The black swan (64 page)

"I like you just the way you are."

"I notice you have clothin' on."

"Well, if you insist."

He was gone for half an hour. "Would you believe, you're the only woman aboard? This is all I could find." He held out much-washed blue duck trousers and a Garibaldi blouse, lavishly embroidered in red, white, and blue flowers. "These belong to the cabin boy. The blouse was for his girl friend."

She was aghast. "I can't appear in public ... in men's clothing!"

"When you get them on, nobody will suspect the britches belonged to Carlos. Wear them as if they were riding britches. Put them on, Dulcie, they'll remind me of the beginning of my great downfall."

"Turn your back," she said primly.

He leaned against the bulkhead, his arms crossed, watching her. "Isn't it a little late for modesty?"

Her eyes flashed defiance. She blushed. But she dressed boldly under his gaze. She belted m the full blouse, arranging small tucks, and looked at herself in the mirror. "Do I look all right, Adam?"

The trousers fitted her snugly, nicely outlining her rounded rear. The blouse was spectacular, full across her firm breasts, and cinched in tightly at her tiny waist. Her hair bounced around her glowing face. "How can you possibly look more womanly in that outfit than you do in a gown? I'd better throw a blanket over you, or there won't be a man on board who'll get a lick of work done."

For the remainder of the voyage they spent much of .their time on deck. The weather was warm, the sea breeze tender. He found it intensely trying not to be able to touch his woman when he wanted to. He also found it heightened his emotions when he was alone with her.

Nassau harbor was crowded with ships of every kind. Shouts, steam donkeys, the clank of chains and machinery blended into a not unpleasant din. To Dulcie, seeing it for the first time, it was enormously exciting. The trade winds carried the fragrances of spices and blossoms. The brilliant blues of sky and sea, the rosy gold of sand, the rainbow hues of flowers and birds, expressed for her the happiness to come to herself and Adam.

Among the longshoremen were several women. Dulcie had glimpsed such creatures on the streets of New Orleans: gaudy, painted, overdressed in theit expensive fashions. She was suddenly aware of her own casual attire, so at variance with Adam's severely correct uniform. Perhaps she could buy decent clothing before she had to meet Adam's friends.

"Yoo-hoo! Adam! Benl Yoo-hoo!" One of the most flamboyantly gowned was jumping up and down on the dock in happy excitement, waving her frilly parasol. "Over here! Adam! Welcome home!"

To Dulcie's chagrin and distaste, Adam wasn't offended. Worse, he leaned far over the rail, waving, smiling. "Hey, Glory! Keeping it warm?"

"You bet! Piping hot and ready to serve!'*

Dulcie shrank, shut out as Adam and Ben bantered with the woman whose hair was redder than her own.

Then Adam, grinning in a pleased way, said, "You'll like Glory."

Dulcie stiffened. She might not be gowned for the role, but she would show this—this frowsy woman a thing or two.

As soon as the gangplank lowered, the red-haired female picked up the skirts of her brilliant blue walking suit and rushed forward. She threw her arms around Ben, then flew to Adam. Adam hugged the creature happily.

"Dulcie, my dear, this is Miss Eleanor Brooker from Boston, now known as Glory Hallalooya of Nassau. Glory, Miss Dulcie Moran of Mossrose Plantation near Savannah, who is going to be my wife."

"Your wife? Oh, Adam, I'm so glad for you!" Her eyes turned quickly to Dulcie, taking in the blouse and trousers. "I'm so glad to meet you, Dulcie! Adam is a wonderful gentleman. I just know he'll make you a fine husband! I hope you'll consider yourself my friend. I'd like that!"

"Thank you. Miss Brooker," Dulcie said distantly.

Glory babbled op. "Is that the newest thing in the States now? So unusual—and on you so becoming. Would you mind terribly if I copied your outfit? In pink satin, it'd be a sensation!"

Dulcie hesitated. Adam laughed. "Enjoy it, Dulcie, Glory's always like this."

"They're still wearin' skirts and dresses in the States, Miss Brooker. However, you're welcome to copy it if you like."

Glory giggled and threw her arms around Dulcie, hugging her tight for an incredible moment. "You're so generous, Dulcie. We're going to have great times together! Now, come on, Adam, Ben, I've found a divine little cafe that serves turtle pie! I want you all to be my guests! I've got a new job." She wiggled her hips and winked. "So we're all going to celebrate!"

"Adam, I don't think we—" Dulcie's eyes pleaded with him. "I can't wear this on the streets."

He said, "Glory, lead us to the nearest dress shop. Dulcie came with me in such a hurry, she forgot her wardrobe."

"I know just the place. Madame Clare's prices are scandalous, but she has fashion right down to the dot."

"Hey, see you later, Adam," said Ben drifting off.

Glory clutched at his arm. "Oh, Ben, don't be such a crosspatch! While Dulcie gets herself fixed up, why don't I just—" She whispered something and giggled, and Ben's face lit up agreeably.

Adam bought Dulcie several outfits, for street, for evening, for afternoon calling. As Glory had said, the price was scandalous. Last he ordered Madame Clare to make Dulcie a silvery-white shirt in the Garibaldi style, and a pair of trousers of the fijiest gray gabardine. "If Glory thinks it's stylish, I want you to have it first!"

Dulcie smiled. He understood feminine rivalry better than she expected.

By week's end Dulcie was heartily tired of the eternal company of Glory Hallalooya. Every day Glory visited, expecting Dulcie to drop everything. "Can Dulcie come out and play?" Glory's version of playing was to visit the many shops that catered to blockade runners' ladies, and help Dulcie spend Adam's money.

"But, Glory," Dulcie protested, "he's not made of money!"

Glory said, in a rare quiet mood, "Do you know, Adam sometimes nets three hundred thousand dollars on a round trip— profit?" *

"How would you know?" Dulcie was immediately sorry she asked, for Glory forthrightly told her.

"We were talking about it in bed one time." At Dulcie's stricken expression. Glory put her hand on her arm. "You mustn't mind about me. Nor the others either. We're all in the past. Your handsome Adam has been in bed with quite a number of women, and it's all been in fun 'til he met you. Don't you know? He's wildly in love with you— much more than he realizes. And, you know, he's the kind that will be true!"

"I hope so!" said Dulcie. Glory was a revelation to her. She wondered how many other "friends" like her Adam had. She did not know where he spent his hours away from her. He had business to attend to, he said. He came home when he had said he would, and each day they did something special together. During these times he was devoted to her, laughing, teasing, happy.

They were married on the Independence. Adam had given Dulcie leave to decorate as she thought appropriate.

He was pleased that she didn't turn his ship into a floating boudoir. Her feminine love of ornamentation confined itself to a semicircle of bright-hued tropical flowers, set on the deck where Beau would marry them.

Theirs was a motley guest list, mainly blockade runners dressed in a surprising variety of uniforms, and their female companions of the hour, gowned, gloved, and hatted according to Godey's Lady's Book. The crewmen from their three ships were all attired in blue cloth uniforms with proper straw hats. They stirred restlessly, waiting for the bride.

Dulcie arrived in a hired carriage open to the hot Bahama sun. Over her auburn hair was a Belgian lace veil that came to her shoulders, hiding her face entirely. Her dress was of Belgian lace over silk. Her wide hoops swayed as two of Adam's crewmen escorted her up the gangplank. She carried a bouquet of white and pink oleander and yellow hibiscus.

The ceremony, a reverent oasis in the bustle of Nassau harbor, was dignified, as they had wanted it. When Dulcie turned back her veil to raise her glowing face to Adam's hard, possessive kiss, the whistle blew on the Independence, to be echoed joyously by all the ships in port.

Glory hugged Dulcie, "If I ever get married, I hope it will be as beautiful as yours!"

Ben, looking stunned, said, "You did it, Adam. By God, you did it!"

Adam and Dulcie grinned constantly at each other, unable to let go of one another's hands, wanting to get away from the party, which had moved to the Royal Victoria's ballroom.

When finally, late that night, they were in their hotel room, Adam said, "Let's go to the ship."

"The ship? Are we leavin'?"

"No. I just want to have you, as my wife, there. A fit of sentiment, I guess."

"Oh, Adam. That's nice!"

In the morning they breakfasted in the captain's dining hall. "We have a busy day, Mrs. Tremain. We're going to see my solicitor. There'll be times when I'm not here to take care of our affairs, so you'll have to learn to manage on your own."

"You won't be here? What do you mean?"

"The business. I'll be making a run in about a week."

Her eyes widened. "Couldn't you . . . stay here—this one time?"

He touched her face lovingly. "There's a cargo of medicines and uniform cloth and necessities for the civilians. The South needs everything we can bring in, Dulcie. And there are the slaves. They're waiting for me to help them. I have to go. You know that."

"Could I go with you?"

"Not now. The situation is too uncertain. Maybe I can take you sometime, but for now I want to know you're safe in Nassau, waiting for me."

Dulcie discovered she had a very wealthy husband. Through Barrett the solicitor he arranged for her to draw ten thousand dollars a month. He also supported Zoe, whose funds from Paul Tremain's estate had dwindled. Mr. Barrett tried to unravel the mysteries of banking for her. "Any questions, Mrs. Tremain?"

"N-no."

"I'm always available should you encounter difficulties while your husband is on duty." He smiled warmly.

The days that Adam remained in port flew by, each one more precious than the one before. Nearly every evening they were invited to parties, balls, or musicales. The musicales were formal affairs at first, growing merrier, with everyone singing. A favorite of the blockade runners was

There are bonds of all sorts in this world of ours, Fetters of friendship and ties of flowers. But there's never a bond, old friend, like this— We have drunk from the same canteen! Think of your head, think of your head. Think of your HEAD in the morningi

Their last night came. Adam was excited, as always, at the prospect of going to sea. Dulcie was depressed and trying not to show it. There was one last party, then life would be dull again for the blockade-running seamen would be gone. If she could get through this party without breaking down. All she wanted was to fling herself into his arms and weep wildly, and that would never do. The other captain's wives showed no such anxiety or

feeling of desertion. She would be cheerful now if it killed her.

Having convinced herse^^f, she was more depressed than ever. She was in the ornate bathtub, soaping herself. "Adam? Will you wash my back?"

It was a pleasant ritual, washing each other's back and sometimes washing each other all over, to their mutual excitement and gratification. She loved feeling Adam's muscles through a light coating of soapsuds.

Adam was stalking about naked. He dutifully washed her back, then dropped the cloth and began to rub her neck.

"Ummm, that's lovely," Dulcie murmured.

His voice was soft. "What do you really want to do this evening?"

"Be with you. Nothing else, only be with you." The treacherous tears were in her eyes and her voice.

"All right," he said, and climbed into the tub with her.

Dulcie burst out laughing and splashed him. He scooped up water, pouring it on her, making her gasp. She tried to fend him off, but in the end water was all over the floor and hardly any in the tub.

She eluded his grasp, hopped from the tub, and flung herself onto the bed. Adam landed beside her in a flying leap that broke both siderails. The tall headboard and footboard collapsed over them, forming a tent. Dulcie shrieked. Adam ducked and covered her head. When the noise had subsided, they cautiously looked up. He bounced experimentally. Nothing seemed about to fall any farther.

Dulcie giggled uneasily. "Let's get out of here."

He ran his forefinger from her shoulder blades down her back to the gentle curve at the bottom of her buttocks. "Why?" He smiled lazily.

"I don't want to get crushed.'*

"You'll be perfectly safe." He started kissing her. "You'll be protected by my body."

He made love to her for a long time, strc^dng, caressing her, being stroked and petted and teased to the height of ardor.

Afterward, lying still dovetailed, feeling one another's heartbeats gradually slow to normal, they talked in low tones, Dulcie able now to laugh, to enjoy being with Adam without thought of tomorrow.

"Let's go out on the town," he said. They wandered

from one watering hole to the next, drinking here, snack-ing there, taking a cab somewhere else. Dawn found them on the highest spot in Nassau, waiting for the sun to edge up out of the Atlantic and light Eleuthera Island.

The light seemed to spring up suddenly, red-gold and dazzling. Dulcie shut her eyes and leaned against Adam's shoulder. "D-d'you know, Adam . . . Adam, I think I'm jus' a li'l bit drunk?"

Adam laughed. "Dulcie, Dulcie, you're a whole lot drunk!"

"You're leavin' an' I'm happy. Why am I happy, Adam? I should be—"

"You're happy because you're drunk, and because you know I'll be back soon. And because I'll bring Claudine, and all your dresses—"

"And because I love you," she said, sighing contentedly.

She could barely remember going back to the hotel and Adam putting her to bed. She knew when he kissed her, for his moustache prickled a little. She did not hear the door close. When she woke, he had gone.

Chapter Nineteen

Adam set course on the Nassau Line, steaming almost north toward Wilmington. On the open sea the crew spotted no Federal ships. As the Independence approached the Carolina coastal blockade, Adam's tension mounted. The blockade stretched in a forty-mile arc from New Inlet, twenty-five miles south of Wilmington, down around the Cape and Frying Pan Shoals to Old Inlet, just below Smithville at the mouth of the Cape Fear River. The ship was quiet, the crew alert. Adam made certain all hatches were covered tightly with canvas, letting no light from the fireroom show to give them away. The only light left aboard shone on the binnacle, and it too was shielded by heavy canvas. Satisfied that the ship was dark and blended in with sky and sea, he whispered orders down the tube. The Independence, her engines humming smoothly, steamed toward the line of blockading cruisers.