The Black Swan

by Day Taylor

  Adam remained staring at the cabin for some time. How different would his life with Dulcie have been if Wolf hadn't interrupted them with his obscene display that day in the little hut in the woods? For a moment it seemed to Adam that Dulcie would still be alive, happy, and waiting for him at Mossrose if it hadn't been for Wolf.

  All the guilt he ,had been carrying he mentally transferred to Wolf. It was Wolf's fault that Dulcie had followed him to New Orleans and come to be in Nassau. It was his fault that Dulcie had had to sail across the ocean to see her parents. It was Wolf's fault that she was on that particular voyage.

  It seemed real to Adam, until Grace's shrill voice pierced his thoughts. He started, bUnking, seeing Moss-rose as it really was—abandoned by Jem, its fields trampled and scorched, its stables charred rubble. He shivered thinking of Dulcie here, or rather lost from here, wandering he didn't know where. Lost like Jem and Patricia.

  Grace streaked across the lawn shrieking, " 'Simmon daid! Ludy! 'Simmon daid! Hersel say he gwine die, too! Make him stop! Oh, Ludy, come quick!"

  Chapter Four

  The cortege of slaves buried 'Simmon and Hersel in the slave burying ground behind the peach orchard. Adam walked slowly after them with Claudine. With the last spade of dirt thrown into the grave and the last prayer murmured, all faces turned to Adam. They were ready to leave, and they looked to him to lead them to safety and bounty in the North. They had finished with Mossrose.

  Adam told each one what was needed. Quickly they went to gather the provisions for a long journey. Hosea brought to the front entrance of Mossrose two rickety, hastily repaired wagons. Adam walked briskly from one small pDe of provisions to another, mentally tallying the additional risks their makeshift vehicles would create in an already dangerous trip. The wagons were held together with wood patches and wire. Hosea had done the best he could.

  But Adam doubted that the wagons would make the hard trip. Roads that had once been cared for by the plantation owners were now left to the whim of weather, use, and time. They were badly rutted, in some places nearly impassable because of fallen trees, debris, and heavy rains. On those same roads, they would be the target of hungry marauding bands of runaways or deserters. They had shoes on their feet, clothes on their backs, supplies in their wagons, and horses. Any single item was enough to tempt those who had nothing.

  Adam decided to leave behind the weaker of the two wagons. They would use one of the big Mossrose wagons and the wagon he had rented in Charleston. It was too small, but it was sturdy. Hosea led two horses, sorry creatures that Jem had put to pasture two years before— all that was left of the Mossrose stable, once second to none.

  They set out at sundown, keeping to the main roads to spare the rickety wheels of Hosea's wagons. Their route was merely a choice of evils. On the main roads they were liable to be stopped by patrollers seeking runaways. Along

  back roads they could be accosted or attacked by nearly anyone. There was no place of safety in these times. Law, what little there was of it, was arbitrary, dependent on the mood and condition of the lawmaker. Of lawlessness there were endless varieties brought about by necessity, hunger, meanness, and war.

  The first dawn they stopped near Beaufort, just miles from the Federal refueling station at Port Royal. No one slept. Adam prowled the surrounding area, his hand on the Colt at all times. Barney and Hosea worked feverishly repairing the left rear wheel of the wagon.

  Her tread so light it made no sound on the pine-laden turf, Claudine came up to Adam. He whirled, grabbing for her. "For God's sake, Claudine, don't come up on me like that."

  She rubbed her hand along her bruised upper arm where he had grabbed her. "We gwine be all right, Mastah Adam?" she asked quietly.

  "We'll be all right." He watched her hesitate, frightened but not wanting to show him, uncertain but already cowed by his determination to be rid of her. He reached out and took her chin in his hand. "We'll be all right, Claudine."

  "What you gwine do wiff me?"

  "Would you like to go North with the others?"

  "Ah jes' wants to stay wiff you. Ah woan be in yo' way. Ah woan do nothin' what you doan wan' me to."

  Adam's eyes roved over the dark area, searching for movement in the shadowy woods. "You can't stay with me, Claudine. We've already talked that over, and my mind is made up."

  "Ah ain't gwine Nawth!"

  "You'll do as I tell you."

  "Nossuh! Dey's suhtain things you cain't tell me. Ah cain't he'p what Ah feels fo' you, an' Ah cain't he'p you doan wan' what Ah gots to give you, but Ah ain't gwine Nawth! Ah's stayin' jes' as nigh to you as Ah kin!"

  "Lower your voice!"

  "Ah ain't gwine Nawth," she repeated softly.

  "All right! I've already told you, you can stay in Wilmington with my mother. Now, for God's sake, go with the other women and sleep."

  But none of them could sleep. Adam, as restless as his passengers, decided to chance being stopped and questioned. He could always say the wagon load of slaves belonged to

  him and pray no one asked him for papers. Nearly anything seemed better than the waiting and the constant fear of surprise.

  From then on they traveled day and night, stopping only for meals and short rests for the drivers. The miles seemed to bring Charleston no closer, until finally Adam recognized plantations they passed. "We'll be there by nightfall."

  Adam drove the wagon to Melody Cox's millinery shop, as close as he dared to the well-guarded dock area. He went to the ship alone. "Rosebud!"

  The big black man loomed out of the darkness. "When you git back. Boss?"

  "I've got six fugitives waiting behind Melody's shop. Not a one has papers. Have we any cargo that hasn't been loaded yet?"

  "Ain't much, Boss, jes' some turpentine, an* some mo' naval stores."

  "Rouse six of the men. As the slaves load the stuff on board, one of our men will go back down the gangplank and take the last of the supplies. Oh, and Rosebud, gather three sets of men's clothing for the women. A very large set—yours—for Violet."

  Rosebud whistled. "Yas, Boss! I meet you at Miss Melody's. You gwine stop an' say hello to her fo' a minute?'*

  Adam scowled at him, then hurried back down the gangplank into the darkness. Rosebud heard him call out a cheerful greeting to one of the Confederate guards patrolling the area.

  Shortly after, Rosebud ran along the Charleston streets, the bundle of seamen's clothing tucked under his arm. All the women, dressed in the trousers and shirts of the crew, followed Adam and Rosebud back to the dock area.

  "Grace, you open your mouth just once and I'll smash you!" Adam rasped, his raised fist clenched. Grace's head bobbed mutely.

  Rosebud handed her a small cask and lifted one of the large kegs. "Y'all jes' folia aftuh me," he said. He waved a large arm at the crates, kegs, and boxes. "Eve'ybody take one an' walk along like you knows what you's doin'."

  Silently the train of six blacks followed Rosebud, Violet huffing and straining under the additional weight of a cask of turpentine. Rosebud's trousers pinching painfully into her monumental girth.

  As each black reached the companionway to the hold, a

  crewman took his cargo. The slave slipped off, edging along the deck to Adam's cabin. The crewmen finished loading, cheerfully waving or shouting farewell to the marching guards as they normally did.

  Above, hung the sliver of a new moon. Adam looked skyward warily, then gave orders to sail.

  "Ain't we gwine wait 'til de moon is right, Boss?**

  "Not unless you want to do your waiting in a Confederate prison. We stay and someone is going to find these people. We go and we just might make it. No Federal will expect us tonight."

  Rosebud's eyes walled. "Ahh, Boss, we all gwine git kilt fo' sho'I'*

  Adam punched him playfully. "I've never gotten you kilt yet, Rosebud. Trust me."

  "Ah trusses you, Boss, but Ah doan trusses dem Yankees."

  The engine of the Black Swan started. Adam pored over his charts
until every light aboard was covered or put out. He set the course for Maffitt's Channel. He reversed engines, staring at the moving cloud bank, waiting for the mass of black clouds to cover the silver moon.

  He ordered full steam, and the Black Swan leaped forward and ran for the Atlantic. They had passed the first tier of blockading ships before they were spotted. Suddenly the sky lit with the eerie golden and red and white-blue blasts of cannon fire, flares, and grape and canister.

  Rosebud grabbed the fire shovel and began digging into the coal bunkers. The boilers of the Black Swan steamed and blew hot, wet air, forcing the ship through the water faster and faster. She sat low on a gently rolling sea, cutting her way farther from land.

  In Adam's dark cabin Violet's pudgy hands clasped in what she was certain was the last prayer in her life. Tucked under her arm and wriggling furiously was Grace, silenced but struggling for air. Around them were the earsplitting sounds of the Yankee guns.

  On the quarterdeck Adam felt an exhilaration he had never experienced before. He watched the gun bursts exploding, hot shot pounding into the sea, and grape and canister tearing at the main deck, while he stood boldly unsheltered at the rail, daring one of the shots to find him. Without Dulcie, without the substance of his life intact, it was easy to believe the legends about himself that

  the slaves had begun to create. Adam Tremain was merely mortal, with all a man's weaknesses, sorrows, and failings. The Black Swan was of the gods, an invincible force that could carry the blacks through fire and out unscathed. Tonight, aboard this ship, there was no Adam Tremain who hurt and sorrowed; there was only the force, only the Black Swan.

  He had no difficulty entering the Cape Fear. He knew the currents and the shoals as well as any river pilot. He chose his time and ran for the surf line and the protective guns of Fort Fisher. He and Rosebud toasted the successful voyage as they passed the Dram Tree.

  The fugitive slaves were taken from the ship under the cover of night the same way they boarded. Each man and woman carried a piece of cargo. Once on the darkened pier, they slipped away into the darkness.

  By the time Adam reached Zoe's house with the blacks hidden in a dray loaded with civilian luxuries, he was tired. The wild, invincible sensation of being the Black Swan had left. He leapt from the dray at the front door as Rosebud took the slaves and Claudine to the barn.

  Adam knocked tentatively, suddenly unsure that Zoe would be there. Unreasonable doubts crowded his mind as he thought of Beau leaving on an ordinary run and never returning; of Dulcie, warm and lovmg beside him one night and the next swallowed for all eternity into a raging white-water sea; of Mossrose, burned and empty of life.

  Zoe's eyes opened wide, then she burst into happy laughter. Adam paused, then swept his small mother into his arms, holding her close as he buried his face in her shoulder.

  "Oh, Adam! Each time you come home, I feel as though it's been years." She expected him to release her and set her gently on her feet. But he didn't. He held her fast, embracing her in a hurtful, almost desperate grasp. His breath caught as a great tremor ran through him.

  "Adam," she said, in a soft, worried voice. "What's happened?"

  Racking sobs tore out of him. His voice was broken and muffled. He pressed his face deeper into the curve of her neck. "Dulcie's . . . dead."

  Zoe's eyes prickled and stung. She v^nrapped her arms around him.

  "Oh, darling. Vm so sorry." Nothing she could say would change or ease it for him. She pushed herself away. "Come to the study, Adam. Hurry, dear, before the others learn you're here."

  His eyes averted from his mother's gaze, Adam sank into a chair, his head in his hands. Like a dam bursting, words flowed from him, thick and anguished as he painstakingly told of his and Dulcie's life together. He calmed when he talked of the shipwreck and Andros. Zoe listened to him blame himself. Red-eyed and tortured, he looked up at her. "Why couldn't it have been me. Ma? Why Dulcie?"

  Zoe said nothing. Her face contorted as she fought not to cry.

  Adam looked down at his hands. "She carried our child with her." He said it so softly Zoe wasn't sure she had heard. He seemed to' forget she was with him, his voice low and choked with emotions he had never allowed anyone to see before, speaking of things he had always kept tightly locked inside himself. As he spoke of the loss of the daughter-in-law she had never met, Zoe learned the depth of her son's love for Dulcie.

  When he had finally talked himself out, Zoe rose, coming to kiss him tenderly on the forehead. "Stay here, Adam. I'll keep the others away from you as long as I can."

  Adam felt better for having talked. But he knew it was not merely the telling that had made him feel better. It was being home. It was not being alone. It was being loved no matter what he had done, no matter how weak he was, how responsible for Dulcie's death. Zoe would have forgiven him anything. And though he knew he could not tolerate her unquestioning absolution for long, just now it was what he longed for, what he needed.

  He emerged from the study nearly an hour later. From the kitchen he heard angry voices and remembered belatedly that he had said nothing to his mother about the six fugitives or Rosebud or Claudine.

  "Ah ain't stayin' in no barn!" Claudine's voice was shrill.

  Angela's low voice replied, "Well, well, where do you think we keep fugitives? For someone who's begging shelter, you certainly put on airs."

  "Ah ain't beggin' nothin'I"

  Adam looked on amused as the dark, tiny-statured Clau-

  dine, her jaw thrust out, her brow furrowed, argued with the delicately blond Angela. Ignoring their agitated shouts, Adam came up behind Angela, slipping his hands over her eyes.

  She straightened, her mouth open, then twirled and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Adam!" She covered his face and neck with rapid, chaste kisses. "I'm so glad you're home! Why did you go hide in that ol' study? Aunt Zoe wouldn't let me near you I"

  Chuckling, warmed by her ingenuous greeting, Adam gently began to remove her arms from around his neck. She stood on tiptoe, laughing and teasing, kissing him on one cheek, then the other. "I'm glad, glad, glad to see you!"

  Adam began to laugh, his hands gently resting on the curve of her waist. "Enough! Enough!"

  Claudine said sourly, "Mo'n enuf, iffen anybody was to ast me."

  Adam removed himself from Angela's grasp, his eyes still smiling. "Angela is . . ." He was about to say, "like my little sister." Confused, he realized Angela was no longer the Angela of his memory. At fifteen she was tall, at least five feet seven inches, and there was nothing small about her. The curves of her breasts and hips were pronounced and womanly, the gleam in her eyes that of a temptress, her mouth sensuous.

  "Angela is what?" Angela looked at him from lowered lashes, a playful smile on her full lips, her hips thrust toward him. "What's the matter, Adam? Cat got your tongue?"

  "Angela Pierson!" Zoe bustled into the kitchen trailed by Mammy and Rosebud. She reached up and tweaked Angela's ear. "How dare you behave like a tart in front of Adam! Shame!"

  Angela pulled away, her feet spread apart, hands on her hips. "Who are you to tell me what I can and can't do? You let me alone!"

  "Angela!" Zoe gasped.

  "That's enough, Angela," Adam said. "You'll obey my mother without question and without insolence."

  Angela's dark eyes flashed angrily. "Yes, Master. Whatever you say. Should I see 'bout the washin' now, Miss?"

  Red to the roots of her hair with anger, Zoe stepped forward and slapped Angela resoundingly. Angela's head

  jerked, but the hateful defiance remained blazing in her eyes. She turned her other cheek. "You've never hit me on this side; wouldn't you like to?"

  Wilted by the girl's blatant, unyielding hostility, Zoe said sadly, "Go to your room, Angela."

  Angela smiled slowly, her last glance provocative and warm on Adam. "Anything you say. Aunt Zoe."

  "I'm sorry you witnessed that, but sooner or later it had to happen. I don't know what to do. Angela is headstron
g, and so bitter."

  Before Adam could reply, she turned to Claudine, speaking softly to her, explaining how the household ran, what would be expected of her and what she could expect from Zoe. Claudine would be happy here with Zoe. To Adam it seemed impossible that anyone given the opportunity would not want to stay with his mother, taken care of in this quiet, orderly house. It now seemed strange that he hadn't spent more time here. This time he would. When Ben came into port, he'd tell him not to expect him in Nassau before the new year, perhaps not even then.

  To Zoe's surprise Mammy took to Claudine right away, sitting back in her rocking chair before the open kitchen fire peeling potatoes while Claudine scurried back and forth from sideboard to oven.

  Claudine looked pensive. "Mammy, who's dat Angela girl?"

  "Miss Angela be Mastah Tom's daughter. Mastah Adam save dem from a bad, bad man long time ago."

  Claudine weighed the wisdom of speaking or keeping her mouth shut; but instinctively she trusted Mammy. Within minutes she had known Mammy loved Adam every bit as much as she did. "She's no good."

  Mammy concentrated on her potato.

  "She's hankerin' aftuh him," Claudine persisted.

  Mammy sighed. "He ain't heah much. She be a li'l sister to 'im."

  "All she need is one night. Mastah Adam's a-hurtin', an' she^"

  "Ain't nobuddy gwine do nothin' to mah boy I Not while dey's breaf in dis ol' body."

  Claudine smiled and turned back to the preparation of the meal.

  As Claudine brought in the large platters of food and deftly removed the first course from the table, Zoe smiled up at her. "Claudine, you're a blessing. Mammy works herself to death. You're the first person she has ever permitted to help her."

  Claudine glared at Angela, sitting unnecessarily close to Adam. "Mammy an' Ah unnerstan's each odder."

  Puzzled, Zoe smiled tentatively. "I'm glad you do."

  After eating, Adam sat back comfortably, sipping a brandy. He was relaxing for the first time in weeks. There were no unwanted thoughts to hound him, no twisting feeling of hopelessness or loneliness writhing inside him, because the adoration of these two women made it easy to live only in this moment.