The Black Swan

by Day Taylor

  He sat up, taking her in his arms, holding her as she talked. "We were in the small boat for days. I don't know how many. Carter took food from the galley, but it wasn't enough. We had almost nothing to drink. Carter had grabbed two bottles of wine. We sipped at them, hardly daring to do more than wet our tongues. During the day we saw ships so far distant they were like specks on the horizon. At night we could hear vessels, but they ran without lights, and we couldn't see them. We tried to call out, but our tongues were swollen and our throats so dry it was like whispering. No one heard. Carter even tried beating on the side of the boat with his empty wine bottle.

  "I don't know how long it was before Carter began to drink seawater. I still had some wine, but he wouldn't touch it. The seawater made him sick at first, then it... I think it drove him mad. He—I was dozing. The sun was so hot. . . and Carter stood up. He was staring at the wine bottle. I lifted the bottle to give it to him, but he lunged for it. He fell over the side. I saw him come up. He wasn't far from the boat, and Carter was a good swimmer. I knew he could get back. But he didn't swim toward' the boat. I tried to call to him. He didn't seem to know where he was. He'd swim one way, then he'd turn around, searching for the boat, and he'd be looking right at me and then swim farther away. He seemed to do that forever, and then

  —then he disappeared. He went beneath the water and . ., I don't remember how long it was before Captain Drover found me. I don't remember days, just the sun and the darkness and the sun."

  Adam became more aware of the fragility of the girl he held. She was like a delicate Dresden figure, dainty and perfectly formed. He doubted she weighed a hundred pounds fuUy clothed. There was so little of her, and yet somewhere there had to be a strength, a purpose for living that had brought her through that ordeal. "We won't talk about it ever again. It's over, and you're safe now."

  "I haven't told you why my brother was taking me to Bermuda, Adam. After that it is over. Before the war my father arranged for my marriage. I've loved Hugh Larkin since I was a child. I wanted to be married in Mobile. But then my father was killed, and Carter knew he would be leaving for Tennessee soon, and I would be left alone. Hugh works in the Confederate Agents Offices in Bermuda, so it was decided we would be married there."

  "Then Hugh has been expecting you since March?'*

  "We didn't know exactly when we were coming. Carter was to get leave whenever he could. Now you see the two parts of my life can never become one happy entity. I must remain the Leah who lives here in my garden paradise with the sea captain who led her back to memory and forward into the most lovely days I have ever known, or I must become again the Leah who journeys on and marries Hugh Larkin."

  Chapter Eight

  Dulcie had left New York with Adam in October 1861. After two years in the heat and riotous bloom of the Bahama Islands it was strange to come into the port of New York in September 1863. The sun had not the strength it boasted farther south. Dulcie, noting that the maples had turned red and yellow, shivered in Dorothy's cotton dress.

  Over the whole city hung a black cloud, product of

  thousands of chimneys and industrial smokestacks, and an overpowering stench of garbage, slaughterhouses, and the dung from horses and the pigs that roamed the streets. The noise was appalling: the rumble of drays and carriages, the shouts of the drivers, the shrill whistles of policemen, the heavier, more alarming sounds of emergency vehicles with their ear-shattering bells, the din of factory machines, and the clamor of the dock activity itself.

  Grasping her arm as though she might flee and leave him alone in this strange and frightening world, Justin pulled Dulcie toward a row of waiting carriages. The first driver stared at their clothing and demanded payment in advance. Angrily Justin clutched the driver's coat. Hastily Dulcie intervened, and they took another carriage. The first driver, staring after them, puffed out his lips and wiped his brow with a dark bandanna.

  "Justin, you can't settle things with your fists," Dulcie said severely. "You could be locked up in jail for assault.**

  "He was insolent."

  "Well, we don't resemble a lady and a gentleman much right now. We'll have to buy you a proper outfit today."

  "And a warm coat too." He did not think of clothing for her.

  "We'll have to borrow from Uncle Oliver." What if Mad and Oliver should be out of the city?

  She refused to consider that. She concentrated on the sights. The vehicles they passed shone, the horses looked well groomed. Soldiers on the street wore crisp blue uniforms. There was an air of bustle and prosperity. Northerners moved more quickly and purposefully than Southerners.

  She leaned forward and spoke to the driver. "What can you tell me about the war? I've been out of the country for two years."

  "We trounced the Rebels at Gettysburg, last summer. Heard they lost twenty-eight thousand men," the driver began. "Right away we had four days of draft riots. Man wasn't safe in his own home. They did terrible things to the coloreds. Strung 'em up, cut 'em, burned 'em in the streets. I could tell you stories that'd curl your hair. They beat up the nigger-lovers, wrecked their houses too. Even blew up the armory. They had to call our soldiers, fresh from Gettysburg."

  Justin pulled on her arm. "Stop talking to him. This has nothing to do with you. We'll be in England. There's no war there."

  "Justin, don't you understand? We're not isolated on Andros now. The war does affect us. It's affecting trade between nations—you'll probably get more money for your mahogany. If our ship hadn't been properly registered, we couldn't have come into port, or we might have been captured. This war is involving the whole civilized world."

  "Civilized," Justin grunted.

  Dulcie knocked at Oliver's door, feeling queer and breathless.

  Her father opened the door. "The trade entrance is— ** he began, seeing her clothing, then finished in a whisper, "Dulcie. Dulcie Jeannette." He held out his arms, his face very white.

  "Oh, Daddy!" She hurled herself at him. His embrace nearly broke her ribs. She was home.

  Her father was crying, and so was she. "We thought you were dead. We heard the ship went down, Dulcie Jeannette. Patsy—"He cleared his throat and bellowed, "Patsy!"

  Patricia's voice floated in from another room. "Comin', Jem! Ah'm not deaf." She whispered, "Mah baby?" and passed out on the Oriental rug.

  "Mad! Oliver!" Jem cried.

  Dulcie knelt by her mother, rubbing her wrists.

  Mad and Oliver came in together. "There, Ollie, what did I tell you? Dulcie is perfectly all right." Mad hugged and kissed Dulcie for so long that Oliver simply put his arms around both of them.

  Patricia's gentle tones penetrated the uproar. "Dulcie, come to youah mama."

  "Oh, Mama, it's so good to be home!"

  "Honey, wheah have you been? Why didn't you write? We were afraid—"

  "Mama, I've been very ill—^*'

  Jem held out his hand to Justin. "I'm James Moran, Dulcie's father."

  "Justin Gilmartin, of Satan's Keep." Justin ignored Jem*s hand.

  Mad's eyes grew round. "Dulcie, where's Adam?"

  Dulcie tensed, Justin watched her sharply. She turned away, looking blindly at Aunt Mad's huge Boston fern. "Adam is—"

  Justin said clearly, "Captain Tremain is dead."

  There were tears in Mad's voice. "H-how? When?**

  "A year ago—" Justin began.

  Jem interrupted him. "Mr. Gilmartin, allow my daughter to reply."

  Every word tore a piece out of Dulcie's heart. "We— were on our way to Savannah—last August. We were shipwrecked—on Andros Island. Adam died. I was rescued by some natives. For the past year I've lived in Justin's home.

  "As my woman," Justin said defiantly.

  "You don't leave much to the imagination, do you?" Oliver said.

  Mad, her eyes streaming tears, said, "Dulcie—tell us about Adam."

  "We don't have much time, Dulcie," said Justin.

  Oliver said smoothly, "Mr. Gilmartin, among gentlefolk
you may have to curb your impatience. Dulcie, we are listening to you, my dear."

  "We were washed ashore. The natives thought he was an evil spirit, so they k-killed him." Her whispered words fell into stunned silence.

  "Tell them you've forgotten him, Dulcie. Tell them about now!"

  "Justin and I are goin' to England to regain his property from his uncle." Then she added, whispering, "We'll be married."

  "We'll be leaving tomorrow," Justin said.

  "You may be, Mr. Gilmartin," said Jem. "But if Dulcie wishes to go with you, I expect her to say so. We are hopin* she will visit awhile."

  "I'm not good enough for Dulcie? Is that what you're saying?"

  "Nothing of the kind," said Oliver. "We got off on the wrong foot, Mr. Gilmartin. Everybody is emotional, hard not to be. You're taking Dulcie away when she's barely gotten here. Perhaps you'll tell us what is your hurry?"

  Justin, slightly mollified, explained about the mahogany shipment.

  Oliver eyed him. "Suppose you could sell your lumber in New York? You'd avoid shipping costs and make a tidy profit."

  "I'll make one, you can bank on it.'*

  "And with the profit, you buy grain. There's a crucial

  shortage in Europe. You stand to get an enormous price for it"

  Justin looked intently at Oliver. "How much?" he began, then, suddenly distrustful, turned on Dulcie. "He's trying to trick me out of taking you with me—"

  "Dulcie hasn't said whether she wants to go," Jem cut in, his anger rising, "And we are not goin' to discuss that now."

  Dulcie turned gratefully to tier father. "Daddy, have you been visitin' here long?"

  "We left Mossrose over a year ago."

  "Left Mossrose? Daddy—Mama—it's our homer

  "We'll go back to it aiter the war if we can. We might have stuck it out another year, but your aunt and uncle persuaded us to leave."

  "But the servants—the horses—Strawberry?"

  "We sold everything we could. I'm sorry." Jem smiled sorrowfully. "But you should be glad to know I freed the slaves."

  "Not that we don't miss Mossrose," Patricia murmured. "Mad an' Ah go visitin' an' shoppin', an' we work with Mrs. Algernon Sullivan, who has established a soup kitchen foah Confederate prisonahs out on David's Island. Theah isn't enough time in the day to get homesick." She smiled weakly at Jem.

  Dulcie asked, "Do you have any news of the county people? Glenn? Leroy? The Whitakers? And Robert—what do you hear of him?"

  Patricia said, "Leroy proved to be a jfine soldjuh, very darin'. Befoah we left Mossrose, we heard of his exploits. Glenn is a prisonah on David's Island. I talked to him jes' the othah day. Addie Jo has two little boys."

  Tears came to Dulcie's eyes for her own lost child. "Robert—?"

  "Robert is a courier," Jem said. "You must remember, Dulcie, that our only chance for news is seein' someone from home. The mail service and the telegraph can't be depended on between North and South."

  "Andrew Whitaker. He's dead, isn't he." Dulcie, remembering that chaste kiss in the garden, wished she had not been so prissy.

  "How did you know, honey? He died in his fuhst skuh-mish. The man behind him fell and accidentally shot An-

  drew in the back. Youah cousin Phil . . . ran away to join up. He . . . lost a leg. Only a boy, an' he—"

  "Mama, don't think about it.** Dulcie clenched her jaws. "If anybody can cope with that, Phil can."

  "We haven't even given you a chance to refresh yourselves," Mad said. "Are your trunks comin?"

  "We don't have trunks. Aunt Mad. I'm wearin' a borrowed dress that's nearly as old as I am, and Justin is wearin' his father's frock coat and breeches. We had to conceal our departure."

  "My goodness." Mad's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "You must tell us about it. Come along, Dulcie, you can have your old room."

  As Mad steered her toward the stairs, she heard Justin say, "I will accept your proposition, Mr. Raymer. When can we see these men you spoke of?"

  That night Dulcie slept alone and fitfully, accustomed to much different night sounds. Toward dawn she was startled awake by the din of the ogan and drums. She sat up in bed, her heart pounding. Mam'bo Luz! She lay back; it was merely the rumble and clanging bell of the fire wagon.

  In the morning Justin, resplendent in a borrowed checked suit and a brown worsted Chesterfield, left with Oliver. Jem went to his office.

  "We've got to take you shoppin', Dulcie honey," said her mother. "You look like an orphan in youah Aunt Mad's dress."

  Dulcie hugged her mother fiercely. "It's so good to hear you fussin' over trifles! Mama, if you'd seen me on Andros —I look like a queen now!"

  "Just the same, weah goin' to buy you a whole new wahdrobe!"

  Mad said the thing Patricia was studiously avoiding. "Dulcie, you aren't goin' to England with that man, are you?"

  "No." Dulcie looked at her mother, and words died in her throat. "Mama, Aunt Mad, will you excuse me? I forgot somethin'." Dulcie hurried toward the stairway.

  "That's a relief," Mad said, her eyes still on the staircase where Dulcie disappeared. "I'll get my wrap. Then we'll be on our way."

  Mad swept into Dulcie's room and scooped her niece into an embrace. "Now, what is all this, Dulcie? Tell me, dear. You know there's nothin' your old Aunt Mad can't hear."

  "I can't marry him, Aunt Mad. I just can't!"

  "Then you won't."

  "But if it weren't for Justin, I wouldn't be alive!"

  "But my darlin' girl, that doesn't mean you must marry him."

  Dulcie sobbed into her aunt's ample bosom. "Help me. Aunt Mad. Help me. I want Adam so. If he were dead, wouldn't I know it? Wouldn't I feel it? Aunt Mad, let's go see Mr. Courtland. Now. This afternoon. He'd know about Adam."

  "This afternoon? Well, I don't know, Dulcie."

  "Please go with me!"

  "I'm barmy as an ol' bedbug, but I'll go.'*

  Dulcie, the height of fashion in a green poplin walking-dress and matching cloak, walked with outward confidence into Roderick Courtland's oflSce. "I should like to see Mr. Courtland, please."

  "I'm sorry, Madame. Mr. Courtland is out of the city. He did not say when he will return."

  "You must know when he'll be back!"

  "Mr. Courtland is frequently called out of the city. You must understand, Madame, that his holdings are extensive."

  "Would you know about my husband, Captain Adam Tremain?" Dulcie, trembling, put her gloved hand on the counter for support.

  "I'm sorry, Madame, I am not at liberty to say.'*

  Dulcie wished that she could grab this pompous ass and wring the truth from him as Justin would. "What is your name, please?"

  "Daniels. Homer Daniels."

  "Mr. Daniels, a year ago my husband and I were shipwrecked. I've been back in the States only one day. I am tryin' to find out if my husband is alive or dead." Her voice cracked. She fought to regain her control.

  "C-come into Mr. Courtland's office, Mrs. Tremain, ladies. I didn't understand." He took down several ledgers. After some time Daniels said, "The last record of Captain Tremain was written in June, 1861. In October 1862, there is a notation that the ship Independence sank. You can read it if you like."

  In the carriage, Dulcie said, "I still don't believe it.** In her heart, she was beginning to.

  In three days Justin had sold his mahogany at an excellent price. He bought grain and watched it being loaded for London. Then he came for Dulcie.

  It was the moment she had dreaded. In his harsh way Justin thought he loved her. She owed him her life, for if the natives had not eventually killed her, they would have maimed her mind beyond healing.

  Thinking of all these things, weighing them against her certain misery, Dulcie said, "Justin, I'm not goin'."

  Justin stared at her, uncomprehending.

  "I could lie to you as I have these past months. I could make you believe me, because you want to. Now it's no longer fair for me to pretend."

  "You used m
e! You never loved me!" His face was tense, his nostrils distended. "I saved your bloody life, and this is the thanks I get."

  Dulcie bit her tongue on a caustic retort. "I know you did. But I can't repay you in the coin you demand."

  "You used me, you bitch."

  Dulcie grasped the back of a chair. "I'm sorry—please understand."

  In the late-afternoon sunlight their eyes held, Justin's were hot and bitter. "It did work! You did love me! I know you did!" He clutched her arms, shaking her with a force that made her teeth rattle. "It's this stinkin' city that's changed you! I'll make you come around."

  Dulcie's voice quavered on a high note. "Dad-deee!"

  "You're coming with me!" He let go of one arm. She slapped him as hard as she could, squirming to get away.

  "Let my daughter go!" Jem's pistol pointed unwaveringly at Justin. His face was suffused with rage.

  Dulcie recognized the steely look. "Justin, he'll do it!"

  "Bloody lot you care!" He sent her hurtling into the marble-topped stand.

  "You misbegotten whoreson!" Jem yelped.

  "Daddy, don't! I'm all right!"

  Justin looked at Jem, then at Dulcie. "Is that supposed to make us even? I save your skin and you save mine?"

  "Justin, take my gratitude—it's all I've got to give you!'*

  Justin snorted. "Gratitude makes a cold screw. You can put your gun away. Keep your ass-licking daughter."

  Jem was advancing on Justin. "Get out of here before I kill you!"

  "Justin, I didn't mean to hurt you. I had to do what I did."

  He raised his eyebrows sardonically. "I suppose you did. It was the only civilized thing to do."

  When he had gone, Dulcie went to her room. She lay across her bed staring at the wallpaper, trying to justify what she had had to do.

  September went by, with cool, bright days. Dulcie got government approval for good character and a permit to visit the Confederate prison on David's Island. Glenn was gaunt, one arm in a sling, and pathetically happy to see her. When she told him Adam was thought dead, he was as sorrowful as though Adam had been his boyhood friend.

  To lighten his maudlin thoughts, Dulcie said, "Mamia tells me you have two little boys."

  Glenn's face brightened. "I haven't seen the baby yet. Addie's living with her parents. They'll take good care of her and the children, but I worry. The war's gettin' closer to Savannah. Dulcie—and there's nothin' I can do. I could go home—if I live—and not find a trace of my family."