The black swan (84 page)

Adam stared, forcing himself to take note of every sign of decay. That ramshackle building, the floors crusted with tramped dirt and stains of years, the men whose faces showed the constant abuse of their habits, Ramona's voice that told so much more than the words she spoke. He had sought solace in that hellhole. H was important that he know it for the falsity it was. As Ben had said, he had to have been half out of his mind to seek comfort in Bedlam.

Adam made his next run into Wilmington without making his usual stop at Zoe's. Though he didn't expect Tom to be there, he decided to anchor below Price Creek. The Black Swan was positioned so Adam could see the Union ships surrounding both New Inlet and Old Inlet.

Shortly after ten o'clock Tom clambered up the Jacob's ladder Adam had left swinging over the side of the ship.

"Adam, boy!" he cried, clasping Adam's hand, then drawing him close in an awkward, affectionate embrace. "Zoe told me you were here the better part of six weeks, an' I was off huntin' in that damned swamp with Seth an' his boys. She tol' me what happened to Dulcie, son." His hoarse voice choked with emotion. "To some it might seem you 'n' me don't have much luck with our women, but don't you fool yourself, Adam. The only gift God gives any man is love. Mebbe you 'n' me didn't have it long, but we did have it. We had the real thing. An' what's more, we knew it."

Adam turned away.

"Aw, Christ, don't be ashamed of tears." Tom sniffed and laughed, slapping him on the back. "Come on, you ol* horse turd, gimme a drink. I know you got the best."

Tom settled himself on Adam's bunk. "This is some-thin'," he said admiringly. "Come up a step or two since the ol' Ullah, ain't you?"

Adam shrugged. "A little more carving, a little more brass."

Tom stared into his brandy, sniffing the nutty aroma. *Shor' don't smell like that firewater Seth brews up. If 01' Jeff Davis had any smarts, he'd pass out a ration of Seth's brew to every Yankee soldier. Afore they got to their feet again, we'd wipe 'em off the earth."

Adam laughed and changed the subject.

"What effect do you think Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation will have on us?"

"We'll still get some darkies wantin' to pack for the North."

"What will you do, keep them in the swamp 'til we get six or so?"

"I don't think you ought to make the run into New York for any fewer. It's not as safe as it was before, is it?"

Adam shook his head. "There are Yankee ships everywhere. They cruise from here to the Bahamas. Damned bastards lurk beyond the Out Islands just waiting for some runner to move out of British waters. Mostly though, it's that place of Rod's that spooks me. His harbor is really boxed in. I don't seriously think anyone is going to follow me in there, but all it would take is for someone to spot me, alert the Yankees, and let them wait for me to come out. I'd have one hell of a time outrunning them, even in this ship."

"Mebbe it's time you 'n' me got out of the slave-haulin* business."

"I'm not ready to put up the white feather yet," Adam said. "But a little caution won't hurt. I keep feeling things are closing in around me."

"Boy, you are givin' me a bad case o' the cowardlies. If you're gettin' anxious, I want you to stop. Forget the whole thing."

"Not yet. The only kin of Dulcie's I know live somewhere on Manhattan. Every trip I've made, I stopped at the Raymers', but they're out of the country. God, Tom, everywhere I looked for her people, there was nothing left. It's as though all trace of her, her family, everything—it's all gone.'*

"I'd like to tell you not to think like that, Adam, but I remember when Ullah died, I left like someone had emptied the whole world of everything good and left me behind with nothing. Ullah was all there was, and she was gone like she had never been."

"But at least you have Angela. Ullah is in her, too. You have something left."

Tom shifted restlessly. "There's two sides to that," he said. Then quickly: "It's near eleven o'clock, the tide's right, an' you gotta sail."

Adam handed Tom a thick envelope. "Give this to Ma for me, will you?"

"I was wonderin' if you was jes' goin' off without a word to your ma. She an' Mammy have damn near wore out their knees prayin' for you. Zoe'll be mighty pleased to hear you're all right."

"See you next trip, Tom. Say hello to Seth for me, and Johnnie Mae."

"She always asks about you. That woman's the damndest toughest individual I ever did see. She can outhunt, out-shoot, an' outrun any man in those swamps. Make her happy to hear you think of her."

When Glory Hallalooya cared about someone, she left no doubt. The moment Adam stepped onto the pier, she threw her arms around him. "Oh, Adam, I have a surprise for you!"

"I'm afraid to ask."

"Ha! Well, I'm not going to tell you either. Not until Ben comes back."

"You're a wretched little tease. Why isn't Ben back? I thought he was due in from Charleston."

Glory batted her eyelashes exaggeratedly. "He was detained from leaving."

Adam roared. "Poor Ben. He has no idea what a minx you truly are.'*

"Adam, if you ever tell him, I'll never forgive you." She was smiling, but she was half-serious.

"Why, Miss Glory Hallalooya, I think you care more about Ben then you've let on. Which of you is it who cares? Glory Hallalooya or Eleanor Brooker?" He helped her into the waiting carriage.

She fussed with her parasol. "Oh, Adam, I don't know. Ben could never ... I mean . . .oh, shoot! Glory Hallalooya has always been fun—for everyone. But I'm Eleanor Brooker, too, and Adam, I think I love him. I mean, really love him. What am I gonna do?"

"Keep right on being yourself. Glory. Ben doesn't keep coming back to you just because you're fun. He's not like that. Anyway, how long's it been since Glory Hallalooya has been fun for anyone but Ben West?"

"Since Beau died. But Ben doesn't know that."

"Would you like to bet a new bonnet against a box of Havana cigars?"

The horse swerved as Adam's hands jerked on the reins.

Glory bounded up to hug and kiss him. "Oh, Adam, I love you!"

*'I know," he muttered.

Glory's surprise for Adam was a young woman.

"Glory, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I want you to listen to me. I don't want a woman, and certainly not just any woman."

"But Adam, you just don't realize how much better off you'd be with some nice girl who'd be waiting here for you, so happy to see you whenever you got back."

"You're more than enough."

"But I'm not. It's not the same as it used to be when you'd lean over the rail and tell me to keep the bed warm. You know I'd do that for you even now, Adam, but I don't think you'd want that, and it'd make Ben unhappy, and—"

"I want you just as my friend," he finished for her.

"Yes, so you do need someone else. She's so sweet, Adam, and I've invited her to dinner tonight, and if you say you won't go, I'll just die!"

Adam looked at her through lazy, narrowed eyes. "Besides Dulcie, you're the most persistent, conniving female I ever knew. What's her name?"

Glory's face clouded. "Well . . . she doesn't know. We call her Apples 'cause of her pretty red cheeks, but no one knows who she really is."

"What do you mean? Doesn't she know who she is?"

"She came to Nassau while you were gone. Captain Drover found her floating around in the waters off Bimini in one of those little boats you use to haul the cargo ashore—a lightboat or—"

"Lighters. Where had she come from?'*

"He doesn't know. She was nearly dead when he got her. Captain Drover and Ben figured she must have been a passenger on one of the runners' ships that went down. The way you men come and go, not always returning to the same ports, no one can keep track of you. How many blockade runners do you know that we haven't seen for the last year? We don't know if they're alive or not."

"Were there any other survivors?"

"Captain Drover ddin't see anything else, no survivors, no wreckage, just one lighter and the girl."

"You've already told her I'd be there tonight?'*

"Oh, Adam, I do so want to see her with a good man.

She makes me think of myself when the Packers left me stranded here. I wasn't so brave as I led you to believe. I was frightened, but I had more in my favor than Apples has. I always liked men—and you know I just love making love. But Apples isn't like that."

"Then, what do you want me to do, be her old uncle?"

Glory giggled. "No, silly! I just don't want her to think all men are like some she's met. The longer this war goes on, the more water rats it seems to bring to Nassau. It's not like in the beginning when you could count on the captains being gentlemen."

"You don't say." , "Don't you go making fun of me! You will come?"

When Adam was introduced to the girl, his first thought was that the name Apples did not suit her. She was a delicate beauty. Her hair was a soft brown, which she wore atop her head. Light waves arched gracefully, framing her high forehead and the gentle oval of her face. Her eyes were a serene blue, her coloring fair. Everything about her bespoke quietness, muted emotions. Her smile was a slow one that lit her eyes and remained there long after her mouth had relaxed. Adam hadn't expected to like her, but he was drawn to her from the outset.

Throughout dinner they talked of the war. From time to time Glory, Ben, or Adam would mention something about their past or their homes. The girl, though she showed interest, said nothing personal about herself.

As the evening wore on and they had played cards and guessing games. Glory and Ben became more interested in each other than in their guests. Adam took the girl to a small sofa. Outside the open window a street band played. The music was pleasant and soft. Adam leaned back, looking up at the night sky. He turned, found her eyes on him, and smiled. "Isn't there some name that belongs to you? Something for me to call you?"

Her eyes were the softest shade of blue, altering with her expression, shading from gray to a muted lavender. Her expression was far away. She was quiet for so long he wasn't certain she had heard. When she spoke, her voice came as though from a great distance. "I . . . I'm Le-Le-Leah. Leah."

She made him feel calm. He didn't even think about it being her real name. He repeated it softly. "Leah. Leah, my lost girl."

"I'm Leah Haynes," she said slowly. "I'm Leah Haynes . . . from Mobile, Alabama. Adam—that's who I am! Fm Leah Haynes, and I live in Mobile, Alabama!" She put her hands up covering her rosy cheeks, her eyes wet with tears and shining. "Glory! Ben! Adam made me remember! I know who I am!"

Glory wrapped her arms around the girl, crying, "Apples, Apples, I'm so happy for you. App—what is your name?"

Ben looked in awe at Adam. "How'd you do that?"

"I just asked her if there wasn't something I could call her other than that awful nickname."

"Asked her? You just asked her, and she told you? Why,^ we've inquired in ports in the States about any female passenger bound for Nassau, Bermuda, or Havana in the past year. There's never been a hint from anyone. And you just ask her, and she tells you! Christ, Adam!"

"What else do you remember, Leah?" Glory asked.

"Well, I'm from Mobile. And I'm nineteen—I think. I . . . oh!" Her eyes were frightened. Quickly she reached for Adam's hand. "I can't remember any more. I can't think. Nothing is clear now."

He forgot Ben and Glory. All he saw were Leah's eyes changing from the dark gray-blue they were when she was troubled. He scooped her into his arms. Her hair was silky and fragrant, the color of buckwheat honey. "You'll remember, but not now. Just talk to me. Tell me about the things you like best. Tell me about the flowers and the sunsets and your favorite hat and what makes you laugh."

"Why would you want to know all that?"

"For no reason, except that I do."

She began, her voice as melodious and gentle as a warm misting rain. The three of them listened as though Leah told the most fascinating story in the world, and all she spoke of were the most commonplace things of the life of any girl who had grown up in the deep South before the war.

Throughout the month, Adam continued to see Leah. Each time she remembered a little more. She knew she had a brother. Her father had died early in the war. Her mother had been dead since Leah was ten. She still didn't recall why she had been on a boat. She guessed, offering many possibilities, but she didn't know.

Adam was almost sorry when it was time to make the

trip to Wilmington. He didn't want to leave Leah. She always seemed so lost when he wasn't near. But she surprised him. As did all the women of the blockade runners, Leah, too, seemed perfectly resigned to the peculiarity of their schedules. They followed that pattern, and Adam found Glory had been right. He had missed having a woman waiting for him upon his return, a woman whose eyes scanned the myriad masts and could unerringly pick out the one belonging to her own man's ship.

By July he had put ofif going to see Zoe long enough. Confronting Angela now didn't seem difficult. Leah had restored his perspective. Angela was a child. He had looked on her as a child except for that one moment, and even in that he could now be fairer to himself. He had been sound asleep when Angela had entered his room. He hadn't been fully awake when he responded to her caresses. It was time to go back.

Zoe's worries about Adam vanished the moment she saw him. One day home and he was as normally restless and fidgety as ever. He repaired the carriage house and mended the back step that threatened to coUapse every time Mammy approached it. But once those tasks were finished, he was eager for a dark night when the clouds would cover the moon.

For days the skies were vivid blue by day, bright indigo by night. Then slowly the clouds and wind and rain began to move in, and Adam judged he'd have three days at the most to wait for a truly dark, foggy night. His talk with Angela would wait no longer.

In the past four months Angela had gained an amazing amount of poise. Too often he had the feeling he was being skillfully handled, and by a woman of some experience. Yet she was only Angela, just fifteen years old. He was imagining things.