jamie reaches school age?”

  He pretended to think for a minute before he shook his head. “I cannot risk it, Flora. You know the politics—my career would be in jeopardy.”

  She withdrew her hands and looked at him in the eye. “It’s that important to you, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “Your career.”

  He looked away at the lake for a long minute. He reluctantly met her eyes and nodded.

  “Then I had better find a new job as soon as possible,” she said crisply. “I have no time to waste on frivolous meals.” She stood up. “Take me home, Mr. Morgan.”

  “Please, Flora,” he said, “let us first enjoy our dinner, and then Mr. Hutchinson can drive us home.” Maybe by the end of the meal he could talk some sense into her and not let her throw her life away.

  She pursed her lips. “Enjoy your dinner alone. I’ll be waiting in the car with Franklin.” She stomped off the terrace and back toward the pavilion, past the couple along the lake shore.

  He carefully folded his napkin, stood up, and followed her. And along the shore of Lake Quinsigamond, Archibald Morgan, most eligible bachelor at Soul Identity, pulled the ring box out of his pocket and hurled it deep into the water.