The Black Swan

by Day Taylor

  "Miss Dulcie, may I have the pleasure of the first Virginia reel?" It was Todd, with his lofty manner and faintly mocking smile.

  Dulcie suddenly found good reason to cool herself with her carved ivory fan. "This evenin's a long way off, Todd,"

  she said affectedly. "You might fo'get you'd asked me, an' Ah'd be a lonely li'l wallflowah."

  "On youah buthday, Miss Dulcie?" He pretended surprise, imitating her accent perfectly. "Why, Ah'd fo'get mah own name fust!"

  Dulcie laughed.

  Glenn, who was not especially enjoying the sight of Dulcie looking so raptly into another male's face, particularly that of his older brother, took courage in his hands. "She'll be dancin' the second reel with me."

  Todd's eyes grew warmer on Dulcie. "We'll have to let Miss Dulcie decide for herself, won't we?"

  She held his gaze for another second before turning lightly to put her hand on Glenn's arm. "I really haven't promised anyone yet." Her eyes sparkled. "I'll dance with . . . with the winner of the tournament!"

  Glenn grabbed Dulcie's hands, and they performed a few lively steps of the reel while the others laughed and clapped.

  "I sho'ly hope you enjoyed that, Glenn," said Lowell Hume, "since I'm goin' to win the tourney and Miss Dulcie."

  A chorus of young, bantering male voices drowned him out.

  "Miss Dulcie, will we be havin' a gander pull?" asked Conroy Biggs.

  "Ooh, I hope not!" Blythe shuddered with delighted anticipation.

  "Well, I think so. Daddy had the gander penned up last night."

  Everybody laughed. Half the fun of a gander pull was catching the gander again after he'd escaped from his pen. "We'll go see," said Leroy.

  "D'you need some help lookin'?" Roberta asked coquet-tishly. She was half in love with Leroy already. She knew from her last visit here that Leroy was likely to leave her with memories of stolen moments of delight that few youn^ men of his age had the skill or audacity to dare.

  Dulcie rose, despite the hampering influence of Glenn, who leaped to his feet in such an excess of politeness that he nearly knocked her over. She put her hand on his arm. "You'll excuse me for a few moments, Glenn?"

  Glenn bowed to Dulcie while looking daggers at his nearest kin.

  Todd, not in the least affected by Glenn's annoyance, walked leisurely away. The gander was in his nailed-up box, running his long neck and vicious beak out of all the slits, seeking escape. Roberta was feeding him blades of grass. "When does the tiltin' tourney start, Dulcie?"

  "Whenever the Whitaker boys get here. The course is marked out." She indicated a long bare area between stables and spinning house, decorated with pennons and bunting of various colors. About twenty feet apart were three arches, twined with more bunting and decorated with flowers.

  Dulcie took their attention and their illusionary dreams of victory away from the arches and pointed toward the sand-filled square in the far corner of the area that was for Indian wrestling. Again, visions of two stalwart young men, pitting their strength against one another, jumped into the minds of young girls, who wanted their favorites to win, and of young men, who wanted to prove their prowess before an audience.

  Jem had insisted that the tournament be a part of Dul-cie's party. Tournaments were traditional American entertainment, dating back to Colonial times, and were a less lethal imitation of jousts of the Middle Ages. For Jem they were the perfect combination of European pomp and raw American skill.

  Their continuing popularity was aided by the novels of Sir Walter Scott, in particular Ivanhoe, written early in the century and still widely read and dreamed over in the romantic South. For young Southern men it was a chance to display horsemanship, athletic skills, and daring, thrilling the ladies. For no young man would enter the lists without flaunting a brightly colored symbol presented to him by a fair maiden. The solemn pageantry, with prancing horses and handsome men in bright costumes, was pleasing to the eye. But the most exciting part, where even the sturdiest young lady was apt to faint, was the flowery speeches of the winner and runners-up in naming the Sovereign of Love and Beauty and her ladies-in-waiting.

  Birdie Saunders edged through the group of young people until she came to stand next to Dulcie. Dulcie's eyes sparkled. Turning to Birdie Saunders, she shivered slightly.

  "Isn't it romantic, Birdie?" surprised, she saw tears in Birdie's soft brown eyes.

  "No," she whispered. "After tonight you'll be all grown up. We won't ever have fun like we used to."

  "Oh, Birdie, we will! We'll—"

  Stubbornly Birdie shook her head. "It'll never be the same. Remember the naughty, naughty things you jused to do to Glenn?"

  Dulcie's nose crinkled as she smiled mischievously. "Who says that has to end?"

  Birdie smiled instantly. "Duicie! What are you thinkin'? I'd know that look anytime!"

  "He's goin' to the stables. Remember when we poured water—"

  Birdie giggled, her tears vanishing. "An' got his good clothes all wet?" Her laughing eyes met Dulcie's, and a decision came.

  Quietly they left the group, sneaking around behind the bushes and outbuildings. Duicie said urgently, "Hurry up and distract him, Birdie, while I climb into the hayloft."

  Duicie ran into the stables, glancing hastily toward the loft. The ladder wasn't in place, nor was the hayloft near enough to Comet, Glenn's pampered thoroughbred gray. Chewing on her lip, she stamped her foot, raising little dust puffs. Then she smiled, looking overhead to the storage loft located directly over the stalls of Comet and the black stallion next to him. It wouM be the perfect vantage point.

  She found the ladder, tucked neatly out of sight. She tugged at its weight, pulling it away from the wall. Wobbling, the ladder stood upright. Then it fell to the floor wih a resounding crash that startled the black horse belonging to her father's business guest.

  Struggling, she heaved the ladder up. She let it fall into place, slamming against the flooring of the storage loft directly over the black horse. Whinnying and snorting, the black stallion kicked at the sides of his stall, his eyes walling, his neck arching away from the frightening ladder.

  Glenn'll be here before I'm ready! she thought. "Hersel! Hersel, where are you?"

  "Ah's heah. Miss Duicie."

  "Do something about that horse! He's kicking down his stall."

  "Lawsy, lawsy! Whut you done to dat hawse? Dat

  animule b'long to Cap'n Tree-main, an' yo' daddy's gwine holler fit to raise de Debbil." He eased into the stall, speaking softly. "Easy now. Whoa, hawse!"

  A full water bucket in one hand, her skirts looped up over her arm, Dulcie made her way up the ladder to the storage loft.

  "Miss Dulcie, whut kinda debbiltry you up to?" Hersel asked sternly.

  "You just soothe that horse and don't talk to me."

  "Mastah Jem gwine skin both us'ns iffen you doan quit dat. Dem bo'ds gwine gib way." Then as Dulcie went on with her struggle, sloshing water below her, Hersel said, "Ah's gittin' outer heah. Ain't gwine be in no place to git de blame."

  Birdie's eyes danced as she teased her brother. "Guess I've held you up long enough now, Glenn."

  Glenn tweaked her nose. "You're not gonna hold me up at all. I'm goin' to see to my horse."

  Birdie giggled. "Come on, I'U go with you."

  "What are you two up to now?" Glenn threw back bis head and laughed. "I figured it out this time. You're not gonna get me."

  Birdie pushed him toward the stables, but Glenn, smiling maddeningly, did not move.

  "Oh, Glenn, please!"

  "I'm not fallin' for it this time.'*

  "I'll get Dulcie to dance the reels with you! The whole set!"

  Glenn raised his eyebrows speculatively. "If you don't come through, I'll . . ."

  Dulcie, perched waiting on the floorboards of the storage loft, glanced down anxiously. She could hardly see. Then a man's shadow crossed the bright patch of sunlight at the door. Dulcie dived back into hiding. She heard Glenn below her, moving around. Sudden
ly the ladder disappeared.

  She stood up, alarmed at first, then began to giggle. "Ha, ha, think you caught me, smarty! Come over here, I have a surprise for you!"

  He hesitated, then overcome with curiosity, he walked slowly toward the black horse's stall. Dulcie puzzled for

  a moment at his silence, then heaved the bucket of water with all her might.

  "Sonofabitch!" Adam jumped, balancing on the stall gate, reached overhead to the loft flooring, then swung himself up. In the murky shadows Dulcie edged back to hide herself behind a broken sulky.

  He stalked her, muttering, "I've tumbled some in my life, but never with preliminaries like this."

  The man loomed before her dripping water. He was large, powerfully built, his face shadowed, his eyes dark and inscrutable.

  Dulcie quaked, unable to form a coherent sound. Innocent though she was, she felt the male power emanating from him, stirring her blood and leaving her breathless.

  Before he even touched her, she could feel the presence of him enclosing her.

  He reached out and grabbed her. He was like the force of a hurricane—wild, untamed, unstoppable. He pulled her against him. Dulcie, in a daze, felt the cool wetness of his frock coat, the long animal hardness of his body.

  She started, and began pounding on his chest. "No! no! You can't do this to me—I'm Dulcie Moran!"

  "Is Dulcie Moran different from other women?" The warmth of his breath stirred her hair.

  "My daddy'll have you horsewhipped!"

  He laughed and held her more closely. "How will you explain luring me into the loft?"

  Dulcie tensed, all the adventure gone. She began to cry. "Oh, please, please—let me go. I didn't mean to soak you! It was a joke on Glenn!"

  "Jokes like that are for children—but then, you're not much more than a child, anyway. Have fun, Dulcie!"

  He let her go and jumped down to the stable floor.

  Dulcie peered down, worried. "Are you going to tell my daddy?"

  "Not this time." He mounted his horse, then looked up at her. On her pretty woman's face played the emotions of an inexperienced child. Momentarily he wondered what it would be like to be the man who introduced Dulcie to love, for he was certain someone would, and soon.

  He said lightly, "But if you ever play a woman's game with me again, you'll pay a woman's price."

  Adam rode out of the stable.

  Dulcie sat down and wept.

  Birdie and Glenn ran in. Birdie, seeing the splash marks on the stable floor and hearing Dulcie's sobs, said, "Dulcie! What happened?! Was it that man? Did he hurt you?"

  Glenn hurried to put up the ladder. Birdie climbed up.

  "Oh, Birdie, don't make me talk about it now! I just can't!"

  Glenn called, "Dulcie, are you all right?"

  "Birdie, sneak me into the house! I can't see anybody lookin' like this!"

  As Dulcie rounded the back of the house, the six Whit-akers, four sons and two daughters, arrived closely followed by their parents and grandparents. Dulcie and Birdie crept up the servants' stairway. Claudine helped her change her dress while Birdie gently bathed her face, holding cold cloths against her puffy eyelids.

  "Dulcie, aren't you ever goin' to tell me what happened?"

  Dulcie shook her head wildly. "No—no—it was too horrible!" In her mind's eye Dulcie saw him again. She shivered, confused that the memory of him made her feel both hot and cold at once. It was as though his strong, warm hands still rested in the small of her back. As Claudine stroked her hair, she felt his breath, stirring her hair.

  Abruptly she leaned forward and covered her face. "Oh, Birdie, it was awful! Just awful! He was horrible—an' mean! An' he threatened me!"

  Birdie, remembering the man she had seen riding from the stables, stared off dreamily. "Oh, Dulcie, I wish it had been me!"

  Dulcie, twinged by jealousy, said, "You don't know what you're talking about! You'd have been scared to death!"

  Still filled with misgivings, she went back downstairs. She looked around furtively, in case the man had come back. If she saw him again, she'd just faint.

  And if she never saw him again ... it wouldn't matter. He had nothing to do with her. That man had been nothing but a rogue and a ruffian. It was her birthday party, her coming out, and the men of the county were there in her honor. There were all kinds of men, suitable men, gentle

  men, waiting to court her. She would have her pick of the crop.

  The Whitakers greeted her effusively, tangling her in hugs and giggles, the men doffing their hats gallantly. They were blond, all of them. She thought of thick black curls and a teasing flash of white teeth under a black moustache. . . .

  Mr. Acton, master of the local hunt, sounded his horn for the tournament.

  The pageant began with knights arrayed in brilliant striped satin tunics of two and three colors, mounted on gallant steeds trailing ribbons of the same colors from their bridles. Sedately, in parade formation, they rode past the spectators, sweeping off their ribbon-trimmed hats as they passed the lady of their choice. Behind the knights c'ame their personal servants. After them followed ♦ the small children from the quarters, doing handsprings and cartwheels and improvised acrobatics.

  Glenn, wearing Dulcie's gold and brown insignia, rode past and bared his long pale locks in the traditional salute.

  The first event was Taking the Ring. At full gallop each man sped along the seventy-five-yard course under three arches. With a tapered jousting lance he would attempt to impale a ring suspended from each arch.

  Lowell Hume rode first. Cheers went up from the audience as he presented the ring to the judges for inspection. Another ring was hung in its place, and Todd Saunders galloped under the arches. He caught nothing. Then in succession, and with similar results, Conroy Biggs and three of the Whitakers passed through the arches. By now there were catcalls from participants as well as onlookers.

  Next Glenn galloped down the decorated arches, looking grimly earnest. He looked surprised at the cheering, but red-faced, he dismounted and swaggered over to the judges. Grandly he bowed to Dulcie. "Miss Dulcie, will you do me the honor of holdin' this ring for me?"

  It was almost an anticlimax when Leroy Biggs galloped madly down the lane and speared two rings. Leroy accepted the applause with aplomb, wrapped the rings in his handkerchief, and tucked them safely into his pocket. Lowell Hume won, by taking three rings.

  After the applause had died down, Lowell made his speech selecting the tournament queen. "Who here is fair

  enough to be called Sovereign, the Queen of Love and Beauty? Upon my sacred honor, friends, I cannot cast my eyes in any direction that they do not linger on a maiden bountifully fitted to wear the garland of myrtle."

  "Hear, hear!" cried Granddad Whitaker, a dilapidated Englishman whose eye and hand for a pretty girl were legendary in the county.

  Lowell went on, "Yet one must be chosen—that one to whom heaven has lent such grace that the veriest dolt will remark favorably on it. That one whose mortal beauty is enhanced by her sweet spirit and her tender kindness. She who will be Sovereign excels the freshest rosebud for purity, the bluebird for happy augury, and the most luminous rainbow in its rareness.

  "It would be less than apropos if I did not name the maiden adored by every dauntless gallant of this mighty county, the most captivating damozel of them all—Miss Dulcie Moran, our Queen of Love and Beauty!"

  Her speech of acceptance was graciously to the point This was the world she belonged to—the pageantry, the gentle manners, the honorable men—a world of light and social grace; a world safe from dark corners and the unleashed sensuality of the dark, bold raider of the loft. "I am truly flattered to be chosen your queen for this important day in my life. As for bein' all those delightful things Lowell said I was—I'm goin' to have to work mighty hard to live up to them! But now, let the runners-up select those who shall be ladies-in-waitin'!"

  Glenn, looking dour, chose Katherine, his cousin. Leroy said, "Miss Enid Wh
itaker as the queen's lady!" The ladies-in-waiting were installed with" suitable ceremony. The trumpet was sounded for the Indian wrestling.

  Leroy came out winner in that event. Todd won the footraces. Only five participants entered the hand races. Cedric and Andrew Whitaker, Lowell, Glenn, and Leroy stood on their hands to follow a course that finished at the feet of the Sovereign. Leroy, so red he was nearly purple, did a somersault to celebrate winning.

  The gander pull would be the last event. This was so popular a sport that Jem allowed his servants to watch it. It was as much a treat for the guests as it was for the slaves, for Fellie had his own little band of musicians he had trained from among the adolescent blacks. They led the procession of slaves out to the area, playing and sing-

  ing as they came. Dulcie glanced oyer to see Claudine among them. On either side of her were two large young black men. Claudine held the hand of each of them. Dulcie grinned. She knew Claudine had a young man but had no idea who it was; and Claudine wasn't one to talk, fearing Jem would find out and send her away. At least now the field was narrowed to two men. Dulcie would find out soon which it was.

  Her attention was wrested from Claudine as the gander was taken out of his pen, his big black feet tied securely. Then, flapping his long wings, nipping desperately at his captors with his heavy black beak, he was dipped into a tub of grease. As a final indignity, he was hung by his feet high over the racecourse, honking and hissing in distress.

  The object of the sport was to ride one's horse under the goose at full speed, trying to seize the squirming fowl by its neck. Whoever made off with the goose's head was declared winner.

  Dulcie, looking at the big dark body with the black neck undulating like a snake, whispered to her nearest lady-in-waiting. "Oh, Enid, tell me when it's over! I don't think I can watch this."

  Enid eyed her curiously. "You always enjoyed it before. What's the matter with you today? Was it your pet?"

  "No, no—it's just—I'd forgotten how gruesome the poor bird looks all slimy with grease and—an' waitin' to die."