The black swan (90 page)

As she neared Tom's property, the birds were excited.

flying up, cawing, calling. Johnnie Mae reached for her shotgun. She checked its load, her eyes squinting and keen, searching the wild swamp growth. She heard hoarse screaming. A man's voice. A woman's. Drawing nearer, she heard the angry mumbling of the bees. Single bees darted toward her, lit, and stung.

She moored the boat and grabbed a limb of dry brush pine. She struck one of the precious sulphur matches Adam always brought back for her on his runs, and made a torch. Shotgun in one hand, in the other the smoke torch, she came from behind Tom's cabin. Three men were riding down the path toward town. Johnnie Mae balanced the shotgun against her bony hip and fired. She didn't bother to look to see if she had hit anyone at that distance. Her attention jerked to the two figures, who looked more like bee-swarmed logs than humans.

She gathered dry pine and moist leaves, building a ring around the sapling and the two people. She set it afire, watching it blaze up, then begin to smoulder as the moist leaves dampened the flare of dry pine. Thick clouds of smoke went up. She lit another torch and ran the fire across the bodies, burning bees the smoke was not pacifying. The air was thick with heavy, acrid smoke. The bees began to calm, retreating to their damaged hive. Those that remained Johnnie Mae killed.

Choking, her eyes streaming, Johnnie Mae freed the man's legs, then dragged the woman from him. Adam was barely recognizable, a bloodied, swollen mass of angry red flesh, covered with brown stingers.

Johnnie Mae's thin, workworn hands touched him tentatively. "Dereling," she gasped. "It canna be. Dereling, dereling, ye canna be dead. Ye canna be."

She leaned over him. Finding a pulse, she fled along the swamp path. In minutes she reappeared, poling her flat swampcraft. She struggled with Adam's weight, dragging him unconscious to the boat. "Oi'll git ye there," she muttered, straining with him. "Oi'll git ye home. Oi toted ye once to t'loft when ye was nowt but a boy, dereling, when we was young. Oi'll tote ye now. Oi'll not let ye die. Not yere Eve. Yere Eve'll keep ye safe. Oi'll not let ye die.'*

As Johnnie Mae panted and muttered to herself, struggling to get Adam onto the rocking boat, Angela snuck from the cabin. "Help me. Please, help me. Take me away before they come back."

Johnnie Mae straightened up, startled. "Who be ye?"

"Fm Angela Pierson—Tom's daughter. You must help mel You can't do anything for him now!"

Johnnie Mae, her pale eyes blazing, spat at Angela. Her attention swerved back to Adam. She'd seen venomous bites before, and she'd seen shock. She knew a man could die from a single sting of a bee, or he could survive over a hundred. The Lord decided. Adam was still alive. She counted on his size and strength, if only she could keep him unconscious so he wouldn't attempt to kill himself because of the pain. She'd seen that happen too, aye.

She packed Adam in mud, then raised his feet higher than his head. "Oi be takin' him home. Effen ye be a-comin', fetch the woman."

"I can't ... the bees—"

Johnnie Mae shrugged. "Fetch her, or ye kin swim home, girl. Oi got no need fer ye."

Angela ran to Claudine. Gingerly, loathing to touch her, she dragged Claudine to the boat. Johnnie Mae's hard eyes drilled into Angela. "Ye be nowt but a bitch."

Johnnie Mae got Claudine aboard. Angela watched the thin, spent hag place Claudine at the far end away from Adam. Then Angela reached out for Johnnie Mae to help her aboard.

Mirthlessly Johnnie Mae laughed, her mouth gaping in a toothless grimace. Her long sinewy body leaned on the pole. Slowly the boat began to move.

"Wait! You can't leave me! I did as you asked! Oh, don't leave me—please!" Angela hesitated, still expecting Johnnie Mae to soften.

The swamp woman leaned harder, moving the heavily loaded flatboat. "Ye feckless maumet! Ye didna he'p him, an' ye coulda!"

Angela leaped, barking her shins as one leg went into the water. She clung to the boat. The flatboat dipped into the black water, then righted. Angela, soaked, huddled on the bottom, panting and whimpering.

Johnnie Mae's mouth worked grimly as she shoved the pole into the mud and withdrew it. "Stop yere caterwaulin'i Put water an' mud on them two. Keep 'em cooled down.'*

"/ can't! The snakes . . . my hands—"

Johnnie Mae thrust the pole at Angela, stopping just short of sweeping her overboard. "Ye will! Else Oi'll make

'gator bait o' ye, an* smile fer the chanst! Ye'll do what must be done! Moi dereling willna die!"

Johnnie Mae's lean, hard body moved in relentless rhythm, guiding them tirelessly through the swamp toward Smithville. She had never been farther than the edge of the swamp. Towns terrilBed her. And still she poled on.

Adam awakened screaming, his hands digging and gouging at his head and eyes. His face was an indescribable mass of swollen pulp. He ripped at himself, crying out in agony. Johnnie Mae squinted against what she must do. She struck him on the head with the short oar once, then again. "Ye'll not die, Adam Tremain, ye'll not die by yere own hands or by theim. Yere Eve'll git ye home."

"What was that, a love tap?" Angela asked sarcastically.

"Oi'll give ye the same, only better, ye useless slut! An* dinna be temptin' me, fer it'd be the one pleasure o' this dayl"

Johnnie Mae ignored Angela then, seeing only that she kept renewing the cool water and mud on the two swollen forms. As she poled without rest or pause down the swamp channels, she talked as if to herself. "P'loike ye be a big oF bear, Adam. Play like Oi be a foine lovely loidy. Play wie me, Adam, Oi be yere Eve. There be a stane to mark our passmg. There be a tryst stane fer the man an* his Eve. There be a bond no man kin break. Oi*ll take ye home, dereling, Oi'll take ye home."

Twice more on the way to Smithville she knocked him out to keep him from killing himself with the pain. It was dark when Johnnie Mae's little flatboat rocked in the stronger current of the Cape Fear River.

"Ye'll go to his cabin, an' bring his ma wie a horse an* wagon."

Angela nodded and began to get from the boat. Johnnie Mae's hand clenched her wrist in a painful grip. Her eyes burned into Angela's. "Oi be but the sow to the rutting boar, but fer this man. Ye'll bring me the wagon, girl. Ye'll bring it swift an' true, or on the blood o' moi love, Oi'll kill ye."

"I will—I will—I'U bring Aunt Zoe! I.promise! And the wagon—^I'U bring theml" Angela's voice rose to a high, hysterical whine.

"See ye do it, girl. Oi make no idle threats.*'

Angela ran up the sandy path, her skirts flying. Hyster-

ical, Angela pounded on the door. Zoe, wrapped in her

nightrobe, opened it but a crack.

"Let me in! Johnnie Mae—! She's going to kill me!" "Where is Adam?" Zoe shouted. She grabbed Angela's

arms and shook her until her teeth chattered. "Tell—me—

where is he!'*

Johnnie Mae dipped her hand into the cool water, constantly bathing Adam's fevered flesh. "Oncet ye tol' me, dereling, there was more to a man's love than Oi knew, an Oi tol' ye there be'n't. Oi tol ye we be like the rain seed, our freshet let an' gone wie the mawnin' gloam. It be'n't true, Adam Tremain. It be'n't true. The rain seed be wie us always. The lovin' comes agin an' agin. Ye canna die now, dereling. Oi be wie ye, a-watchin' fer ye, a-keepin' ye, an' lovin' ye.'*

Chapter Ten

Zoe shook the information from Angela, then left her sobbing on the stoop. Zoe raced to the stables still m her nightclothes.

"Rosebud! Rosebud! Wake up!**

Rosebud sleepily rubbed his eyes with ham-sized fists. Zoe dashed from the stalls to the tack room. "Rosebud, Adam needs you. There's been trouble."

Rosebud clambered from the loft and began to hitch the carriage.

"No, no, the wagon. Johnnie Mae said a wagon.**

"What you needs a wagon fo'? What de boss got into?'*

Zoe repeated the disjointed story Angela had told her.

"Ah git de boss, Miz Zoe. You gits ready fo' him. Wheah Miss Angela? She gotta show me wheah de boss is."

Angela was loaded into the wagon, screaming that she couldn't go back.

"You gwine take me to de boss," Rosebud said, his jaw jutting out. "Which way Ah goes?"

Johimie Mae's suspicion quickly turned to approval as Rosebud carefully lifted Adam and Claudine into the wagon bed. Johnnie Mae told him what had happened.

Zoe and Mammy crowded in the doorway watching their slow progress, Johnnie Mae burdened with Claudine, and Rosebud carrying Adam. Zoe clapped her hands over her mouth and swallowed, pressing back sick bile as Rosebud brought the hideous distortion of her son past her.

"Lawd, Lawd," said Mammy, shaking her head. Then she gave brisk orders. Adam was laid on his bed. A cot was brought for Claudine.

Johnnie Mae remained silent and watchful. Then, shoving Mammy aside, she moved her hands over Adam quickly. She placed her ear to his chest, her body taut and listening. His chest seemed to curve inward, his face was ashen and slick with sweat, his breathing making a loud sucking noise.

Mammy lumbered forward. Together they pried his mouth open. His tongue was swollen, almost blocking the air passage.

"Bring col' watuh, soder, an* all de rags we gots." Mammy's eyes never left Adam as Johnnie Mae's strong, bony fingers mercilessly depressed his tongue until the bluish cast left his lips.

"Rub his wrists," Zoe xried. "Here, let me help."

Johnnie Mae's hand shot out. "Don't ye rub nothin'. Ye be forcin' t' pizen through him the faster. Fetch me yere skinnin' knife."

Zoe stared in disbelief. "Poison? What poison? What are you going to do?"

"Do whut she says, Miz Zoe. We gots to git de stingers outer him."

Johnnie Mae quickly scraped the brown lancets from Adam's flesh. Mammy directed Rosebud to shift Adam's body so that Johnnie Mae could work without stop.

Zoe stood back helplessly watching this strange trio work on her son. Rosebud McAllister, Mammy, and Johnnie Mae were all that stood between Adam and death. Zoe's hands automatically folded in prayer.

Johnnie Mae looked at Zoe as she worked on Adam's leg. "He willna die."

"No, ma*^am!" Rosebud asserted stoutly. "De boss gwine make it!"

"He sho' will," Mammy declared. "Ain't nobuddy dyin' roun' heah."

Johnnie Mae made a sour face at Mammy, her head

cocked toward Claiidine. "T' wee 'un's a-gonna. The pizen be too strong fer 'er."

Rosebud shifted uneasily, his eyes filling as he looked at the cot.

Mammy scowled. "Miz Zoe, you pack Mm in dese col' rags. Git dat swellin' down, you heah? We gots to ten' to Claudine." She grabbed Johnnie Mae's arm and steered her to the cot.

Zoe nodded, feeling strangely calmed by these people whose love for Adam permeated the room. She packed the cold cloths against Adam's skin, having to replace them nearly as fast as she could get them on him.

With Rosebud helping, Johnnie Mae worked on Clau-dine's small body, scraping off stingers, "She ain't never wakened," Johnnie Mae said quietly. Claudine's face was gray, her. lips purple. Mammy tried forcing life into the girl, willing her to keep breathing.

All of them stared as Zoe screamed. "He's strangling!"

Johnnie, Mammy, and Rosebud all rushed to the bed. Zoe leaped aside as they forced his head back, his mouth open, pressing against his tongue, letting the vomit out. Still, he didn't breathe; his pulse was ragged, and his heartbeat wildly irregular. Johnnie Mae forced her breath into his lungs, and Mammy forced it out. Then the hoarse whistling noise filled the room again as Adam gasped for breath on his own. For hours they rushed from the crisis on the bed to the crisis on the cot.

The moon was high before all the stingers were removed and Adam and Claudine were packed from head to foot in cold packs soaked in laudanum.

Mammy and Johnnie Mae talked in hushed tones, their eyes shifting from one bed to the other. Claudine lay still as death, her small frame bloated in an ugly, shapeless mass. To Johnnie Mae's mind there was no help for her, but Claudine had earned her loyalty. She had helped Adam, and for that Johnnie Mae worked tirelessly.

Adam moaned, just below the threshold of wakefulness. With regularity his body tensed as pain gripped his abdomen, then the dangerous vomit would come, threatening to choke him or back up into his lungs. As the night passed, their hope held only because Adam continued to struggle.

As first light came to the sky, Adam's periods of agonized

consciousness became more frequent. He would wake up with shuddering yells, turning his grossly swollen head on the pillow, frantically clawing his puffed eyelids, jerking and whirling from one side to the other. Cold cloths flew in every direction as Johnnie Mae and Mammy tried to hold him down.

Unable to see or hear, imprisoned in his private hell of unendurable, unending pain, Adam's whole remaining strength was concentrated on escape. Drunkenly he rolled from his bed, eluding the grasping hands. His arms whirled like windmills, fighting off the swarming bees. Even with his eyes swelled shut he knew where escape was. He plunged for the window.

Rosebud shoved between Zoe and Johnnie Mae to fling his considerable weight at Adam, bringing them both to the floor with a bone-shaking thud. Cunning and determined as a madman, Adam fought, screaming and choking, trying to free himself from Rosebud's' strong grip. His words were unintelligible; the pleadings of a soul to be delivered from its agony.

Suddenly Adam gasped for breath. Rosebud, lying awkwardly atop him, moved away for Johnnie Mae to clear Adam's throat. When his breathing was restored, Rosebud lifted him as though he were a child and tenderly returned him to bed. The women were there immediately, replacing cold cloths, lending him what comfort they could with tender murmurings and the muttered "Lawd, Lawd," that was a prayer in itself.

Rosebud stood by the bed, his teeth bared in a grimace of tears, saying, "Boss, Boss, Ah ain' nevah mean to hurt you, nossuh, nossuh!"

Adam lapsed into unconsciousness again. The women, panting, straightened up, their eyes meeting and sliding away.

"De pain gots to stop," said Mammy wearily. "One dese times Rosebud ain't gwine be heah to he'p." She lumbered out, returning with her medicinal herbs. "Some say dis de bes' dey is fo' de poisonin'." She showed Johnnie Mae a jar of blistering flies steeped in spirits.

Johnnie Mae nodded curtly. One at a time she removed the cold packs. On each swollen sting they applied drops until each one showed angry red. "De poison be ha'mless once de blister rises. Lawd, Lawd, he'p us git thoo dis day."

Claudine died the second night. Adam lingered on, hovering^ between consciousness and coma. To Mammy's delight the blisters on his skin were rising. Rosebud, not so certain of the cure, sat slumped in a corner like a huge black mountain. Slow tears ran down his face for Claudine and for Adam, who had no rest no matter what they did for him.

Zoe prepared Claudine for burial. The fear that had been growing threatened to engulf her. Claudine is dead. How long will it be before Adam dies? The Lord giveth. The Lord taketh away. Please Lord, I beg you most humbly, don't take away my son.

Mammy and Johnnie Mae reassured each other countless times a day by saying positively he would live. And countless times each of them had rushed to Adam to keep him from strangling as his swollen throat closed.

Reassurances did not soothe Zoe. She had only questions. How long before they were unable to keep the air passage open? How long before they got to him too late? How long could he stand the ceaseless pain that racked him? How long before she had no son?

After they buried Claudine, Zoe stood in the cold moonlight remembering the night years ago when they had buried Ullah. How similar this night was. Angela had described the men who attacked Adam. Two of them meant nothing to Zoe, but the third did. The cruelty of the deed, the man's sadistic pleasure, was too familiar, too hatefully imforgettable. No one had to say Edmund Revanche's name. She knew he had been there. Years ago she had sensed they hadn't seen the last of him. She felt the same fright now.