by Day Taylor
"You might say I'm here on Adam's account, an' you might say I'm here on mine. I got a little unfinished business to tend. Been long overdue, an' now I mean to handle it."
At supper Adam and Tom talked as they had the night before. War news intermingled with sharp, probing questions. Adam always trying to get Tom to give his true reason for being in the city. Tom trying to force Adam into admitting he wanted to be back running supplies into Wilmington.
Later in their bedroom Adam was wakeful and irritable. Dulcie turned the gas lamp on again. "We might as well
talk. You're not goin' to allow either of us to sleep until your mind is settled."
Staring expressionlessly at the ceiling, he said, "I may have to be gone a couple of weeks."
"Where are you goin'?"
"I'm going to take Tom back to Wilmington. He won't go any other way."
"He asked you to take him home?" she asked, baffled.
"No, he didn't ask! I'm taking himi"
"And if he doesn't want to go?"
"I'm taking him!"
"Adam, what's wrong with you? You've never been like this before. What business is it of yours what Tom chooses to do?"
"Mind your own business, Dulcie."
"This is my business! You can't make people do what you want against their will."
"I know what he's up to, and I won't let him do it."
"Do what? What's he doin', Adam—I don't understand."
Adam's eyes were dark and coldly accusing. "He's trying to help me-—protect me."
"Don't look at me like that—Adam—"
"He's come to hunt down Edmund Revanche." Adam turned on his side, his back to Dulcie.
She turned the gas lamp off and slid, shivering, beneath the blankets to lie awake long into the night.
She was hollow-eyed and drawn the next morning. Adam left early for the office. Tom was teasing Bridget unmercifully.
"Mawin', Dulcie, you look like you wrestled with the Devil last night and lost."
"I think I did, Tom. Adam believes you've come to have it out with Edmund. Have you?"
Tom rubbed his brow, a smile playing on his mouth. "Adam thinks that, does he? Well, Dulcie, looks like my visit has jes' ended. It'd be a sight better if I weren't here when your captain comes home tonight."
"Then it's true."
"It's true."
"He won't let you do it. He thinks you're tryin' to protect him at your own risk. He's goin' to take you to Wilmington."
"He can't take me an5^where if he can't find me.'*
"Tom, please don't look for Edmund. Adam would find you. He'd go with you if he had to. Tom, please, 1 don't want any more trouble with Edmund. I couldn't stand it if anythin' happened to Adam now."
Tom sat quietly looking at her for a long time. "That's why I'm goin' after him, Dulcie. Edmund's caused all the heartache he's ever gonna cause. 1 been hidin' from him for near twelve years. Man like Edmund can put fear in you that ain't natcheral. He killed my Ullah jes' as mean an' cold. Stood there an' watched her be torn apart. An' he was likin' it. I seen him. I know. I could feel the laughin' inside o' him while she was dyin'." Tom's eyes stared into the past, fixed and large and blue. "Stood there with that ice-man smile on his face an' watched her screamin' for mercy."
Dulcie felt, sick listening to Tom paint a vivid picture for her of what Edmund was. She kept looking against her will at the thick, ugly scars on Tom's face and neck. She kept thinking of his crippled, painful walk. She kept remembering the suave, dark-haired, charming man who'd been the cause of this pain.
Tom's voice rumbled on. He gestured broadly, indicating himself. "Mebbe I coulda forgiven him this. When I married Ullah, I knew Edmund was gonna take it outa my hide somehow. He's got a powerful lot o' hate in him, an' I'd made him look a fool. Edmund was bound to come for me. But I can't forgive what he done to Ullah. She was helpless. An' he killed her." Tom looked up suddenly, gazing earnestly at Dulcie. "There's only two people in the world I love bettern' me, Dulcie. He killed one an' he damned near killed the other. Weren't for Johnnie Mae, Adam woulda died too. There ain't no way for you to know Edmund less'n you saw Ullah or Adam when he was done with 'em. He don't jes' kill, Dulcie. He likes the pain an' the sufferin'."
Dulcie was shaking. Tears streamed down her face and Tom's.
"Did you know it was Ullah that named him the Black Swan?"
"No," Dulcie choked.
"First time she ever saw him. He come up on us when we was swimmin'. Naked as two jays—an' him an' those whippersnap friends o' his were peekin' at us through the bushes. I damned near ruptured everythin' I got chasin'
him, but J caught him. I was mad enough to kill. An' Ullah she jes' looked at him an' got all mooney-mouthed, tellin' me stories about a pack o' white swans swimmin' on a lake an' in their midst is one black one. 'You jes' knows God made that one black swan somethin' special,' she says. An' then she says that's Adam. He's one o' God's special ones. Ullah always did call him her black swan. Seemed fittin', kind o' like it was meant to be when Juneau Nuit an' Rosebud picked up on it. Now he's the Black Swan to all her people."
"Tom, he has to go back to sea. He's not happy. He thinks he's stayin' here for me."
"Don't you worry none. He'll go back."
"What if he doesn't? He says he's finished—that he'll never go back."
Tom smiled. "You let him say what he likes. It won't change nothin'. There won't be no new South lessen there's Adam Tremain to build it. He's goin' back 'cause that's where he's needed."
Dulcie watched him as he climbed the stairs to his room.
Less than an hour later Tom stood in the entry hall, his portmanteau in his hand. "I'm happy I got to know you, Dulcie. You take good care o' our boy, you hear? Tell him good-bye for me."
Chapter Seventeen
Adam carried a bottle of Tom's favorite brandy under his arm when he came home from work. He was in high spirits. A bottle of brandy, an evening of ribald humor and reminiscing, and by midnight Tom would be properly drunk and tucked securely aboard the Black Swan sailing for Wilmington.
"Dulcie! Tom! Where is everybody?"
Dulcie emerged from the parlor. "Tom isn't here, Adam."
"When will he be back?"
"I don't think he intends comin' back—here. He'll go home, I suppose."
He set the brandy down. "You didn't let him leave!"
"Did you want me to lock him in his room?"
Adam's face contorted in anger. "You meddling little bitch! You told him! You talked to him behind my back!"
"Yes, I told him you intended to stop him. You had no right to make decisions for—"
Adam shook her. "Where did he go? Where is he? Tell me! You know!"
"I don't know! He said nothing! Adam! You're hurtin' me. I don't know!"
He thrust her away and ran into the street. He went to every major hotel, then cursed his stupidity. Tom would never go to one of those. He'd seek some small, out-of-the-way place. A rooming house, a place along the docks, a place inhabited by Tom's kind of people. He'd go to any one of a thousand hidden holes in the wall where Adam might stand two feet away and never know because anyone Tom trusted could be counted on not to betray him.
Adam felt defeat long before he was willing to admit it. He didn't return home, feeling bitter toward Dulcie, blaming her for allowing Tom to slip away. He slept at the office sitting in his desk chair. At first hght he began again asking questions, haunting restaurants, quizzing anyone he saw about a mutilated man with a strange crablike walk.
By the third day Adam knew without doubt that Tom had come to New York in search of Edmund Revanche. It was no longer a guess. Several of the Jeffersonians confirmed that they had seen Tom and he had been interested in meeting Mr. Revanche. Mrs. Burris had given Tom an itinerary of Edmund's speaking engagements for the next six weeks.
"I didn't know there was such a list. As you know, Mrs. Burris, my wife is an admirer of Mr. Revanche's."
"Oh, my, yes, Capt
ain. We all know he was instrumental in reuniting you and Mrs. Tremain. He's helped so many—"
"I've never gotten to thank him properly. I'd appreciate it if you'd give me his itinerary, Mrs. Burris. I'll be doing some traveling."
"Since it is you, I'm sure he wouldn't mind. He doesn't like me giving information too freely. Mr. Revanche is so deeply involved in our war effort, he must be very careful."
Edmund was on a tour covering several major stops. He would be in three upstate towns, then would travel by
canal to Buffalo, then into Ohio. He had stops in Cleveland, Columbus, and Cincinnati before entering Kentucky and gradually heading South.
Adam felt strangely enervated by the black print staring up at him from the list. Quite suddenly he realized he had no fear of Edmund. Perhaps in deciding to follow Tom, it had vanished. Whatever the cause, he was free.
Tom had a three-day start and might be waiting in any one of the cities on the list. If Tom met up with Edmund in one of the upstate communities, there was nothing Adam could do. But that was unlikely. Tom would pick a larger city, where the odds favored him more. From Buffalo on, Adam intended to stick as close as an extra skin to Edmund Revanche's schedule. If Tom found Edmund, he'd also find Adam. From there they'd go on together and do what had to be done.
He returned home after seeing Mrs. Burris. Dulcie ran to the door. He strode past her heading for the staircase. In their bedroom he tossed clothing into a portmanteau while Dulcie watched, her eyes huge with fright, and the knowledge that she had already lost him.
She stood in the doorway, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "It's not fair that you should go after him, Adam. What Tom is doin' is important to him."
Adam didn't even look at her. He gathered up his shaving equipment and rammed that in on top of his clothes.
"He's never tried to stop you from following your beliefs. Can't you give him the same trust he's given you?"
The bag was packed. Adam stared at her coldly, then picked up the portmanteau and left the house.
Dulcie waited day after day. There was no word from him. She kept hoping without real expectation. It was almost a habit she couldn't break. She supposed it was inevitable that it should end this way, as tempestuous and filled with passions and angers and unfulfilled dreams as it had begun.
He had tried to settle into an ordinary life, to be an ordinary husband with an ordinary occupation, and had failed miserably just as she had failed at being the wife of a dedicated visionary man. And now it was over.
Adam was free again. He wasn't at sea, and he wasn't working for the South, but Dulcie knew that it was only a
matter of time. He was once more active and fighting for the people he loved and causes he believed in. The rest would follow.
She put off telling her parents and Mad and Oliver that Adam had left her. But after he had been gone for three weeks with no word, she began to pack the things that had belonged to them. By the end of July she'd leave the rented brownstone and return to her parents. She was deliberately slow going about her work, knowing that once the house was closed, her life with Adam was also finished.
On the table in the hall sat a lonely letter from Ben that had come the week after Adam had left. It was addressed to both of them, but Dulcie hadn't opened it. A letter from Ben might have the power to draw Adam back if for no other reason than to read it. She no longer placed hope in such childish fantasies. It was just a letter, and she didn't want to read it; it would only make her long for things that would never be again.
It was almost a month to the day when Adam returned to the brownstone. It was late at night, and he let himself in. Dulcie had long since gone to bed.
The rooms looked ghostly in the moonlight that fiJtered through the curtains. The sofas and chairs had been carefully covered with sheets. The ornaments and decorative bric-a-brac that Dulcie loved were gone. The house had a cold impersonal air of abandonment. Those who once lived here were gone.
He stood for a long time in the dark, dreading the thought of finding the upstairs shrouded and empty too. Suddenly he ran, taking the steps two at a time.
"Dulcie!" His voice rang through the draped house, bouncing off the walls to mock him. "Dulcie!" He grasped the doorframe to their bedroom, holding on to it, but not daring to step foot over the threshold. "Oh, God, Dulcie be here."
"I'm here, Adam." As she reached out for him, his cheek and clothing still had the damp chill of a rainy night on them. "I didn't think you'd ever come back," she said.
"And I didn't think you'd be here."
She took a deep breath that caught in her throat, knowing it was too late to turn back even if he was in her arms again, making her ache inside with happiness. "I won't be here after this week. I'm leavin', Adam."
He sat up, holding her at arm's distance. "Where will you go?"
"Back to Mama and Daddy—or with you if you're goin* to Nassau."
"But I'm not going to Nassau. I'm home. We can wait out the war here and then decide."
Dulcie shook her head. "We're not happy here, Adam. You're not happy. Don't you understand, I'd rather be without you than to live as we are now."
"You really want to go back? After all that happened to you? Nothing would be different now, Dulcie. If anything, it would be worse. I'd be gone more often. You'd be alone and less certain than ever."
"What happened doesn't matter. Everyone has suffered in some way because of the war. That's what I was tryin' to tell you the night you left. Tom made me understand. A man can suffer, and he can survive that. But he can't survive seein' those he loves destroyed, Adam. He must die inside too or come to the point he must do somethin* about it.
"I know your chances of runnin' the blockade are no better than two out of ten. I may lose you. But if you don't go, Adam, if we stay here and you continue to try to be somethin' you're not, then your chances of runnin' that blockade are nothin' out of ten. You're not the same man here, Adam. I'd much rather worry about Yankee boats gettin' you than Yankee ways. Whoever heard of a Yankee duck outsailin' a Black Swan?'*
Adam's eyes grew deep and dark as he stared at her in wonder. "After everything—you'd still go with me?"
"I love you, Adam."
"And I love—"
She put her hand against his mouth, stopping him. "Don't say it so easily. You see, I've only just found out how much I love you. I'm still a little in awe of what I am sayin' with those words.'*
They stayed up the rest of the night talking. Adam told Dulcie he had found Tom in Buffalo and had gone as far as Cleveland with him. Edmund was not expected in either of the cities.
Adam had argued, "You might as well come back with me, Tom. It's obvious he's changed the whole schedule— if he ever intended to use it. He probably gave this to Mrs. Burris to keep her happy—and flattered."
"He'll be comin' sometime. These people are waitin' for him, an' hopin', an' they got money in their pockets. One thing Edmund can smell from any distance is money. He'll come sooner or later, an' I'll be here."
"And suppose he doesn't."
*Then I'll find him wherever he's hidin'."
Doggedly Adam stayed with Tom until one night over a cool schooner of beer, Tom said, "How long you gonna hang around muddyin' up my waters an' makin' a dry hole of your own pond? You got a wife waitin' for you."
Adam lifted his mug, taking a long, deep swallow. "No, I haven't."
Tom sucked air in through his front teeth. "Too damn bad you didn't marry Johnnie Mae. Leastways she coulda beat the shit outa ya when you're bound to make an ass o' yourself."
They kept drinking until they got silly, then maudlin, then at last the morning came with pounding heads and sick stomachs, and the unvarnished truth.
Adam's thoughts had all turned to Dulcie. His anger turned to fear that what he had said earlier would be true. She would have left him. She'd be gone, this time for good.
Tom saw only the past and what that heralded for the future. "Adam, don't take this aw
ay from me. Edmund's mine, an' if I die tryin' to kill him, it's all right. I'll take my chances with the Lord. I'm doin' what ought to be done. He took UUah from me, an' he damned near took you. Don't make me have to start soundin' like a fool tryin' to explain how I feel 'bout you. Only thing I got left to give you or me is freein' us all o' Edmund. Don't take that from me. Go home an' love your wife. She's where you belong. Love her like I loved Ullah, Adam. Don't matter what happens then. They can take your money, stomp on your boat, blow up the whole damned worl' an' you'll still have the only thing worth havin' right in your arms."
Adam wrapped his arms more securely around Dulcie. "I left for home that evening."
"Tom would say somethin' like that." Dulcie smiled, thinking back to the first day she had met him and thought she hated him. "I could envy Ullah, What was she like, Adam? Tell me about her."
She snuggled down in his arms, contented as she had
never been before. She put her head against his chest, as he told her of leisurely times in the bayou, of days of hunting and nights of singing and dancing by Ullah's campfire.
"Was it because of Ullah you started takin' runaway slaves North?"
"I hardly thought of slaves in those days. Except for Ullah and Mammy and a few others, they didn't seem like people to me. They were just the darkies who worked the fields. And the ones I did know didn't seem to be slaves."
"Then how did you ever come to be so involved with them?"
"I first got to know the runaways at Aunt Leona's. She and Garrett worked for the Underground, and I was the only one around one night when a group came through. But I think it started before that. I just didn't know it. In a way I can thank Edmund Revanche. To Tom Ullah wasn't a slave. She was the woman he loved, so he married her. But to Revanche she was always a slave. Even after Tom's marriage to her she remained a piece of property to Revanche. I don't think he ever considered what he did as the murder of a woman. Ullah was no more human to him than a horse gone bad."
Dulcie shuddered. "How can he be so charmin' even sincere, and then commit such heinous acts?"
"Because he doesn't see them as heinous acts, Dulcie. Edmund Revanche is one of the demons of life who speak nonsense and make others believe it. He teaches the doctrine of hate and sells the souls of others to it. His is an easy voice to listen to. That's the great tragedy of slavery. Neither master nor slave can find the truth. When one man claims ownership of another, there is no truth left. There is only mistrust and finally hate."
