The Ebony Swan

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

“I don’t believe I pushed her,” Susan said. “It doesn’t feel right that I could have. I wasn’t here in Virginia much longer, was I?”

  “No. Your father quarreled bitterly with your grandmother and took you away.”

  “To punish Alex, I’m sure. So that she lost not only her daughter, but her granddaughter as well.”

  For a little while Theresa had seemed almost open, relating her story without restraint. Now she withdrew, telling no more.

  “That’s all I know. Hadn’t you better go back to your patient?” She emphasized the word, her resentment of Susan’s presence sharpening again.

  “I’ll go back. I expect Peter wants us all to help. Perhaps you can spell me after awhile?”

  “He put you in charge.” Susan recognized the petulance from her long-ago experience of Theresa and knew that nothing she could say would ease her cousin’s jealousy.

  But why was it that she could remember so much about Theresa, and nothing at all about the day her mother had died?

  Theresa escaped upstairs to her room and Susan returned to Alex’s bedside.

  Her grandmother had thrown back the light covering and was sitting up on the side of the bed in the flowered cotton robe Gracie had helped her into earlier. She’d extended her bandaged leg and was studying it in despair.

  “How am I ever to walk on this? Help me, please, Susan. I want to see whether I can stand.”

  Clearly it would have taken a stronger sedative than Peter had cared to give to keep Alex Montoro down. Yet something had gone out of her. This was not the strong, determined woman Susan had met yesterday.

  Susan had dealt with recalcitrant patients before, and she put gentle, persuasive hands on her grandmother’s shoulders, easing her back against her pillow. Then she raised her legs, careful of the one that had been hurt as she lifted them onto the bed.

  When her grandmother was comfortable, Susan remained standing beside the bed.

  “I know you hate this, but you’ll mend more quickly if you give your body time to recuperate. You’ve had a shock that was both physical and emotional.” She left her hands on Alex’s shoulders until she felt her body relax. “Peter said you were to have something to eat after you’ve rested. I can get tea and toast for you now, if you like.”

  “Presently. What were you talking to Theresa about?”

  For a moment Susan hesitated, then decided it was better to tell her the truth. “I wanted Theresa to tell me what happened when she came home on the day my mother died. More than anything else, I want to remember.”

  Weariness sounded in her grandmother’s sighing breath. “Perhaps it will all come back suddenly when something triggers your memory. Anything else?”

  “Theresa believes that I pushed my mother, so that she fell on the stairs.”

  “I know what she thinks.” Alex said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I don’t believe that for a moment. There was one very strange thing, however. When Theresa found Juan Gabriel he held a small ebony carving clasped in one hand. I don’t know how he got it, or why he had it in his hand. It was something he had carved long ago and that I’d put away because I hated it. Something here has never been clear to me. Perhaps even something you saw and were too young to remember. Though I believe that such buried experiences are never really lost.”

  “If only I could remember.”

  “Never mind. What did you think of Juan Gabriel’s description of the black swan? I’m sure you read that too, though I might have hoped you wouldn’t.”

  “Why should you mind? It was your dancing he wrote about, not you. The disturbing implications only involve the viewpoint of the man in the wings.”

  “I doubt whether Juan Gabriel ever really knew where fiction ended and fact began. However, now that you’ve read the black swan scene, there’s something else I want you to see—the carving he held in his hand that I’ve just mentioned. Remember the collection of wood carvings in the dining room?”

  “Yes, I commented on them as soon as I noticed them. You said my grandfather had made them.”

  Alex’s hesitation was long enough to seem odd. “Juan Gabriel loved to carve. When his hands were busy he could let a story soar in his mind until he was ready to set it down on paper. However, the carving I want you to see isn’t kept with the collection.”

  Some memory seemed to be troubling her grandmother, and Susan waited uneasily.

  After a moment Alex went on. “This particular carving was of the black swan. He worked in ebony, so it was truly black. When I first saw it, it wounded me deeply.”

  Tears glistened, edging Alex’s closed lids, and Susan reached for one of her long-fingered hands on which the wedding band she still wore slipped loosely.

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t talk about these things now.”

  “Yes—we must! While there is still time. You are part of what happened, Susan, and before I die I want to know the answers. I believe you were sent—to help me find out.”

  Instinctively, Susan drew back. She didn’t want to believe in some sort of fateful destiny that might force her into a path she would not want to follow.

  Alex seemed to understand her hesitation. “It might be better never to know, never to look back over your shoulder. Still—there was your vision in the church today—of tombstones!”

  “What did it mean? Please tell me.”

  “Some blood memory, perhaps. You’ll understand soon enough. I’m torn between two opposites. Sometimes I think it’s better to know all the truth, no matter how much it hurts, than to go on forever in ignorance. The truth might even free Peter.”

  “How could that be?”

  “Marilyn Macklin believed that there was a strong connection between the present and what happened in the past. I think she may have discovered something that was dangerous for her to know. Though how this can be proved, I have no idea.”

  Perhaps it could be, Susan thought, remembering Priscilla Bates and the notes she held for the last chapters of Marilyn Macklin’s book. But she didn’t want to disturb Alex further right now and she let the matter go.

  Past and present seemed to whirl suddenly into a vortex that drew her into its heart. Flashes of memory flared brightly, like streaks of lightning through her consciousness. Then everything settled, quieted, and she knew no more than she had before. She felt a little dazed and sat down beside the bed.

  Alex seemed not to notice and she went on talking: “I’ve never shown the carving to anyone, but now I want you to see what Juan Gabriel made. I want you to tell me what you think of it. Sometimes I no longer know whether he loved or hated me at the end of his life.”

  “Did you love him?”

  “Oh, yes! Not passionate young love, Susan. Perhaps that only happens once in a lifetime—something that is so strong that it sweeps everything else out of its way. What I felt for Juan Gabriel was steadier and went a good deal deeper. It grew stronger as I grew older. He was better for me than Rudy ever was. I was Rudy’s creation. I had no life for him beyond being Drina. Juan Gabriel saw the woman I could become in my own right. He was kinder than Rudy, and a more loving teacher. And yet he wrote that scene of the black swan dancing, and he carved the swan in ebony. If only I could understand!”

  “Where is the carving now?”

  “Remember that box in Dolores’s trunk in the tower room? The one I wouldn’t let you open? I had forgotten where it was and it startled me when I saw you pick it up. Go upstairs now and bring it to me.”

  There seemed no way to refuse, but before she could obey, the telephone rang in Alex’s room, and Alex motioned for Susan to answer it.

  It was Peter. “I’ve called Hallie Townsend, Susan. She’s coming over to fill in and help you with Alex. Hallie’s gentler than Theresa can be. She’s on her way now by boat, so she’ll be there any minute. How is Alex?”

  “Wide awake and talking
.” Susan smiled at her grandmother.

  “I might have known. Never mind. It’s better to let her run the show, if that’s what she wants. So long as she doesn’t try anything strenuous. I’m glad you’re there, Susan.”

  “Thank you, doctor.” She put a hint of laughter into her words, and Peter picked up on it.

  “Thank you, nurse,” he said, and she knew he was smiling too.

  “What did he want?” Alex asked.

  “Peter has sent for Hallie Townsend to come over and sit with you—to spell me. He feels that Hallie won’t upset you as much as Theresa sometimes does.”

  “He didn’t ask me if I want her here,” Alex said tartly. “I don’t need anyone to sit with me while I sleep!”

  “Doctor’s orders,” Susan said lightly. “Maybe he doesn’t trust you to stay in bed. Before I go upstairs for the carving, I’ll ask Gracie to bring you something to eat.”

  When she went out to the kitchen, Gracie knew at once what to fix. “How is she, ma’am?” she asked.

  “She’s a hard one to keep down.”

  Gracie’s smile was fond. “I know. I sure do know! It’s good for your gramma to be ornery, Miss Susan. Cheers her up to start telling everybody what to do. I’ll take in her tea and toast in a minute.”

  Susan returned to her grandmother. “Gracie will be in soon. I’ll go upstairs and look for the carving now.”

  “Don’t let Hallie see it, will you?”

  “I won’t,” Susan promised.

  Before she reached the stairs, Susan heard Hallie’s boat at the landing and went outside. Hallie had on white pants and an oversized denim shirt, and was looking more comfortable than she had in the dress she’d worn earlier for her work at the Reception Center.

  When she saw Susan, she beckoned toward a wooden bench set near the narrow strip of sandy beach.

  She would talk to Hallie for just a moment, Susan decided, and went down to join her on the bench.

  “Peter told me what happened to Alex,” Hallie said. “I mean about her falling through a cracked board in Juan Gabriel’s study. How is she?”

  “Tired, I think, but not in much pain, and not ready to give in and rest.”

  Susan couldn’t tell whether Hallie’s nervousness was unusual or not, since she always seemed on edge.

  “We need to talk, Susan,” she said earnestly.

  “Oh? What about?”

  “Your mother. In some ways I think no one knew Dolores better than I did—though we made a strange pair. I was older, of course, and Dolores was so beautiful and gentle and graceful. She wasn’t a dancer, but she was as graceful as Alex. I was the clumsy one who always knocked things over and fell over my feet. Dolores never seemed to mind, and she never criticized me. I might as well tell you, that there was a time when I was in love with your father. Foolishly, of course.”

  Susan said nothing. Hallie was the last woman her father would have been interested in—she knew him very well. Nevertheless, she felt sorry for Hallie, because, if her father had guessed, he would have been unkind.

  “Of course he never knew—and he’d never have looked at me. Don’t laugh, Susan, but when I was much younger I used to make up fantasies about Lawrence. Sometimes I even pretended I was Dolores!”

  This was embarrassing, and Susan wanted to hear nothing more. “You might even have been my daughter,” Hallie added wistfully.

  Susan stood up, trying to find something kind to say. “Thank you for telling me all this, Hallie. We’ll talk again, but I think we’d better check on my grandmother now.”

  Hallie jumped up at once, her movements as energetic as always, and started for the house with Susan.

  When they entered Alex’s bedroom, she was sitting up sipping tea from the bed tray Gracie had placed before her. Gracie nodded to them and slipped out the door.

  “Susan, you look tired, why don’t you take a break. I’ll look after Alex,” Hallie said, walking over to the bed. She reached behind Alex and began awkwardly to plump her pillows. “I hear you’ve been smashing yourself up.”

  Freed for her errand, Susan went up to her room and out on the circling balcony. She knew where Alex had left the key to the trunk room, but when she reached for it she found the place empty. The doorknob turned under her hand, and when she stepped into the room, she saw why.

  Theresa Montoro sat perched on Dolores’s trunk, smoking a cigarette whose fumes added to the stuffy quality of the air in the room. She waved it carelessly at Susan.

  “Don’t tell Peter or Alex. I’m not supposed to smoke in the house. But who’s to know up here?”

  Theresa was the last person Susan wanted to see, and she went quickly to open a window, speaking over her shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m waiting for you. I didn’t notice anything in Juan Gabriel’s hand when I found him. I was too excited, so I didn’t know about the carving until now.”

  “You were listening,” Susan said.

  “Of course. That’s the only way to learn, isn’t it? I always knew Juan Gabriel had something against his wife, but Alex is such a secretive person, I’ve never known what it was. You seem to have opened her up a little. Here’s the box she wants you to look into. I got it out of the trunk while I was waiting. I wonder what Juan Gabriel intended when he carved this. Do tell me what you think.”

  Susan had no intention of opening the box with Theresa watching.

  She accepted the small container impatiently. “I’ll take this to my room, if you don’t mind,” she said.

  “Don’t bother. I’m leaving. I know what’s in it, since Juan Gabriel showed me the carving after he finished it. But I don’t know if Alex should ever see it again, Susan. It upsets her too much.”

  Theresa stubbed out her cigarette and left, looking pleased with herself.

  Susan scanned the room—searching for something, though she wasn’t sure what. So much of the mother she couldn’t remember was here in her possessions—perhaps even a hint of her spirit. Was it a happy spirit? There had seemed to be hints that her mother had been far from happy. Perhaps her marriage was not all she had hoped. The stories she had written for her small daughter still waited in Susan’s room, and she would get to them soon.

  Now, whatever was in the box must be faced, and she couldn’t open it downstairs with Hallie watching. The worn, dusty armchair where she had once sat on her mother’s lap, while Dolores read aloud, was waiting. She lowered herself into a depth that no longer seemed as great as when she’d been little.

  “Help me,” she said aloud, not at all sure where she expected help to come from, but only knowing that she might be holding her own Pandora’s box on her lap.

  The container itself was beautiful, and she supposed her grandfather must have carved the decorations on the lid. It was made of a dark wood that was lighter than ebony, and tiny, stylized dogwood petals covered the lid. They had been rubbed with some essence of oil that gave them a sheen, and they were smooth to her touch. She raised the hinged lid.

  The small treasure the box held had been packed carefully in cotton wool, and Susan lifted it out to unwrap the carving. At first glance, it was simply a beautifully carved black swan, its long proud neck extended forward so that the head rested upon outstretched human arms that seemed ready to flutter. This was both woman and swan, blended in the dance of wicked enchantment that Drina had once performed. This was Odile.

  As Susan looked more closely she saw that a face was visible. The black swan’s head was a woman’s head turned so that the eyes looked up at whoever held her. Susan caught her breath.

  The carver’s artistry showed itself in the miniature work. Every stroke of the knife brought out the cunning quality of the face. Cunning and sly. The slant of the eyes reminded her of Alex’s eyes. The mocking smile belonged to Alex. But there was something terribly malevolent about this tiny fac
e, as though some monstrous wickedness lay beneath the creature’s smile.

  The effect on Susan was unexpected. She felt shaken by a distrust of her grandmother that she hadn’t felt before. If this was Drina, it must also be a side of Alex Montoro that Juan Gabriel had seen all too clearly. But why had Alex been willing to let her granddaughter see this dreadful little carving? Susan had accepted the Odile scene in Juan Gabriel’s book, but this seemed far worse.

  Theresa was probably right, Alex shouldn’t see this again, even though she had asked for it. Susan left the box behind and carried the ebony swan to her room, where she set it on the bureau. Later she would show it to Peter and ask him about it. He knew Alex as well as anyone, and even though he’d never known Drina, what mattered now was the essence of the woman Alex had become.

  When Susan went downstairs to Alex’s room, she found a new visitor sitting beside her bed. Hallie was there too, moving around in her nervous way, as though she couldn’t sit still.

  For an instant Susan met her grandmother’s questioning look and understood that she wanted her reaction to the carving. This was something she wasn’t ready to give, but she managed a smile that was probably not convincing.

  Sitting up against her pillows, Alex introduced the stranger. “This is Emily Gower, Susan—Hallie’s sister. A very old friend of mine from Tangier Island.”

  8

  Alex looked intently at Susan’s face the moment she walked into the room and recognized what her uncertain smile was meant to conceal. She had seen the carving and had reacted to it, just as Alex had feared. A new feeling of despair filled her. It had seemed necessary to test Susan by allowing her to see the ebony swan. A test that had obviously failed. Susan had been badly shaken by what she’d seen in Juan Gabriel’s carving. Alex had carefully avoided bringing Susan too close to Juan Gabriel’s memory. But what if his carving alienated her from her grandmother altogether?

  A new visitor had arrived in Susan’s absence, and somehow Alex managed to introduce Susan and Emily calmly, glad for a brief postponement in confronting her granddaughter. Emily, at least, had never been hurt by what had happened, and it must stay that way. Her hurt lay in the lapsing of an old friendship—something that was Alex’s fault, not hers. Emily’s pride would have kept her away. Alex knew she was here now only because John wished it.