The black swan (6 page)

Ullah laughed, placing his food before him, "Got yo'seff convinced?"

"Just about." He grinned.

"Mebbe some li'l ol' mosquito hawk, he fin' his way into this house and bring us good luck." She looked wistfully through the open windows at the dragonflies skimming low over the water.

Tom laughed, amused and tolerant of the numerous superstitions she lived by. He stretched lazily, not wanting to leave her. "I expect I'd better git. Those old cypresses just keep on a-waitin'."

Ullah kissed him and watched as he went to the wagon. It wouldn't do her a bit of good to imagine what-all he might do to himself before he learned to use his new tools.

Slowly she began to think of other things, and the boy they had met the night before came into her mind. It surprised her a little. But there was a steady memory of those bright, defiant blue eyes that bespoke more hurt and loneliness than rebellion.

She arranged the parlor and stood back to admire it Smiling, she glanced toward the open door.

Her hand fluttered to her breast as she gave a little cry of fright. It was almost as if she were a conjur-woman fetching him up by the power of her thoughts. "What you doin' here, Adam? You done give me a start."

He was tense and ill at ease. "I'm sorry," he said.

"No time for sorry now. You gwine stan' there, or you comin' in?"

Adam glanced about, then entered. Ullah was shaking her head.

"Tom gone to the bayou. Good thing fo' you he is. What you want?"

Adam's eyes ran approvingly over the tidy room, looking at everything in minute detail, everything except Ullah herself. "What happened to Old Man Welkins? He never said anything about leaving."

" 'Pears as how he did, doan it?" she said saucily.

"He always said he'd stay here as long as it took for the Yankees to come South and—^" Adam shrugged.

"Do tell. That what you come fo'? Tell me 'bout Mistah Welkins?"

He met her dark, expectant eyes. "I came to apologize for last evening. I shouldn't have talked to you as I did. I'm sorry for that."

UUah relaxed and smiled in satisfaction. "Ah knowed that already."

He looked up at her, surprised.

"Sho' Ah did, an' Ah tol' Tom. But he wasn't much fo* Us'nin'."

Adam shifted his weight, began to speak, then bit his lower lip.

"Mebbe you wasn't 'tendin' to 'pologize to Tom."

"I've got to be going. Beau—^my friends are waiting for me. I just wanted to tell you that you were right last everdng. My mother would have been ashamed, and so was I." Hurriedly he made for the door.

"AdamI"

He turned on the path from the house, looking back at her.

"You come back heah, Adam. It ain't me you owe a 'pology. It's Tom."

His expression was closed and stubborn. "I've got to be going."

"You a gent'man, Adam?'*

"Yes, ma'am. Well, most of the time."

"If you wanta be a gent'man you proud o* bein', you starts today. Go make yo* manners to Tom. Then you come back heah, an* I'll mebbe have some lemonade an' mulatto bellies all hot an' ready fo' you." She smiled.

He stood where he was, stubborn, desiring to obey, yet uncertain.

"Pridefull" she scolded him gently. "Go on, now!"

Ullah went into the house. She began to make the batter for the ginger cookies. No use lookin* on the dark side o* things when there's a hope the bright will come out. She began to sing. She wouldn't even go to the window to see if he was going toward the swamp. He was her black swan. That Adam boy would be the first friend Tom would have in these bayous. He was a sign.

Adam took his time. It was one thing to apologize to UUah. He had wanted to, had instinctively liked her from the outset. But Tom was another matter. Adam had never

felt trusting toward any man. His memories of Paul Tre-main were filled with hostility bred out of fear. He had grown up seeking his satisfactions out of range of his father's eye, encouraged to by his mother, driven to do so when Tremain's baleful glare was directed at him.

He knew the bayous intimately, having spent days there sometimes alone, more generally with his friends Ben West and Beau LeClerc, exploring the many channels, visiting with the families that lived nestled within its confines.

Even before his father's death, Adam was determined to become a better man than Paul Tremain. But widowed Zoe Tremain had no men friends. There was no individual her son wished to emulate. So he read much and observed and analyzed his friends and the men he knew. He created for himself a lofty pattern of perfection.

Only sometimes, Adam admitted ruefully, the pattern slid out of reach. Right now all the old hostilities were with him as he moved with the quiet, easy grace of one familiar with the marshy terrain.

He winced as he saw Tom, his knee pressed tight against a fallen tree, wielding the broadax with an ungainliness that defied the continuance of life. Fascinated, he forgot his reluctance to apologize. "Mr. Pierson.'*

The ax hit crookedly on the trunk, jolted, and flew from Tom's grasp, Tom clutched his throbbing hand, holding it tightly between his legs.

Adam stared. "Did you cut yourself?'*

"No! Damn! I told you never to show your face heah again." Tom began to walk with menacing determination toward Adam. The boy didn't look as cocky today as he had yesterday; still, there was that air of self-sure calm about him. Tom would make him show some respectful fear if it was the last thing he ever did.

Adam moved a few steps, angling away from Tom's path.

"That isn't gonna help you. I'll get you if I want you."

Adam bent over and picked up the ax. Tom looked warily at the boy standing with the broadax held loosely in his right hand. Adam turned the ax, to give to Tom handle first. "I was in the wrong last evening," he said be-grudgingly. "I already apologized to UUah, and she said it was you I owed the apology."

"What makes you think an apology is going to make any difference? If you're thinkin' it excuses you, it doesn't."

"I didn't say that it did," Adam said flatly.

Tom's face tightened. "You don't look all that sorry to me anyhow."

"I am for last evening." The sincerity in Adam's voice was not reflected in the hard blue eyes. "I'll be on my way. My friends are waiting."

"Why didn't they come with you?'*

"They didn't do anything wrong. I was the one who sassed you."

"Think you're quite the man, don't you, boy?" Tom said sarcastically.

"I am the man in my family. I disremembered that last evening. I won't again. Good day, sir." He walked off, leaving Tom to stare after him bereft of words..

UUah was waiting by the worm fence when he returned. "Did you see Tom?"

"Yes, but you're right. He's not satisfied with just an I'm sorry."

"It's what he feels that matters. Tom's fair an' honest He come 'round when he's done some thinkin' on it. Heah Ah thought you didn't want them cookies."

Adam looked at her questioningly, then grinned.

UUah listened as Adam talked and ate in turns. He lived alone with his widowed mother beyond the woods, two miles away. He was nearly finished with his academy and would be going to the university next year. To him it all seemed a bother, for his interests lay in ships and the sea and not the classical subjects he was to study, except for mathematics.

"You sho' doan wanta grow up like some iggerant no 'count, does you?"

"Of course not, but I want to be about making my way. I would read and study twice as hard if I didn't have to go to college."

"Sez you. Shows how much you knows. You better go to college like yo' mama say. She knows what's good fo' you."

He enjoyed Ullah's gentle scolding. He liked this sort of argument.

"What you think you gwine do that cain't wait fo' yo' schoolin'? Why, you ain't much mo'n a shirttail boy."

"I'll be sixteen, and I've got my own business," he said indignantly.

Ullah made a face at him, her eyebrows raised. "WeU

now, ain*t that somethin'. What kin' o' bizness you got fo* yo'seff, Adam?"

"I haul railroad ties, settle the accounts, and pay the bayou men. I get a percentage of their pay and a fee for the use of my boat."

She smiled. "So you cap'n of a bugboat.'*

He ignored the amusement in her voice, looking down in serious concentration at the cookie in his hand. His voice was low and quietly moving. "I will be the captain of a ship. As soon as I'm out of school, Beau LeClerc, Ben West, and I—we're all going to sign on as apprentices."

"What's yo' mama say to that?"

"Oh, she likes the idea iBine. If I go to the university first."

He was deeply engrossed in telling Ullah how he would one day own a ship and sail the seas of the world when Tom came into the house, a handkerchief tied around his hand.

Ullah hurried to him. "What you gone an' done to yo'seff, Tom?"

Adam jumped to his feet. "I didn't intend to come here—"

"Ne'mind the sorryin' now!" Ullah snapped. "You done say enuf!" Tom had gouged out a piece of flesh. "Well, thank the Lawd, it's not bad." She made a poultice of roots and herbs to draw out the poisons in Tom's hand. "Stay where you is, Adam! Be jes' a minit afore Ah get Tom all set, then he kin have some lemonade an' a mulatto belly with you, if you lef him any."

"Ullah . . ." Tom began, scowling as he looked from her to Adam. He couldn't refuse anyone the courtesy of his home, but Ullah damned well didn't have to extend it further.

She spoke quickly. "He the cap'n o' his own boat, Adam is. Even got a bizness goin' fo' hisseff. Wouldn't think that o' him, would you?"

"Ullah!" Tom said, louder and more insistent.

"I'd better be going."

"Set down, Adam. Cain't you see Ah got enuf without you hoppin' up like a frog on the run eve'y time he speak up? Set down, both o' you. Time you did some talkin'."

Both Adam and Tom obeyed. Tom looked up at Ullah, his eyes twinkling. "We're being bullied."

UUah turned to Adam. "How much you know 'bout bayou work?"

"You mean the crabbing and logging? I know some."

"Well, Tom heah, he a good man fo' some things, but his foot's in mortal danger soon's his han' touches the ax."

"Looked to me it was a lot more than just his foot when I saw him." Adam, suddenly amused, was having difficulty suppressing a smile.

Tom glared at him. "Ullah, damn it, I'm not gonna listen to some smart-mouthed boy belittle me in my own house in front of my own wife!"

Adam looked curiously from Ullah to Tom. He had realized that their relationship was more than just that of servant and master, but marriage between them was something he had never thought of.

"Yes, she's my wife." Tom glanced crossly at Ullah. *Thanks to your damned meddlin' we'll have to leave heah right away. Next time I tell you I don't want someone nosin' around, listen to me. You don't feed your enemies lemonade and cookies."

"You our enemy, Adam?"

Tom pounded the table. "Damn woman! Do you never listen?"

Like hurricane shutters to protect the house from pounding rain, Adam's eyes closed, shutting him off from what he knew was coming between Ullah and Tom. He didn't know wliat to say or how to get out, short of turning tail and running. But he did want out. He didn't want to see them fight or see Ullah lose, as she would. As he had looked at his mother many times when his father was alive, he now looked at Ullah, wishing he could help and knowing he couldn't. Then he cleared his throat, daring to try—once. "I could show you how to handle that ax, Mr. Pierson."

Tom glared angrily at Adam. Ullah's voice was subdued when she spoke. "He's tellin' us he's yo' friend, Tom. Cain't you hear nothin' but the words? You run us away from heah 'cause of a boy who wants to he'p us, what you think will happen anyplace else we kin go?"

Tom sat down heavily in helpless surrender, letting his hands fall to the table.

Adam watched him with new interest. He hadn't hit Ullah, nor had he abused her verbally as Adam had ex-

pected, had learned to expect from a man. Intense discomfort gave way to a wary curiosity about Tom.

"Ben and Beau could help. Ben is good with tools."

"I might as well take out an ad in the Picayune and give our location to the whole world," Tom said dispiritedly.

"Why, lis'n there, Adam. You heah that? Sound like a ol' she-cow mooin' outa sorrow fo' herseff. You feelin' that sorry fo' yo'seff, Tom?"

"Sure as hell am! No one else does," Tom grumbled, more good-naturedly. His eyes met Adam's. "You say Ben is a good hand with an ax?"

"Yes, sir."

"He ever hire out?"

"No, sir. I didn't mean we'd hire out. We'd help. That's all.'^

Tom watched Adam quietly for a moment. "Tom. Call me Tom. Anybody catches me without my britches has a right to use my first name." He grinned. "I'd be proud to accept your help, Adam." He extended his hand.

It was the first time Adam ever had, or considered having, the friendship of a grown man. Even now, faced with this stocky, plain-faced man with his eyes once more twinkling with good humor, it \yas not a totally comfortable feeling. "I'll get Ben. And Beau too?"

"Why not?" Tom said, his capitulation complete and his humor restored. Gently, Ullah's arms wrapped around his neck.

Adam hadn't exaggerated. Ben West was as handy with the ax as Adam had claimed. The first afternoon Tom looked on with amazement as shakes for the house mounted in neat piles. The next day, with a humility he didn't know he possessed, he became the willing pupil of a fourteen-year-old taskmaster. Alternately gritting his teeth in annoyance and roaring with laughter at the boys' antics, Tom learned the rudiments of woodworking. As the days went by, Ben criticized his every mistake, making his pupil repeat the same process until Tom threatened to beat the lard outa him if he told him to plane the piece of wood one more time. "My God, it's smoother'n my ass now!" Tom howled.

As the month passed, Ullah longed to have Angela brought from the house on Clio Street. In September they

added a room for the child. To Tom, who had done a good portion of the work, it seemed the most marvelous piece of craftsmanship he had ever seen. The task of finishing the roof fell to Beau LeClerc, for he was small, delicately built, and wiry, the lightest and fastest of them all. He skimmed across the roof, tapping shakes into place with the grace and agility of a heron scooping up fish.