The black swan (57 page)

Both Wolf's and the woman's eyes bulged. Adam filled the low doorway. He motioned to the woman. As she sidled past him, Adam moved pantherlike, his hand chopping sharply at Wolfs erection. Wolf shrieked and clutched himself with a grimace of surprised pain.

Adam stood over him. "Woif, I hear you've been telling lies about me. I don't like that"

"Jesus Christ, Cap'n," Wolf groaned hoarsely. "What you talkin' 'bout? I ain't said nothin' 'bout nobody!"

Adam's hand shot out, palm up, fingers stiff, and caught Wolf in the pit of his stomach. Wolf groaned. His hand moved to protect himself. "I never told nothin'—I swear! I ain't a-gonna say nothin'!"

Outside the Negroes began to gather. Black voices started singing. "Ah's dreamui' now of Hallie, sweet Hallie, sweet Hallie."

Then, as the noises in the cabin grew louder, so did the chorus: "Lissen to de mockin' bud, lissen to de mockin' bud!"

Panicked, cornered, Wolf grabbed his whiskey bottle, hitting it on the table. Glass and liquor splattered. On his toes, prepared to spring, Adam circled. Wolfs breath came in sharp, painful gasps. Adam lunged with a knife-edged chop that broke Wolfs left arm. Enraged with pain and crazy with fright, Wolf struck down with the broken bottle neck, grinding it into Adam's shoulder.

Adam broke two of Wolf's ribs with a sickening snap. Oblivious to the pain in his shoulder or to the overseer's agonized howls, Adam worked Wolf over with painful jabs that made the man's muscles writhe.

Wolf lay crumpled in the corner. Adam stood over him panting, fury still distorting his features. "Go near her, breathe a word to her or about her—I'll find out. I'll come after you. I'll kill you."

"I . . . won't . . . talk," Wolf moaned.

Adam strode out of the cabin. As he passed the blacks, a hundred hands reached out to touch him. Old 'Simmon whispered, "Thanky, Mistah. Thanky."

Behind him Barney closed Wolf's door. The others melted into their cabins. Deaf to his pathetic whimpering, they would let Wolf lie till morning.

Adam went up noiselessly the way he'd come down. He stripped off his clothes. Naked, he went to the washbowl, soaped and rinsed himself. Toweling his body, he realized blood was still dripping down his arm.

He lit the lamp and leaned toward the mirror, struggling to reach the wound.

"Ah fix it fo' you," said a soft voice.

He jumped nearly out of his skin. "What — ?" He suddenly remembered to lower his voice. He hissed, "I told you to get out."

"Ah seen what you doin' an' Ah come back 'case you need help."

Adam, aware of his nakedness, looped the towel around his loins and tucked it in. "All right," he said angrily. "Get that damned cut stopped!"

"You got to set down. You's so high up. Ah cain't see nothin'."

Claudine's fingers moved skillfully along his shoulder, cleansing the gouge, soaking it with bay rum, finally stopping the bleeding. She poured the bloodied water into the slop jar, dropping the used towel into it. "Ah take that out after a bit," she said, gazing at him steadily.

Adam remained seated, not wanting to risk standing up and losing his towel. She blew out the lamp. Then she was kneeling in front of him. She undid his covering, and her quick fingers circled his penis. "Ah's gwine pleasure you real fine." She bent her head down toward him.

Adam roused to a tapping at his door. He looked around hastily. The sun was high. Claudine was gone. "Just a minute!" He dressed and opened the door.

Jem was standing there, a shotgun in his hand. "There's trouble at the quarters. Some' o' the darkies gave Wolf a hell of a beatin'."

Adam, Robert, and Jem, all armed, walked to Wolf's cabin. "He in heah, Mastah Jem," said 'Sinmion. "He say he bad hurt."

Wolf lay on his stinking bunk, groaning. His eyes flew open when he saw Adam. He tried to rise and fell back, "Don't hurt me anymore!"

Jem looked sharply at Adam. "Is he talkin' to you?"

"Are you talkin' to me, Wolf?" Adam asked, incredulously.

"Nossir, nossir. Thought you was somebody else." Wolf was holding his left arm, breathing with evident pain.

Jem demanded, "Who did this to you. Wolf?"

"Nobody, Mr. Moran," Wolf asserted stoutly.

"Don't talk crap! Was it the darkies?"

"If anybody's missin' that's who it was, Mr. Moran."

"Out with it, Wolf! Were you foolin' around with somebody's woman?"

"Yeah, that's it, Mr. Moran.,I got me into a whorehouse brawl in S'vannah." His eyes darted to Adam. "Jes' barely made it home."

'That was damn stupid. One more time, Wolf, and your ass is off my plantation. Barney!! Get Ludy and have her put Wolf back together."

"Yassuh." Barney moved with leisurely relish toward the nursery.

As they walked back to the house, Adam began, "I'm sorry to tell you this—now that you're having trouble with your overseer—"

Jem eyed him apprehensively. "You know somethin* about this?"

"No, sir. I'm leaving earlier than I had planned. I've got to be in Savannah to see to my cargo."

Jem's face was a mixture of relief and disappointment "You know I'm mighty sorry that you can't stay. We've got a fine big soiree planned for you on Saturday evenin'. Maybe you could make it back for that?"

Adam shook his head regretfully. "We'll still be loading

then, sir. Mr. Moran, your hospitality has been first-rate. It's been so pleasant here, I wish I could stay."

Jem beamed. "I'm sure Dulcie will be sorry to see you go, Adam."

The unspoken question hung between them.

"Perhaps so, sir. Dulcie is a charming lady. It'll be a lucky man who marries her some day." His tone was properly respectful, properly detached.

Jem, understanding his message, sighed and went into the house.

Adam and Robert strolled around the yard, smelling the aroma of breakfast bacon and biscuits. Robert mused, "Last time I saw a man take a beating like Wolf did, it was Leroy Biggs. Funny . . ."

Adam scowled at his companion. Robert's lips twitched. Their eyes met in understanding, and both looked away.

Dulcie had her own ideas about playing invalid. She did not intend to be stuck in her boresome bedroom, with Adam unable to come in or even pause in the doorway to inquire after her well-being. It was unbearable not knowing if she'd see scorn or caring on his face. Did he loathe her now? Think her cheap? Or had he spoken truly saying she was always beautiful to him?

When Patricia appeared, she smiled wanly. "I'm feeling better. Mama. I could lie on the parlor sofa today, if Daddy would help me downstairs."

"Now, honey, it'd be foolish to rush. Youah guests will undahstan'."

"But I'll be so lonely! Mama, would it be all right if Adam . . . and Robert . . . came in to visit? Claudine would be here."

Patricia looked her shock. "Dulcie Jeannette! Suhtainly not! Wheah is youah modesty?"

Dulcie sighed. "I didn't think you'd let me."

"Very well." Patricia tried to sound severe. "You may come downstairs."

Dulcie, propped up with pillows, wore her prettiest canezou and skirt of orchid Swiss muslin, and held court. But she was a wan queen, her face showing th^ strain and doubts of the night. The girls drifted in and out. The boys waved at her from the doorway.

Adam came in after breakfast, with Robert and Gay.

Dulcie teased Adam, laughing at his sallies. But she was thankful they were not alone, for her careful pose would crumble. They would be back at that terrible scene, wanting to speak of the thing that had nearly happened between them, needing to talk it away, but having to pretend instead that their mutual passion had never existed. Face to face, she doubted she'd have words strong or sharp enough to cut Adam to ribbons as her outraged chastity demanded.

"Oh, Dulcie, you'll enjoy this," said Gay, giggling. "That reekin', awful man Wolf got himself beaten up last nightl"

Dulcie did not dare look at Adam. "He did?"

"Yes. Uncle Jem thought the darkies had done it. But Wolf admitted he'd sneaked into Savannah and gotten into a fight! Your daddy's goin* to cut off his pay until Wolf can work again!"

Dulcie said briskly, "I'm sure he deserves it."

"Adam's got news, too—^but maybe you already know," Gay added coyly.

Adam said, "It can wait."

"Come on, Gay," said Robert "Let's leave them by themselves."

Adam's eyes met Claudine's. Behind her mistress's back she smiled at him lovingly. Adam, though unsmiling, spoke gently. "You too, Claudine."

"You don't have to leave," Dulcie said quickly.

But Claudine obeyed Adam.

He got down on Dulcie's level, squatting on his heels. Dulcie glared at him, her despair of the night before replaced by an indignation that would let her cope. "Well, what is it that's so important. Captain Tremain?"

On a drawn-in breath he said, "I'm leaving today. I thought you'd want to know."

Dulcie's mask, all the sham, fell away. "Leavin'!" The thought was even more monstrous than . . . that other.

"It's the best thing I can do for you," His eyes betrayed nothing.

After a long time she felt she could speak normally. "Will you return?"

"I don't know."

Her mouth twisted. "How you must despise me now!*'

She caught his naked look of despair. "I haven't changed in any way toward you. So I must go. Dulcie . . ." His voice became so soft she could barely hear it. "A man like I am doesn't use the words 'I love you' lightly. If I ever

say them to a woman, it will be because I am willing and able to pledge my life to her. That is something I cannot do right now, no matter what I want."

Dulcie's eyes were dry, dark golden, filled with pain. "Adam . . . are you sayin' that you love me?"

"Don't ask me now." He touched his fingers to her lips. As he left the room, he did not say good-bye or look back.

Dulcie stared after him, her heart dead in her breast.

But at lunchtime she walked, supported by Robert, to the dining room. By Patricia's standards her decorum was perfect. Toward Adam she expressed a mild flirtatiousness, a stronger regret that he was leaving, an uninvolved liking for him.

All the relatives joined the Morans as they wished Adam Godspeed. If he was a shade too hearty when he said, "Miss Dulcie, it's been the greatest pleasure!" still, his hand squeezed hers, and his moustached mouth kissed her hand with brief tenderness.

They waved until he had gone partway down the lane, then Dulcie stood alone with Jem and Patricia, watching him retreat out of sight.

"Come along, Miss," said Jem not unkindly. "Cryin* will get you nowhere."

She turned bleak, dry eyes on him. "That's why I'm not cryin'. Daddy."

"He'll be back soon, Dulcie honey," said Patricia comfortingly.

Jem cut in briskly, "If he's back, it will be on business and not to court our Dulcie. I as good as asked him his intentions only this mornin'."

"What did he say, Jem?"

Jem repeated the conversation he'd had with Adam. "I don't believe he found Dulcie . . . wantin'. But there's a cold-blooded man, Dulcie Jeannette. His kind seldom settles down. If you were to marry him, he'd snap your heart like a fiddlestring. You're well out of it, Miss. He's gone, and you can forget about him."

"Theah's still the soiree Saturday night, Dulcie. We'll have that anyway," Patricia said brightly. "Ah do b'lieve Andrew Whitaker is quite taken with you. You couldn't do better than a Whitaker. Andrew's family is—"

Dulcie looked down the empty lane. She turned a stubborn face to her parents. "It's Adam I love."

Jem's anger rose. "A one-sided sentiment that does you little credit!"

Dulcie began walking toward the house, remembering to limp slightly. She had said it! Her resolve formed itself, making her feel light and clean again. Wherever Adam Tremain went, she would follow him. She would belong to him—whatever his terms, whatever the cost.

She slowed down so that her parents could catch up with her, and took the first irrevocable step.

"Mama, Daddy, it's goin' to be terribly lonesome around here when Aunt Ca'line and her family leave Monday. Would it be all right if I went with them for a little visit? I haven't seen their new plantation, and I've always loved New Orleans."

"You've hardly been home a month!'*

"Just a short visit? Please! Long enough to . . . forget.*'

"Daddy and Ah will talk about it," said Patricia decisively.

Chapter Fifteen

Nassau lay before Adam like a multihued jewel, while Savannah and New Orleans were an ocean behind him. Yet, all his thoughts were of those distant cities. Visions of the time he had spent at Mossrose blinded him to the hubub of Nassau's colorful Bay Street Remembrance of moments of exquisite passion intertwined with those of humiliation and impotent fury. Twice this month a man had dirtied and destroyed a time that was good. In Savannah it had been Wolf, a lowly, self-serving man. The tender moments could not be salvaged, but Adam had taken care of Wolf as he would any small-minded blackguard.

But in New Orleans it had been Edmund Revanche, a different matter. Adam's confrontation with him at the Quadroon Ball concerned more than Solange. It had begun with Ullah, and it wouldn't end until there was a reckoning.

He was gruff as he made cargo arrangements with Fraser Trenholm and Company, not taking time to chat as he normally did. From the Confederate agents' oflSce he went

to the Royal Victoria Hotel. Neither Ben nor Beau had returned. He lay across the bed and tried to sleep while Revanche and Wolf and the ruined moments with Dulcie paraded across his mind.

Later he went to the dining room, feeling a loneliness he hadn't known since he was a boy. He glanced around the room as he toyed with his food. Men in uniforms, men who ran the blockade as he did, sat laughing and eating, enjoying the easy company of their temporary women.

The brilliant colors, the cacophony of bright, cheerful sound made his own isolation complete. He called for brandy, emptied three snifters as he might have downed rum, then walked into the warm, fragrant night.

He didn't know he'd been looking for her until he saw her in the chorus line of one of the saloons. Glory danced with the same joy-filled abandon she made-love, her long legs kicking higher than the other girls, her violently scarlet-sequined costume clashing wildly with her riotous mane of red hair.