Hamish opened his eyes slowly to a serenity unknown in his typically chaotic life. He was warm under a tidy mess of blankets and a soft fire, blurring the edges of his cold senses. His mind was rested, no shadows of a dimly viewed past lurked to torment him in an uneasy level of sleep. Haunted masks of death obediently remained behind the veil of forgetfulness and the silent whispers of his soul had gone mute.<br/><br/>Hamish could only describe the feeling as peaceful, although he was not certain he fully understood the meaning of the word. But the violence that sat so familiar upon his conscience was absent, leaving him feeling strangely alone. It was a feeling Hamish certainly had no familiarity with; he would normally revel in the knowledge that he had no connections. Baird had consistently warned him that connections make him visible and vulnerable. Two adjectives anyone in his line of work with any talent for the field would know to avoid.<br/><br/>Hamish heard the soft foot falls approaching his door. They were too soft for Myra or Josef. The warmth left his body and was replaced with cold instinct as he rolled from the bed and breezed into the shadows of the large wardrobe that dominated the east wall as the fireplace dominated the south. The door slowly opened and Hamish could tell by the steps that whoever had entered was trying to be quiet and not very good at it. They had recently bathed in lavender soap and shuffled with no confidence towards the obviously empty bed. Hamish closed his eyes and cursed the fates for reminding him of who was just as he was enjoying the quieting of his mind.<br/>Hamish watched as the person came fully into the room and blinked in surprise. It was a woman dressed in the standard black and white uniform of a maid. Hamish stepped behind her and gripped the back of her neck. She instantly went ridged and tried to gasp but a simple squeeze of his strong fingers was enough so the attempted scream only came out as a choking squeak.<br/><br/>“Who are you,” Hamish asked, feeling the old coldness fighting to regain its long established dominance.<br/><br/>“Please sir,” came the begging response.<br/><br/>“Where are Myra and Josef,” Hamish asked, suddenly worried about the two housekeepers. Worry that added the weight of promised death to his words. Unfortunately, the girl could not answer for Hamish’s grip was unintentionally tightening, shooting a slow but steady stream of paralyzing pain throughout her body.<br/><br/>“Herr Buchannon!” came the familiar voice of Myra as she rushed into the room, looking more scared than Hamish had ever seen anyone. “No, no please!”<br/><br/>“You are okay Frau Dahl,” Hamish commented, relief actually bringing the short woman to a pause. “Is Josef equally well? Has this intruder hurt you?”<br/><br/>“Hurt me? No! Herr Buchannon, she is my niece!” Myra exclaimed, desperation now mixing with the fear in her face. It was a need Hamish had seen before, a need to have the words to make him understand.<br/><br/>“Your niece,” Hamish replied. He released his hold on the woman who slumped to the ground sobbing.<br/><br/>Myra rushed to the girl nodding, “Yes, my apologies Herr Buchannon, I sent her to wake you without thinking! Please punish me, not her, she did not know any better!” The words flew out of a place in the older woman Hamish knew existed but had little understanding of or experience to call upon. But the pain, the fear, the desperation, and the memory of having had to go through this before was etched into every inch of Myra’s being. The stooped shoulders of heavy and haunting memories, the attempt to cover as much of the girl with her own body as possible, it all hit Hamish like a sledgehammer.<br/><br/>“Why would I punish either of you,” he asked, not fully comprehending the reason he felt as if he had been kicked by a mule. “Why is she here that would bring punishment upon you?”<br/><br/>“Please Herr Buchannon,” Myra begged, further deepening the strange breathless feeling in his guts, “She is only 15 and her family is in one of the work camps!”<br/><br/>Hamish stepped away from the women just as Josef ran into the room, a gun in his hand. Hamish stood in the firelight, looking to Josef like nothing short of the angel of death himself with his pale skin radiating the orange of the fire as it threw crooked shadows across the bare floor. Josef stared at the sight and unconsciously found himself backing away, as if the specter he was seeing may suddenly spring upon him.<br/><br/>“Josef, lower the gun,” Hamish said with all the calm he could muster. How the hell had things gotten so bad! He was losing control but felt the cold reality of history replacing the adrenaline soaked emotions of everyone else. The calm worked however, for Josef looked at his hand as if it had grown the weapon and Josef threw it to the ground.<br/><br/>Hamish nodded then bent to the two women on the floor. Myra was trying not to cry in fear; the other girl lost that battle long ago. They were tears of agonizing memories, the kind that lay deep in our souls and wait until we are most vulnerable before unleashing a wild storm of pain remembered far too well. It was a fear that springs from the untapped well of our souls that only experience can open. This girl had been hurt, badly.<br/><br/>The maid cap had fallen off revealing her long black hair, and Hamish caught a glimpse of her brown eyes when she opened them long enough to look at him. The eyes confirmed everything. She was too young for such horror, too innocent for such evil. Hamish felt a chill settle into his heart just as a fire kicked in from his soul.<br/><br/>“Who hurt her,” Hamish asked. Myra looked shocked by the question but the heat coming from his eyes was no longer fearful. It was the heat of vengeance from eyes that would see it done. “Give me names and I will make them scream for your forgiveness before I bury them in their own hate filled graves.”<br/><br/>“Herr Buchannon,” Josef finally said stepping into the room. “Her name is Chaya Berger, her mother sent her to us weeks ago, you were never here and there was so much room. The night they took her father and mother, she ran here, we took her in and have been hiding her ever since. Always worried about a search or that you would find her. We know you work for the Nazi’s Herr Buchannon and beg of you not to hurt her. Please, we will go in her place if you will keep her…”<br/><br/>“No,” Hamish said quietly, rising from the floor. “Her name must be Dahl, Josef. She lives under my roof but Dahl will give them no reason to look further. She is the daughter of your brother, who has sent her here while he fights. Her mother has died of consumption."<br/><br/>Hamish reached out to the young girl and helped her to a chair in front of the fireplace. He looked at her as he spoke. "Believe me when I tell you that I do not work for the Nazi's. What I do is unimportant but it gives me skills to see punishment carried out. Now, give me the names of the men who hurt you.”<br/><br/>Several minutes later, Hamish had memorized the names of the men while he dressed. The young girl had sat in the chair and rattled off the names in a far off daze as she forced her mind to recall things her body wanted to forget. She had only known the name of two soldiers who had come in that night. Two was enough. One would die so that one would talk, then the talker would die. They would not die with dignity.<br/><br/>It never occurred to Hamish that the reasons were not business. Nor did it occur to him that as he was losing control of the situation, his stutter had not returned. He had targets. His life was back to normal.<br/><br/>The hour was just after seven in the evening when Hamish finally emerged downstairs. Myra awaited him with Chaya at the bottom of the stairs. Myra had her smile plastered again to her motherly face. Chaya was smiling as well but hers was marred with shyness and lack of trust towards him. He tried smiling in return and felt the unfamiliar muscles try to work themselves out.<br/>Myra could not contain her laughter for long, “You look as if you are going to eat us Herr Buchannon,” she tittered. This made Chaya giggle and it was the prettiest sound Hamish could remember. It was pure and honest and without a hint of the terror.<br/><br/>“I am not used to such gestures I am afraid,” Hamish replied. Myra was stunned into silence, staring open mouthed at him. Hamish felt he had already bungled the conversation and was about to apologize, knowing the stutter would be there when Myra saved him.<br/><br/>“Did you just make a jest Herr Buchannon?” Myra asked him, the playful lilt of her voice brought a true smile to his lips. Myra laughed again, “That’s better!” Hamish could not relay his gratefulness to her, he was unsure what that really meant. But he felt it keenly, a need to show her appreciation.<br/><br/>“Your guest will be here shortly after 9pm,” Chaya said quietly, looking at the floor. “If it pleases Herr Buchannon, I will be delighted to serve as your hostess.”<br/><br/>Hamish looked at the two women carefully. Something was happening, he knew it; one of those openings that life offers that we tend to miss so often. Hamish was not sure what to make of it but he gave in to something familiar for him, his instinct. But logical sat quietly to the side as he gave voice to his heart.<br/><br/>“I can think of no one I’d rather have than the services of a lovely young lady at my table,” he replied, astonished that, once again, he had not stuttered. “It is my honor that you are here Chaya.”<br/><br/>The responding smile from both of the ladies gave Hamish a sense of something right. A feeling he had searched for but never really understood until now. He watched as the two women departed before making his way to the library. He sat in a chair in front of the fire and puffed on an empty pipe. Occasionally, one of his guests would laugh, and once he heard Chaya singing a song. She had a beautiful voice that struck chords of longing for Hamish. Longings he could not seem to grab and examine but he felt them keenly.<br/><br/>It had been a long time since Hamish had enjoyed the feelings of being home. He bathed in the sensation now and let it wash away the grim of his past. It would never fully cleanse him but it was a start.<br/><br/>Hamish once again felt the timing of the day slip by him and replaced the book had been browsing. She would be here soon. He stood and checked his appearance in the mirror. Black slacks, a crisp white shirt with a green silk tie and a crimson smoking jacket. For a second Hamish wondered what he could possibly blend in to in this outfit. It was a fluttering thought and Hamish released it as he made his way to the dining room. The table had the leaves removed and a modest four holder candelabra as its center piece.  The electric lights had been turned off in favor of the candles. Hamish felt comfortable in the warm glow of the candles over the harsh burning electric lights.<br/><br/>Before he could think anymore, there was a knock upon his door.