The black swan (15 page)

It was not a pleasant thing to think about, but the thought wouldn't lie dormant. And with it returned the memory of Tom's intention to take his family away from the bayou house. Tom had told him then that the only difference between a brave man and a fool was that the brave man knew when to fight and when to run. At the time it had seemed so much nonsense to Adam. Now it seemed like the profoundest of truths. Only a fool endangered others for the sake of his own pride. It was time to run now.

But running away would take planning far beyond what Adam had ever done. His mother owned this house. They had lived in it ever since his father died. She wouldn't want to leave. But Tom and Angela couldn't manage on their own. It would be a long time before Tom could work and do the things necessary to care for Angela. He needed Adam. Most of all, Adam realized, he wanted to be with Tom.

Somewhere in the jumble of Adam's half-formed schemes, there was an answer. In the meantime, he began to enjoy afternoons with Angela. He taught her her letters, took her for buggy rides.

As Tom had earlier, Adam now found it easy to push aside a decision about their leaving. He still worried about the Boar's-head man, but the solutions seemed too dramatic for real consideration.

He lay on the grass, staring up at the cloud-filled sky, waiting for Angela to toss her bean bag onto his chest again. As the little polka-dotted bag came at him, he reached up, flipping it higher into the air. Angela squealed with laughter, running to get it, fetching it back like a delighted puppy.

Tom was upstairs in his room. The trip to New Orleans had depleted his strength. He found himself forced to take naps that began earlier and lasted longer than Angela's did. As he fell asleep, he heard her high-pitched child's

voice in the backyard. He had just begun to notice once more what a sweet, cheering sound her laughter was.

Mammy was busy in the springhouse, so it was Zoe who answered the door. She looked out to see a stranger, tall, nearly handsome except for his expression, and the not quite healed scar across his right cheekbone.

"Are you Mrs. Tremain? Mrs. Zoe Tremain?" the man asked.

"I am. What can I do for you, Mr. . . . ?"

"Revanche. I am Edmund Revanche, Mrs. Tremain. Please pardon me for presentin' myself unintroduced to your door. We have a friend in common, however, perhaps two."

"Oh? And who might that be, Mr. Revanche?" Zoe asked, unwilling to invite him into the house.

"George Andreas. I believe he was your late husband's attorney and has since handled your affairs. He is my lawyer as well. He was kind enough to give me your address, as he thought perhaps you could help me."

"Do come in, Mr. Revanche," Zoe said then, smiling as she led him into her parlor. She excused herself, going to the back to call Mammy to fix some refreshments for their guest.

"May I compliment you on your home, Mrs. Tremain. It is tastefully done. I can see you have an eye for beauty and fineness of craft."

"Thank you, Mr. Revanche. I believe you mentioned a problem that Mr. Andreas thought I might assist you with —although I can hardly imagine how I could be of help to a man like yourself."

Edmund smiled slowly, his eyes lingering on her approvingly. "You are in a hurry to cut short our conversation, Mrs. Tremain?"

Zoe looked down at her hands, then at him. "Quite frankly, Mr. Revanche, I am not accustomed to entertaining gentlemen alone in my parlor. Please tell me what it is you want."

"As you will," he said nonchalantly. Mammy carried in a tray filled with refreshments. He took lemonade, holding the glass loosely in his hand. Zoe couldn't help noticing his strangely alluring grace, the smooth, almost liquid quality of his movements.

"I have lost touch with a friend of mine, Mrs. Tremain. He left the city unexpectedly, and I'm ashamed to admit

I did not secure his new address. Mr. Andreas said that he had mentioned your name the last time he was in the oflace. You see, Mrs. Tremain, Mr. Andreas was Tom Pierson's lawyer as well as ours. One never fully realizes how small New Orleans is until one discusses acquaintances over a drink with one's attorney. Do you know the whereabouts of Mr. Pierson, Mrs. Tremain?"

Zoe quickly raised her glass to her lips, hoping to cover her tumult. This man might be a friend of Tom's, as he claimed. But if Tom had wished to see him, why didn't Mr. Revanche know of the bayou house? She glanced up at him. He was nearly smiling as he stared beyond courtesy.

Quite suddenly Zoe was frightened. She looked again at tiie smiling face waiting with exaggerated patience for her reply. She was certain this was the man for whom Adam waited, the man who had done such unspeakable things to Tom and Ullah. With effort she kept her voice steady. *T have tried to think of every acquaintance I have, Mr. Revanche. But I am afraid you have wasted your time."

Edmund crossed his legs, leaning back in his chair. "Don't speak too hastily, Mrs. Tremain. Consider what your answer might mean to me. Perhaps," he said lazily, •'your memory will improve with effort." The knowing, patient smile played on his mouth, offensive and threatening.

"Mr. Revanche, if you are implying that I speak falsely, I find that rude and insulting."

"I should think you would. But, Mrs. Tremain, I know you are familiar with Mr. Pierson. It is even rumored that your acquaintance is . . . close, shall we say? I want to know his whereabouts. Now, if you will be wise enough to—"

"Mr. Revanche! You may leave this house!" Zoe said, her outrage hiding her fear. "Leave here, sir. You may tell Mr. Andreas I shall be certain in the future to engage an attorney who chooses his clients with more discretion."

Edmund put his head back, laughing softly. His hands clapped in silent, mocking applause. "Magnificent, Zoe. You're an excellent actress." He leaned forward, peering at her from under his dark eyebrows. "Now, answer my question. I have no intention of leavin' here without the information I seek, or Tom himself. He will tell you I am a patient man. When I want somethin' I will remain patient

until I get it. Tom would not want you any more involved in his troubles than you already are. Perhaps you don't quite understand the full import of his difficulties."

"Mammy!" She felt a cold fright. He was capable of anything. His was the way of cruelty, a quiet violence that was all the more hideous for the cloying insinuations that preceded it. "Mammy!"

It wasn't Mammy who appeared in the room, but Adam. Zoe's mouth flew open, her eyes wide, as she looked frantically from Edmund Revanche to her son. How long had he been standing there?

Between Adam and Edmund there was the air of instant recognition, an instinctive knowledge, a thread from ancient and primitive pasts when man had not yet lost the ability to recognize his natural enemies. Edmund's eyes were bright with the prospect of knowing this man-boy, who was already far more formidable than Tom had ever been. Adam might have been a granite statue blocking the doorway.

From the kitchen Angela's happy chirruping voice interrupted the spell that had fallen over them. Edmund immediately looked in that direction, his eyes glittering.

"I hope you don't mind, Ma. I brought Ben's sister over to play."

Zoe's lips trembled as she tried to smile. Her hand pressed against the throbbing pulse at her neck. "Be sure to tell Mammy to give her some cookies. Sissy loves Mammy's molasses cookies."

Adam hurried to the kitchen. Whispering frantically, he told Mammy to keep Angela out of sight until the man m the parlor left.

When he returned to the parlor, his whole intent was to protect Tom and Angela. "Who are you?" he asked curtly. After all this time he'd learn who the Boar's-head man was.

With raised eyebrows Edmund gave him a dismissing look of disapproval. "Is this rude young man your son, Mrs. Tremain?" he asked. "Then perhaps you will be good enough to instruct the boy in the etiquette of conversations between adults. This one is private."

"Adam . . ."

"What do you want, Mr. Revanche?*' Adam asked, unable to hide the triumph of knowing the hated name.

"Privacy for the moment," Edmund sat down in the

chair. The now familiar message in his eyes was not lost on Zoe. "I am a patient man."

Fear seized her. She didn't know what Adam might do, nor did she believe that in retaliating, Edmund Revanche would consider Adam's age or inexperience. "Mr. Revanche, I don't know anything about Mr. Pierson. Please, I can't tell you anything."

"I suppose that wasn't the pickanmny, Angela, I just heard in your kitchen."

"No, it wasn't. Good day, Mr. Revanche." Zoe's voice trembled.

"I'll wait until you have a change of heart," Edmund said calmly.

Adam stepped forward. "No, you won't. Not here anyway. You've been asked to leave politely. Do so, Mr. Revanche, or I shall help you."

Edmund looked at Adam, estimating his size and weight and accurately judging the hate that rode so close to the surface. It was answer enough to his questions. Sooner or later Zoe or Adam would go to Tom, or Tom would come here if he weren't here already. He stood up, his attention on Zoe. "Both your honesty and your hospitaiity are somewhat lackin', Mrs. Tremain."

"Considering your boldness and abuse, Mr. Revanche, I think my hospitality has been highly strained. Good day."

Edmund let her walk with him to the door. He stopped before she could open it. "One last word, Mrs. Tremain. Just a small warning to guide you in your deliberations. Mr. Pierson is a wanted man. First, he caused several of my slaves to break and run. Second, he is a common thief. The pickaninny you have in your kitchen is my property. For your own safety, Mrs. Tremain, you should be aware that Mr. Pierson is a dangerous man. The last time he was at Gray Oaks, he stirred up my blacks so badly that three had to be severely lashed and one hanged as an example of what comes of darkies who run. Think about that, Mrs. Tremain. Do you really want to harbor a fugitive slave and an outlaw? A very dangerous outlaw?'*

"Good-bye, Mr. Revanche," Zoe said in a weak voice.

Adam stood trembling at her side. If Edmund Revanche did not stop talking soon and walk through that door out of their lives, there would be nothing to hold Adam back. Zoe clasped his hand with all her might. His fingers twined around hers with a pressure he didn't realize. Tears stood

in Zoe's eyes, but she didn't cry out or remove her hand until the door had closed on Edmund.

Adam flung himself away from her, his fist smashing into the wall at the edge of the staircase.

Zoe shuddered as the pliable flesh gave against the hard plaster time after time, but she thanked the Powers above that had turned Adam's wrath from Edmund Revanche to the wail.

Chapter Ten

Nursing bruised knuckles, Adam watched Edmund Revanche drive away. Edmund's leisurely departure aroused in Adam a sense of urgency that grew with each turn of the carriage wheels. His mind made up, he walked deliberately up the stairs to Tom's room.

Zoe waited a few minutes for Adam's return. Then she went to her bedroom, passing Tom's closed door without hearing anything. The afternoon had left her tired and shaken. She gratefully accepted the quiet of the house.

Half an hour later Adam knocked on her door. "Ma,"

She sat up quickly. "Come in, Adam, I'm only resting for a moment."

Hesitantly he opened the door. "I'd like to talk to you, please."

"But of course, dear. Come sit beside me." She smiled as she patted the chair next to her chaise. As Adam remained undecided and standing, foreboding rose in her again. "Nothing else has happened, has it?"

Adam shook his head. He looked at her earnestly. "But I'm afraid it will. Tom's told me a great deal more about Mr. Revanche. Ma . . . I've decided we have to leave New Orleans."

Zoe's breath left her in a sharp gust.

"You've seen that Mr. Revanche is adamants" Adam went on, allowing her no time to protest. "It doesn't matter that you deny knowing Tom and Angela. He's going to come back until he gets what he wants."

"Adam, please! Don't dramatize it just to frighten me. He would never dare do us harm—not in our own home!"

no Day Taylor

"He will," Adam said softly. "Tom's living proof of it We're sheltering a runaway slave. Ma, and a man who is accused of inciting insurrection at Gray Oaks. We've broken the law. Revanche will see that law enforced. He might come with officers, or he might choose another citizens' committee. What happened to Tom and Ullah can easily happen to us."

Zoe shuddered, closing her eyes against the thought.

"Ma, Revanche could be back here tonight. Are you listening? He won't wait. It could be this very night. We've got to be gone."

"I am listening, dear, and I understand your urgency— but there's a houseful of furniture and five people to move. One cannot simply uproot oneself. Where would we go? Where would we stay? Adam, this is my home. Perhaps I'm not so anxious to leave it as you are."

"Ma, please, Ma, don't be bullheaded now. Please, listen to me. I know I have taken things that concern you into my own hands, but I'm trying to do what is best. I ... if we can just get out of here with our skins whole, we can argue all the way to Aunt Leona's."

Zoe gasped. "Leona! Adam! She lives in Wilmington!'*

"We'd be safe there. Think about it, Ma. Revanche can't be so hell-bent on killing Tom that he'd follow us across country. Can you and Mammy get us ready to leave at dark?"

"No!" Zoe cried sharply.

"We are going. We have to. Even if Tom and Angela left here, we'd have to go too, for Revanche would try to wring information from us. We've made ourselves his enemy as well as Tom. He'll never let us alone."

"I suppose you are sure about this? Don't bother to answer. Adam, I really wish . . ." She got up, smoothing her hair automatically. "We will not leave everything behind. We'll need beds, linens, kitchen utensils, our table and chairs—"

"We'll take the most important things, but if they won't go into the buggy or the big dray, we have to leave them.'*

Zoe's mouth quivered. "Some of these things belonged to my mother."