by Day Taylor
"Married! Rod?" Oliver chuckled. "Tell me, Daniels, who is the lucky lady?"
"We don't know, sir. His telegram didn't mention the lady's name."
"When will he return? My niece and I must see him as soon as possible.'*
"He didn't say.**
"Mr. Daniels, do you know where Mr. Courtland is?" Dulcie asked.
"Yes—Mrs. Tremain, isn't it? I believe he's in—that's it, Smithville, North Carolina. The telegram came from there."
Dulcie, already pale, clutched at Oliver's arm. "You've been very helpful, Mr. Daniels. Thank you." She walked out and got into the carriage.
"I must send a telegram message, Uncle Oliver. Adam's mother lives in Smithville. That must mean Mr. Courtland must know somethin' about Adam. He's there because something terrible happened to Adam—I know it. I don't mean yesterday. Before that. If Adam were in trouble and Ben or Tom couldn't help, he'd send for Mr. Courtland. They're more than business partners. There's a great affection between them."
"It would have to be strong if a staunch Unionist like Rod decided to go South and stay."
"Oh, Uncle Oliver, I haven't been thinkin' clearly since I saw Adam. But things are comin' clear now. Adam was weak, even sick. Why else would he warn you away? Why back away from me? Why did he look so terrified to see Edmund? I'd expect him to be jealous—^but not frightened."
"Sure you're not imagining, Dulcie?"
"He was frightened of everyone in the room. But Adam isn't a fearful man. Somethin' has happened to make him that way. What?"
"I wish I knew. Possibly he's been captive. Maybe he escaped from prison. Or perhaps . . . Dulcie, has it occurred to you that Adam might not be the man you once knew?"
"I'm not the giddy girl he married either. If he comes back to me—"
"Worse than that, my dear, he may be insane. The way he acted yesterday—if I'd never known him before that— that's what I'd call him."
"If it's true, then he needs me. No matter what he says. I can't desert him now. He has to have somethin' to depend on. Oh, Uncle Oliver, I'll never doubt him again."
Dulcie sent several copies of two telegraph messages. The first, to Roderick Courtland, read: SEEKING INFORMATION ON ADAM TREMAIN STOP URGENT STOP MUST FIND HIM STOP REPLY C/O OLIVER RAYMER SIGNED DULCIE TREMAIN.
The second went to Adam in care of Zoe: PLEASE COME BACK STOP I LOVE AND NEED YOU STOP FORGIVE THE PAST STOP I WILL WAIT AT OLIVER RAYMERS HOME STOP I AM YOURS AS ALWAYS SIGNED DULCIE TREMAIN.
Hans halted the weary horse in the barnyard. "Don't know about you, but I'm sure ready for a mess of Cateau's
sausages an' hot biscuits with honey. C'mon in. Gettin' too near dayhght to make a run for it."
Adam had slept part of the way, the turmoil in his mind seething over into his dreams. Dulcie and Revanche. His hand on her wrist, his ring on her finger. Her hands covered with street slime. The falsity of her tears and declarations of love for him. Bitterness filled his heart. It was too stunning an emotion for him to overcome.
"I'm leaving, Hans," he said. "I don't give a damn what happens."
"That's your decision, Cap'n, but if you're as good as your reputation, you might consider your men. Maybe they ain't all ready to get bio wed out of Long Island Sound."
"If I've got any cowards aboard, I'll leave them with you," Adam said coldly.
"Then farewell, Cap'n Tremain, and a safe journey to you."
Despite his worries about the dangers of Courtland's chosen anchorage, Adam's mind was not on Federal cruisers this night. He steamed into the Sound, staying near to the shore as he rounded Lloyd Neck.
Calling for speed, Adam touched the wheel, steaming toward deeper water. As soon as the Black Swan was in a ship channel, the sky lit up with flares and the deep-throated roar of Parrott guns.
On deck, the crew of the Black Swan raced like madmen to answer Adam's sharp, fear-edged commands. "Full saill Full steam!"
Fire spewed into the sky as the forward stack exploded under the impact of a hot shot. A line of men showered buckets of water on the flaming deck as the firemen continued to feed the Black Swan's boilers. Sparks and cinders blazed to the deck, showering the crewmen.
There would be no hiding from the cruisers tonight. The Black Swan steamed over the dark ocean, her stack a golden wavering torch lighting the way. Shouting orders, Adam scanned the sea astern of them, locating the two cruisers by the flare of their guns. The Black Swan yawed, sliding into a trough, shuddered, listed then righted as shot crashed into the upper hull.
Unarmed, and with the dawn approaching, Adam could only rely on the Black Swan's speed. He shouted again to the crew, making adjustments in the topgallants, then set course for Bermuda, the nearest safe British harbor.
Throughout that dawn and the following day and into the darkness of the next evening, the Black Swan raced across the heaving Atlantic just barely ahead of the lethal range of the two Federal cruisers hounding her.
An hour before they entered British waters, a heavy rain began to fall, with blessed fog rolling over the sullen, heaving ocean.
Adam remained in Bermuda long enough to make repairs on the Black Swan and allow the ardor of his Federal pursuers to cool. At the end of the week he cautiously set out for the Carolina coast.
He slipped into New Inlet under fire from a Federal cruiser that had spotted him late. The guns of Fort Fisher boomed out reassuringly, scoring minor damage on the cruiser.
Adam anchored in Smithville. Before dawn broke he was on a flatboat on Price Creek. At his feet lay a bundle of clothing, blankets, and oilskins. In a box were provisions. In his pain, as he had done so many times before, Adam returned to the swamp for solace and healing.
Chapter Fourteen
Zoe jumped as the doorbell rang. Then she raced to the door, hoping it was Rod and Tom returning from the general store. She didn't like being alone these days. All she could think of was Adam. Was he safe? Was he well? Was he mentally fit?
As she flung the door wide, she was greeted by the black, grinning face of a messenger. He thrust into her hands a sheaf of crumpled telegraph messages, all addressed to Adam in Zoe's care.
Hastily she closed the door, clutching the yellow papers, her heart pounding, her hands trembling. She stared down at the multiple messages Dulcie had sent in hopes of getting one through.
She was still standing in the entry hall when Rod returned. Her face ashen, she handed him the telegraph messages.
Debating, Rod read them, then handed them to Tom. "What do you make of it, Tom? I was under the impression Dulcie was dead. Adam certainly thought so."
Tom raised his eyebrows. You don't think that no-'count snake belly Edmund would use a thing like this to—"
"That's just what I'm thinkin'."
"But suppose it is from Dulcie? Suppose Adam saw her. Suppose something happened that we know nothing about. Rod, please, we should answer this."
Rod pulled Zoe near to him. "You're getting worked up over nothing, Zoe. If Adam did find Dulcie, she wouldn't be sending him messages. He loves that girl so much he'd never leave her."
"Are you going to answer it?" Zoe persisted.
"No. It's not addressed to me, and I had no business opening it. And we don't know who sent it. If it is from Edmund Revanche, he won't have the satisfaction of knowing that it was received. If Dulcie sent it, she'd want a reply from Adam, not from me."
As they stood talking, the bell sounded. Zoe received another telegram.
Rod opened it. His mouth set hard, a look of satisfaction in his eyes, "I'll answer this one. If I send a reply to Oliver Raymer and it is not a hoax, he'll give the message to Dulcie. If it is a hoax, I'll certainly mystify Oliver, but I can't help that now. How does this sound? 'Adam Tremain has left the area stop have no information stop signed R. Courtland.' I'll also telegraph Daniels and see if he knows anything."
Next morning the Black Swan stood at anchor in the Cape Fear. Zoe, on her way to the church to roll bandages for the Wilmington hos
pital, stared in joy, then in disbelief. The crew moved languidly about their tasks.
She turned the buggy around, hurrying home to find Rod. "Please go to the ship and find out about Adam. Something's not right, I'm terribly worried."
"Calm yourself, sweetheart. He's safe, then."
"No! Rod, I know he's not on that ship. I can tell!"
Ro3 returned to the house to confirm what Zoe suspected. "The first mate says he disappeared after they docked last night. No one knows where he went or when he's coming back. Zoe—"
"He's gone to the swamp. When he was a boy and things went wrong, he always went to the swamp. I used to
worry so. I was always afraid for him. But he knows the swamp. He'll be all right—I guess."
Rod stirred uneasily. "He wasn't well when he left here. If he's made the trip to New York and back, he's in worse shape now. I don't think he's all right. He's in no condition to be in the swamp alone."
"Oh, Rod," Zoe burst out. "You can't know—you don't know Adam this way. All my life I've had to let my son go—when I wanted to be the one to comfort him, when I wanted to tie him to me because he was all I had of you. I'm frightened when he takes such chances. But it's his way. Nothing has changed now. I must let him go—and so must you."
Rod held her, petting her, comforting her. "I'm new to this, Zoe. You have learned to let him go, but I haven't. Adam may be perfectly safe and happy back there in the weeds, but I won't be satisfied 'til I've talked to him. What kind of a father would I be if I cared so little for my son that I would not even make the effort to see that he is all right?"
Zoe dropped her head onto his shoulder and nuzzled him. "I'm so grateful for you, Roderick Courtland," she whispered.
After a heated discussion Tom said bluntly, "What I don't need is some damned fool city Yankee gettin' hisself chewed by a 'gator while I'm tryin' to fin' Adam. I'll go alone, or you can go alone."
"Then I'll go alone," Rod shouted.
"You do that! You jes' go ahead an' you're gonna be givin' that boy a daddy all snake-bit an' good for nuthin'.'*
Zoe looked at them in alarm. "Oh, Rod, listen to him. You don't know the swamp—and something might happen to you. I couldn't stand that."
"I'll give him your love an' any other message you want to send him. Rod," Tom said earnestly. "This is my country. I know its ways better'n you."
Tom returned in two weeks. He'd found Adam, living in a lean-to. He was far from well, very thin and wasted, but he was managing. He refused to read Dulcie's telegram or talk about her, save to say that he had seen her and never wanted to see or hear of her again. "He don't want to see anybody, he don't want to come back, he jes' wants to be left alone. So I'm lettin' him alone."
"But you do know where he is?" Zoe asked.
"I know where he was."
"We've had another telegraph from Dulcie. Oh, I wish we knew what happened. Perhaps we could do something if only—"
Tom looked grim. "Zoe, if it was me, I'd let that girl stew. She's done somethin' to our boy that's cut him up worse*n I ever saw him. He'd be a sight better off if he'd found her dead."
"Tom! We don't know what happened. People who love each other—"
"You're a forgiving woman, Zoe," Rod said. "It's your nature, but I agree with Tom. Adam's been through all manner of scrapes and troubles, but nothing has ever felled him hke this."
"But that doesn't mean it's Dulcie's fault!"
"What else could it be? Who else means that much to him?"
As the days went by in New York, Dulcie's hopes grew irrationally. Everything would be all right. Somehow everything was always all right. Even when she was on Andros, helpless, ill and at the mercy of Mam'bo Luz and Lucifer, help came.
And when she had had to submit to Justin, her father and Uncle Oliver had come to her aid, and that had come out right. When she had had no hope of finding information about Adam, Edmund Revanche aided her. And when Adam returned, even though Edmund had caused a terrible scene and driven Adam away in anger, she had rid herself of Edmund. Now she knew Adam was alive. She was no longer helpless. She was free to seek him, to love him, to make him love her again. It would be all right.
After a nerve-wracking ten days Rod's telegraph answering hers arrived. With blind fear she clutched desperately to dreams, never testing or facing reality. Her certainty that everything would be all right grew stronger and less rational daily.
"Mama, Aunt Mad, we're all goin' on a shoppin' spree. Adam is not goin' to see me in anythin' less than the finest, prettiest, most fashionable dress ever! None of those ol' drab war colors for me. I want to look gorgeous for him. Every thin' new! And pretty!" She twirled around the room, pausing momentarily to appreciate herself in the mirror. "He likes me to look pretty."
"Dahlin', when have you ever looked anythin' but pretty?" Patricia cooed.
"Dulcie, do sit down. You're givin' me a headache," Mad said irritably.
"Oh, don't be a fusspot, Aunt Mad. Can't you see I'm happy? I'm really happy again! Everythin' is going to be all right, and Adam is safe and—"
"And he told you he never wanted to set eyes on you again."
Dulcie closed her eyes against the memory of Adam's face as he drove away. She frowned. "He didn't mean that. He—he wasn't well, and Edmund acted like a horrible cad, and—and Adam was simply jealous."
"And a pretty dress and a few smiles will put it all right?"
"Mad, Ah sweah, youah bein' about as sour as curduled milk. Ah simply cannot undahstan' you. All the time you were tellin' mah baby to cheer up, an' now youah actin' like she should be back in mournin'. Ah think a shoppin' spree is just what she needs. Adam will come 'roun' when he's feelin' a nlite bettah, an' after all, it isn't Dulcie who should be a apologizin'. Ah've nevah seen a man worse behaved than Cap'n Tremain. Imagine usin' language like that in front o' ladies, an' to his own wife!"
"Batterin' her eyes at him like a toad in a hailstorm is not goin' to cure what ails Adam and Dulcie, Patricia! That's the trouble with you Southerners! You're always lookin' to appearance and ignorin' the meat of the matter!"
"Why, Mad Raymer, you're as much a Southerner as ah am!" Patricia scolded.
"I'm not! I'm a level-headed Yan—woman! And I won't be sidetracked nor will I go on this shoppin' trip. Dulcie Jeanette, as much as I love you, I am tellin' you, you are makin' a terrible mistake. If you truly love Adam, then go to him and set things straight, and for that you need a humble and truthful heart, not a lacy fichu!" Mad stormed from the room with the parting exclamation, "You know Fm right! OUie agrees, and OUie's never wrong!"
"Well! What's gotten into her?" Patricia breathed.
Dulcie looked pensively after her aunt, then smiled. She couldn't allow Mad to shake her new confidence. Adam would come back. Adam loved her. His feelings couldn't have changed over one unfortunate incident
Dulcie and Patricia planned a wardrobe designed especially to please the eye of Adam Tremain.
By the end of the month packages were arriving from the dressmaker daily. Dulcie reveled in the pleased expressions of her father and Uncle Oliver as she modeled each new creation. By night she thought of Adam, and only then did doubts come to her brought on by long days of waiting for Roderick Courtland to return to the city. Through Court-land she could contact Adam in New York, or failing that, he could tell her what Adam's sailing schedule was. She assumed he still used Nassau as a base, but many of the blockading captains had changed to Bermuda, and others had gone to Cuba. If everything failed, she could go to Nassau if she could find a Northern ship willing to take a female passenger into a port notable for its Southern sympathies. She tossed in her bed fighting the worries that overtook her only in the dark, when she was alone and unable to keep herself brittlely gay and fussily busy.
The next morning Dulcie leaped to her feet, dropping her collection of fashion drawings when Fred announced a visitor. Her face fell. It was Josiah Whinburn. Then, as she composed herself and waited for Edmund's protege, her tho
ughts turned entirely to Edmund and his cavalier treatment of her.
Josiah's hat was clutched in his nervously sweating hand. He had tried to wash his tension away with liquor. He stood before her, uncertain and appalled both at himself and at Edmund. "Emmun' sen' me to ge' his jool-joolery back, Mrs. Tremain." Jem stared in amazement at Josiah's words. Josiah's coloring alternated from beet red to turnip white. "Emmun'—Emmun' says it was part of a—of a bargain—an' you di'n't hoi' youah end up."
"Edmund Revanche has sent this rapscallion to take back gifts he gave to my daughter?" Jem said hotly.
"Daddy, please," Dulcie's eyes glittered in cold amusement. "Josiah doesn't really want to be here, do you, Josiah?"
"No, ma'am. This ain't mah ah-dee of a decent visit."
"Of course not. You tell Mr. Revanche that I will return his jewels—gladly. He may pick them up at Tiffany's on Thursday."
Josiah turned scarlet with relief. "Th-thank you, Mrs. Tremain."
Jem stood by the door, signifying the visit had ended.
Josiah murmuring excuses and good-byes, stumbled his way out.
"Dulcie Jeannette, I wouldn't give that blackguard the satisfaction of tellin' this to that no-'count boss of his, but you are actin' very unwisely. Those gems are worth a fortune. You have every right to keep them."
"Maybe I do, Daddy, but I made a bargain, and I intend to honor my word to Edmund, just as he honored his to me."
"What kind of agreement could you have with a man like that?"
"Oh, Edmund had great plans—to help the South, he said. I was to work with him. I mean to keep that agreement, or at least some parts of it. In his own way Edmund will appreciate what I am goin' to do, even if it will hurt his pocketbook a bit. I'm goin' to get the money back for those jewels in the form of a bank draft made out to your friend, Mr. Young."
"The Confederate agent?" Jem looked at her amazed. "I can't say it's not a fittin' use for the money. And I've got to admit that Edmund Revanche has it comin', but Dulcie Jeannette—what's become of you?"
"Not a thing, Daddy. I am still the same Dulcie I've always been. I'm just usin' my wit. It's about time women did more of that."