The Black Swan

by Day Taylor

  "Mah baby—" Patricia began.

  "The other wrist too, ma'am," Fred said applying pressure on the cut.

  "Trish, don't you dare faint!" Mad commanded. "Dulcie'U die if you do! Get into the linen chest and give us towels—quick! Move!"

  "Make a pad, Fred," Mad told him. "Fold it and press it right on the spot." He moved as quickly and calmly as she did. The towels soon became soaked with blood. "More towels!" Mad said.

  "We should look at her throat, ma'am."

  Patricia gagged. They turned Dulcie over and were relieved to find no other wounds. They continued to apply pressure. There was little else they could do. "Patricia, send Marie for the doctor and then for Jem and Oliver."

  Dulcie's chest rose and fell shallowly; sometimes it seemed not to move at all.

  By the end of another hour the doctor had arrived. They moved Dulcie to the bed where the doctor could work better. He showed Mad and Fred the pressure point inside her upper arm, so that he could stitch the cuts unimpeded. He dressed the wounds. The bleeding had almost stopped. He examined her, listening to her heart, noting the sweaty pallor of her skin and the inside of her lips and the bluish tinge of the whites of her eyes.

  "It will be a near thing," he said. "A very near thing. She is extremely weak and debilitated. You'll need to keep her warm. If^she regains consciousness, begin giving her

  liquids. If there is any change during the night, send for me. I'll come past early tomorrow morning."

  "Is there anythin' else we can do for her, doctor?" Mad asked.

  "Say your prayers, Mrs. Raymer."

  Patricia sat beside her daughter. Dulcie's breathing was very light. Occasionally she would take a single long breath and let it out with a semblance of a moan. Her eyelids stayed shut, not even fluttering. Around her mouth were faintly blue lines. Patricia prayed, Please, Lord .. . she has so much to live fo'.

  Mad went downstairs with the doctor and met Jem coming in.

  "Doctor! Is she—?" His face puckered.

  "Your daughter is alive, Mr. Moran. There is always hope."

  Jem wrung the doctor's hand effusively while tears coursed down his cheeks. Then he went up to see Dulcie.

  Patricia reached out to him. Holding hands, they watched the weak motions of their daughter's breathing. "Ah want to stay by her, touchin' her all night. If Ah've got any strength in me, Ah want to give it ail to mah baby."

  Jem, choked, gripped her hand and swallowed tears. "We'll . . . both . . ."

  Oliver came in to find Mad, her skirt stiff with blood, lying on the horsehair chaise-longue. Fred was bathing her forehead with cold cloths. "She just fainted, sir."

  "Dulcie?"

  "Alive, Mr. Raymer. The doctor's been and done all he could."

  "I'll go up. Stay with Mrs. Raymer, just as you're doing. I won't be gone long."

  Oliver saw the envelopes first. Quietly he gripped Jem's shoulder and kissed Patricia's cheek. He kissed Dulcie, whispering, "You're going to make it, Dulcie, do you hear me? You're going to be fine." He straightened up, not looking at anyone and stood with his back to them for some time.

  Dulcie took in another long fluttering breath and let it go.

  Oliver picked up the envelope addressed to himself and Mad. He lifted Adam's, weighed it in his palm. He turned

  to Jem. "Whatever happens, I think Adam should get this letter—intact. It's between them, don't you agree?"

  Jem nodded. Oliver placed the letter in the desk drawer.

  Then he left the house. He sent multiple telegraph messages to Adam Tremain, Smithville, and others in care of Confederate agents in Wilmington. All read: DULCIE TREMAIN HAS ATTEMPTED SUICIDE STOP DO NOT KNOW IF SHE WILL LIVE STOP FOR GODS SAKE COME IMMEDIATELY SIGNED OLIVER RAYMER.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The trip from Long Island seemed endless. Adam was silent and pensive. He hadn't felt as he did now since he'd first seen Satan's Keep. Then he had believed every moment he was unable to find Dulcie was one moment less she had to survive. But she had survived—somehow, by some means, and without him. She had returned to New York showing no ill effects. If anything she had been better off than he. She hadn't needed him then, nor did it appear she had wanted him. Quickly he shut his eyes against the memory of the flashing emerald-green and diamond-white stones on her hand.

  But this was now. Both his father and Oliver had asked him to return to her as quickly as he could. Neither man would bring him back to New York if Dulcie were with Edmund Revanche. Surely not his own father. Rod had written only of her love for Adam. Nothing more. Yet it was still too late.

  Oliver's message had brought different news. Dulcie had attempted to take her own life. Why? He cried inside himself and then shrank from the memory of Dulcie on her knees in the mud, her hands raised in supplication as she begged him to listen. He hadn't. He had run from her.

  And now what would he find? A woman? A funeral? An end to everything? All the loving gone? All the longing, the bitterness, the disappointment locked in time with her death?

  Tense and straight-backed, Adam continued his silent

  brooding. Each strip of road brougiit back vanished days with Dulcie. Precious few days by which he valued his life, a slender line of time that told him who he was. His life was wrapped tightly, bound like swaddling in that young girl, that small red-haired creature who had looked at him from eyes of liquid gold, who had taunted him and every man with her smile and so seldom understood the invitations she offered. So easily she had become a part of him, yet he'd had her for so short a time, and she had never truly been his. He knew that now. Dulcie belonged to the moment, never to him.

  It was dark when he finally pulled up in front of the Raymer house.

  Oliver answered Adam's knock. "Adam, thank God you have come."

  Adam grasped his arm. "Sir, Dulcie—is she—?"

  "She's alive," Oliver said quickly.

  "Will she see me?"

  "Oh, I'm sure she will—but first Mad wished to speak to you."

  "May I see Dulcie first? Please. I know you must be wary of granting me anything, but since you telegraphed I hoped you'd accept my apology for my behavior the last time I was here."

  "Oh, it's not that at all. Mad wants to talk to you before you see Dulcie. Tell you— Oh, damn and blast, this is not . . . I—I am quite at a loss."'

  "There is something—you said Dulcie is alive!?"

  "She's written a letter—left it to you, I mean. Mad and I think you should read it before you see her."

  Adam looked at the long staircase, listened for a moment to the sound of footsteps in the upper hall, the soft murmur of voices around a sick room. Reluctantly he followed Oliver into Mad's sitting room.

  Mad hurried across the room. "You came! I knew you would! I just knew it!" She hugged him close and planted a perfumed kiss on his cheek. "I told OUie I couldn't be wrong about you! And I wasn't—was I, Adam?"

  He looked at her for a long moment, unwilling to have this woman know him so readily. "You weren't wrong. How is she? Does she know you sent for me?"

  "We thought it best not to tell her."

  "In case I didn't come."

  "We never doubted you, dear. The telegram might have

  gotten lost. They do so often these days. You might not have been in Smithville to receive it. So many things might have gone wrong."

  "May I see her now?"

  With a hrrumphing sound deep in his throat Oliver handed Mad the thick envelope, then excused himself and left the room.

  "Sit down, Adam." Mad poured each of them a demi-tasse, trying to sort out what she should say. "You must know that I care a great deal for Dulcie. Often I've envied my sister her child. You must promise me, dear, when you do go upstairs, that you'll be kind. Don't see her unless you can go lovingly, Adam." Mad looked at him expectantly. "Dulcie has told me a little about her experiences after the shipwreck, and they were horrify in'. But I know nothin' of what happened to you, Adam. What I have counted on is that the lo
ve I saw between you beforfe that awful time is still strong enough to overcome all that has happened to you. You are here, and that must be a good sign."

  "I don't want her to die, Mrs. Raymer," he replied softly.

  "Is that all—the only reason you came?"

  "No, that is not all, but it is all I can be sure of. Dulcie is going to be married shortly, and . . . and I—"

  "Bosh! You know as well as I that as soon as she set eyes on you, there was never any question of another marriage."

  "It isn't that simple."

  "It is! And I might point out that you've made no arrangements for a divorce. Or did you expect she might commit bigamy?"

  "I'll give her a divorce if she wants it," Adam said, scowling.

  Mad set her cup down with a decisive click. "Young people are as unyielding as granite, I swear. Neither you nor Dulcie has given the other a minute to explain. That much you would grant to the most unruly of your crewmen. Can't you accord the same kindness to your wife?"

  Adam stood up. "May I see her now, Mrs. Raymer?"

  "No, you may not!" Mad picked up the letter. "Dulcie wrote this to you the day she—that day. She would demand it be destroyed if she knew I had it, but she doesn't know." Mad walked slowly away from him. "Dulcie is every bit as stubborn and proud as you are. Perhaps I am

  doin' her a grievous wrong by givin' this to you. Perhaps I'm disfavorin' both of you. I don't know what she wrote, but it must be the truth. She never thought she'd be alive to see you again after you had read it. I think you should, but I won't force you to do so. You may see Dulcie."

  Adam took the letter. He was tense, awed by the weight and feel of the thing she had written just before she had decided she preferred death to living. He could barely bring himself to read it.

  For a moment he stared at her handwriting, the ink making designs of curving lines, row upon row. The scent of her perfume lingered faintly on the paper. Then he forced his eyes to read. "My dearest Adam, Perhaps you will never see this, but it will ease my heart to write it. I have just seen your father . . ."

  Before his eyes was a picture of Dulcie sitting at a desk in a room he had never seen, writing this letter to him, keeping nothing back, saving no shred of pride, offering him no blame, absolving him, a man who had turned nis back on her pleas, on her love the moment he had j&rst found her again.

  He forced himself to read on, to learn of the life she had led since the shipwreck. Every word carried her message of longing for him, her undying will to survive anything that they might one day be together again, and finally her desperate misplaced trust that Edmund would help her find Adam.

  Adam's mind flitted back to memories of himself trying to drown sorrow and despair in the arms of the slut Ramona; how he had sought peace in the arms of Leah— Leah, who offered him the same promise of being able to live without Dulcie as Edmund Revanche must have offered Dulcie.

  Both of them had gone through the fires of torment and loneliness and longing. But how had they come to such cross-purposes? How could either of them forget what the other had done? Even now, he could not remember Dulcie sitting beside Edmund Revanche, her life pledged to him, without feeling the hot searing grip of anger around his heart. Nor could he believe that Dulcie could ever erase from her mind the names he had called her in anger, his rejection of her, the humiliation he had dealt her when he left her with Revanche, promising to divorce her and never see her again.

  He stared at his hands. "She won't want to see me, Mrs. Raymer. You asked me to be kind. I would be kindest by leaving now."

  "That's for you to decide, Adam. That's why I thought you should read the letter first."

  He folded the letter and tucked it into his breast pocket, then he took his seaman's cap from the stand, and looked back to Mad. "It isn't that I don't want to see her . . ." His eyes were moist, his face set as his words trailed off.

  "Go up to her, just for a moment."

  He shook his head.

  "You love her, don't you? Adam—no harm ever came from love. Go to her."

  He looked toward the staircase, the letter hard and thick against his breast. Slowly Adam climbed the stairs.

  As if by instinct he turned toward the slightly ajar door at the north end of the hall. He entered the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

  Dulcie lay pale and thin, lost in the large bed. Her skin had the translucent pallor of the very ill, her cheeks unnaturally flushed, her auburn curls pulled back into long pigtails not unlike those she had worn as a child. The freckles across her nose gave her the look of an innocent.

  Adam remained motionless, unable to bring himself to move or disturb her. The ticking of the clock was loud, the sound of her breathing soft. Then she stirred, her hand weakly smoothing the pillow by her cheek. As she turned her head to find comfort again, her eyes opened, and she saw him standing by the door.

  She stared at him, showing no surprise or sign of greeting. It was as if she always saw him wherever she looked, and that he should be in her room now was nothing strange, neither was it real.

  He couldn't make his throat work to bring out the words, so he took her hand, holding it in his own two, gently, marveling at the feel of it against him. He kept his eyes down, aware that she watched him, but unable to meet her gaze. When he did, it was to see tears ready to fall.

  "You shouldn't have come, Adam. I bring you nothin' but pain."

  It was a long time before he could control his voice. Even then it came out a whispering rasp. "I don't want to be without you." His face worked, and he looked away

  from her. "Don't . . . don't ever do that to yourself again, Dulcie."

  She took her hand from his, turning her face into the pillow. "Adam, don't say any more. Please. Leave me. Let me think I was dreamin'. I can't stand to hear you speak to me this way. Adam . . . please go."

  He touched her hair and cheek. "I don't want to lose you ever again, Dulcie. I'll be here in the city. I'll wait for as long as it takes. Don't—don't leave me alone now, Dulcie. I need you."

  She did not see him leave, but her senses followed him until the front door closed.

  Adam went to Rod Courtland's brownstone.

  "Adam!" Rod's hand shot out to take his son's in a bone-crushing grip of welcome. "Come in, come in! Did you get my letter? I mean did Zoe get it to you? Obviously you got it, or you wouldn't be here. Have you been to see Dulcie?" The look on Adam's face finally stopped him. "Oh, hell, I'm sorry, Adam. Come into the study. We can have a drink and talk in private."

  Seated, a drink untasted in his hand, Adam told Rod about the message from Oliver and his hasty trip to New York. "She frightens me, Rod. So pale, so—transparent As if she has akeady left me."

  Rod cleared his throat. "I heard, from Oliver."

  Finally Adam sipped his drink. "I'm staying in the city. After she's recovered, if she still doesn't want to see me, I suppose I'll accept it."

  "What about Edmund Revanche?"

  Adam walked restlessly to the window, drawing back the heavy drapery to stare out into the bleak March drizzle. "I don't know. Mad says Dulcie never wanted to marry him. Dulcie said—oh, hell! She probably fell for every lying word he fed her. She would. If she really believed he was trying to help her find me, Dulcie would have trusted anything the bastard said."

  They fell silent, each of them thinking. "You'll stay here with me, of course. Your mother will be arriving soon."

  "Thanks. I'll be grateful for your companionship."

  Rod scratched his neck, self-conscious, trying to think of a way to phrase what he wished to say so that Adam would not know how much it meant to him. "You won't like being idle. Not for long, anyway."

  "I've had more practice at it of late," Adam said lightly. "I'll manage."

  "Be better if you had something to keep you occupied.'*

  "I can't leave here. Not until she's well."

  Rod hamimphed. "Ever think about working on land?"

  Adam swung around to look at h
is father.

  Rod's cheeks pinkened, and his hand tugged at his collar in agitation. "Well, hell! You are my partner, and you aren't bringin' in a damned penny sitting here on your tail! And—damn it—you are my son. Courtland and Son." He looked diffidently at Adam.

  Adam stared at him as the fact of Rod's parentage slowly sank in and became something real and immediate. The words had been so easy to accept. They hardly had meaning other than his mother was happy. Now the father was speaking to the son. Slowly the smile that started inside crept to his face, his own cheeks flushing in self-conscious pleasure. Then he thrust his hand into Rod's. "Courtland and Son."

  Rod pulled Adam toward him in a hard masculine embrace, which hid the tears that both hastily blinked away.

  Adam went to the office with Rod each morning. Before the second week had passed, both knew that Adam was not suited to working with paper transactions; he was, and would remain, a man who required action.

  Daily he waited for Dulcie to call him to her, but no missive came. Often that month he visited Mad, making her promise that she would not tell Dulcie he had been there. "I don't want to force her back to me, Mad. I want her to come only because she wants to be with me. How is she?"

  Mad's reports varied little. Dulcie had been out of bed. Dulcie had felt strong enough to eat her supper sitting up in a chair. Dulcie needed Adam, Mad insisted. At the end of each conversation she urged him, "Go see her just once more. It will be different this time. Don't let pride stop you."

  "It isn't pride. She'll ask for me if she wants me. If she doesn't, I'll give her her freedom."

  "Divorce her! Just let her go, without even seein' her again!"

  "If that's what she wants."

  "It isn't! I know it isn't. She needs you. She loves you, Adam."

  "She hasn't asked for me. I told her I'd wait, that I didn't want to lose her."

  Mad, her eyes filled with questions, looked sadly at him. How many times had she tried to talk with Dulcie about Adam and been confronted with Dulcie's stubborn silence. Yet Mad knew Dulcie listened with eager attention to every sentence that contained Adam's name. Mad's face twisted as she burst out, "I don't know why she doesn't ask for you! Neither of you makes sense 1 Why do you fight so?"