The Wild Swans

by Peg Kerr

  Elias gave them a startled look as Minta and Leo cracked up.

  “Where’re Jerry and Rafe?” Philip asked.

  “Not sure,” Sean said, as he levered the turkey out of the oven. “I know Jerry was coming in from out of town last night.” He set the turkey down, went over to the phone, and dialed a number. After a moment he frowned and hung up. “No answer.”

  “They must be on their way. Or did Jerry get hung up on a connecting flight because of the holiday jam at the airport or something?” Philip asked.

  “Well, if he did, I’m sure they’ll call. We might as well start, I suppose. There’s enough food here; they’ll have plenty to eat when they decide to show up.”

  The talk ranged far and wide during dinner—over music, news, and politics. “My vote for turkey of the year is the city council. That vote last Monday, turning down again the ordinance prohibiting discrimination against gays ...”

  Ian snickered. “Don’t act so surprised, Philip. It’s not like they haven’t had plenty of practice. What’s that, the tenth time this decade they’ve kicked it downstairs?”

  “It still makes me puke. They—”

  “Philip’s an optimist,” Leo cut in. “He labors under the illusion that the city council is actually going to grow a spine one of these days.” He pushed back his plate. “My vote for turkey of the year goes to what’s-‘is-name, Robert—no, Roger Jepsen. That Republican senator from Iowa, you know? The guy trying to pass the ’Family Protection Act.‘”

  “The what?” asked Amy.

  “That’s the one that says that if you’re homosexual, in fact if you even suggest that homosexuality is acceptable, you’ll be ineligible for veterans benefits, welfare, student assistance, or Social Security.”

  “My gawd. Hasn’t the guy ever heard of the First Amendment?”

  “Nope.”

  “Maybe he should come be senator of New York,” Philip said savagely. “Between all the goddamn closet cases and the city council, he’d probably feel right at home here.”

  In the corner the phone trilled. Elias leaned back in his chair and picked it up. “Hello.”

  “Elias?” It was Jerry’s voice.

  “Hey, Jerry, happy Thanksgiving! We’ve been wondering where you are.”

  “May I speak to Sean, please?” said Jerry, sounding tense.

  Elias signaled Sean with a chin lift and held out the phone to him. The conversation around the table hushed. Sean scooped up the phone. “Hey, there. You better get your butts over here if you still hope to get some dinner.”

  “What did Jerry say?” Gordy asked Elias in an undertone. “Did he say where he is?”

  Elias, watching Sean, shook his head. Sean frowned as he listened.

  The silence stretched and acquired an uneasy edge as Sean sat down slowly, his expression grave.

  “My god. Okay, thanks for letting us know. St. Vincent’s? Do you want some of us to come, too?”

  “What’s going on?” Amy hissed.

  Taking Rafe to the hospital, Sean mouthed at her. He listened a little longer, took a scrap of paper and pencil, and jotted something down. “You’re sure you don’t want somebody coming over tonight?

  Okay, then, I’ll call tomorrow and see if he’s up to having visitors.” He hesitated, and then added, “He’ll be okay, Jerry. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  He hung up the phone. “Jerry got back from Cleveland just this morning; he did get stuck at the airport overnight. When he got home, he found Rafe in bed, delirious, with a fever up over a hundred and six.”

  “Shit,” Leo muttered, shocked.

  “Yeah. It’s pneumonia, Jerry thinks.”

  “My god. Was Rafe that sick when Jerry left town?”

  Sean shrugged. “Jerry said he’s been off his feed for a while, a month or so, but still, it must’ve been a surprise to find him like that. It’s a good thing Jerry didn’t take a cab directly here from the airport.”

  “No kidding.”

  The phone call had the effect of breaking up the group around the table. Leo and Philip got up and started clearing the table. “Feel free to wander over to the couch,” Leo told Minta magnanimously.

  “Watch football and belch a lot and fall asleep.”

  “Gee, sounds like fun,” Ruth said.

  “We’ll play you a lullaby,” Nick said, as he and Amy brought their cases over and began unsnapping the catches. “But then I’m going to need to play something lively to wake myself up after that dinner. Leo, you brought a flute, right?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Sean, do you want to play the harp?” Amy pulled out a fiddle and began rosining up her bow.

  “Depends on how much tuning it needs.”

  “Why worry about tuning a harp?” Leo put in. “It’s always out of tune, anyway, so why bother?

  That’s why harpists always go off to fetch more beer while everyone else is tuning.”

  “I’ve been working on that slip jig,” Nick said, cocking his head and smiling winningly as he pulled a concertina out of its case.

  Sean laughed as he reached for the harp. “I can never resist a good rollicking slip jig.”

  “If you can keep up with me,” Nick replied, lifting a challenging eyebrow. “And you’d better not miss the change this time.”

  “I never miss the change.”

  “Huh,” Nick said, fitting his hands under his instrument’s straps. “We’ll see.” He heaved a happy sigh.

  “Good food. Now I’m ready to play. Give me an A, somebody.”

  Elias stayed and listened as the musicians tuned their instruments, warmed up, and began playing. After the third piece, Gordy, who had been chewing absently on the ends of his mustache, abruptly stood. “I’m going to call Jerry and see if he wants me to come help him get Rafe to the hospital. Sean, can I use your phone in the bedroom?”

  Sean looked up from the harp. “Jerry said they were leaving right away.”

  “Well, perhaps so, but I’d feel better knowing that at least I tried.” He disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door after himself, but emerged a minute later shaking his head. “You were right,” he said over the music. “They’ve already left.” Sean, deep in the trickiest part of a chord progression, nodded his head absently.

  A little lost in thought, Elias got up and threaded his way past Sean’s chair. Minta glanced at him and smiled as he passed her on his way to the bedroom. I’d feel better knowing that at least I tried. The light was off in the bedroom; he didn’t turn it on.

  After closing the door, he sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the telephone on the nightstand. With a deep breath, he held the handset to his ear and dialed the number. The phone rang tinnily in his ear once, twice, as his heart began thundering. Maybe they’re at Bob’s?

  He hardly knew if he felt relieved, or if, once having mustered the courage to call his parents, he could pick up the phone again to call his brother, too.

  Abruptly, the ringing stopped. “Hello?” his mother’s cultured voice said in his ear. At the sheer surprise of it, his voice caught in his throat.

  “Hello?” his mother repeated after a moment. “Who’s there, please?”

  He drew a ragged breath and dug his fingernails into his thighs. On the other end of the line, his mother made a small sound, too, an intake of breath in surprise. After a pause, he heard her whisper, a catch in her voice, “Elias?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his teeth over a sob. He wanted desperately to say something to her, anything, but his voice was wholly suspended now. His mother had always appeared to be coolly controlled to him, and that small note of pain echoing in his ear seemed more unguarded than any sound he had ever heard her make.

  What was he calling to tell her, anyway? He could hear Sean’s clear baritone singing in the living room, through the closed door. I’m safe, Mother. I knew you’d want to hear that. I’ve found a new group of friends. And I’m with someone who’s good to me, and I think... I think I
’m beginning to fall in love with him. You’d like him, too, I know you would, if you’d only give him a chance. If you’d just give me a chance.

  Please. Please give me a chance.

  “Elias?” his mother whispered again.

  In the background, his father’s voice said, “Who is it?”

  Elias felt coldness wash over him.

  “It’s—nobody,” his mother said, loudly, for his father’s benefit. He could almost see her, batting the wetness away from her eyes, plastering her usual serene expression over her face. “No one. It’s a wrong number.”

  The phone went dead.

  Chapter Eleven

  Eternal Father, strong to save

  Whose arm has bound the restless wave

  Who bade the mighty ocean deep

  Its own appointed limits keep

  Oh, hear us when we cry to thee

  For those in peril upon the sea.

  —WILLIAM WHITING,

  “ETERNAL FATHER, STRONG TO SAVE”

  After the exclamations had died down and the first tears were wiped away, Eliza’s brothers drew her away from the water to the edge marked by nodding beach grass, where a tangle of driftwood lay heaped upon the sand.

  “Sit down, dear sister, sit down.” Benjamin, the youngest, dusted sand off the end of a driftwood log for her as the others hastened to settle themselves around them. In wonder, Benjamin touched Eliza’s face tenderly, tilting his head back to drink in the sight of her. “Faith,” he laughed, his joy bubbling up,

  “who would have thought the pert lass who tormented us so at our play would grow so tall and beautiful!”

  “I never did torment you!” Eliza laughed in turn. “Fie upon you, you belie me, brother!” She placed her hand over his, savoring his touch upon her cheek.

  “She looks like Charles, think you?” Hugh said.

  “Aye,” said Benjamin, glancing at Charles and then tilting his head and studying Eliza critically. “A bit about the eyes, and the brow.”

  “Perhaps,” James, the eldest, observed quietly, “but I think she looks most like our mother.”

  The brothers, at this observation, grew pensive. Eliza studied them all eagerly in turn, her eyes bright. They were all tall, well-formed men, although quite thin and pale. Each possessed some feature of at least one of their parents: James and Henry had their father’s black hair and gray eyes, and Edward, Stephen, and Robert had his large, square hands and broad shoulders. Charles and Frederick, with their high cheekbones and heavily lidded eyes, resembled their mother more closely. Geoffrey, Michael, Hugh, and Benjamin had a mixture of features from both mother and father.

  Eliza heaved a sigh of pure happiness. “ ‘Tis a miracle we have found one another again.” She blinked and looked around more closely. Their hair looked neatly barbered, and, even more fantastically, all were clad in extravagant matching suits of white velvet. “How in the name of wonder— what has happened to all of you? I saw you change—”

  “Aye, you saw our curse,” James replied, not liking the reminder. He picked up a stick and drove the point into the sand by his knee. “Every sunrise and sunset our shapes transform, as you have seen.”

  “Swans by day and men by night?”

  “Aye. And ever since leaving Kellbrooke Hall, eight years ago, we have been homeless and wandering.”

  At the expression in their suddenly grave faces, Eliza shuddered. “But how did this happen to you?

  And why?”

  “How?” James laughed bitterly.“ ‘Tis witchcraft, of course. And as to why ... faith, who knows what worm of jealousy and spite has eaten away at our mother-in-law’s heart, to turn her so against us.”

  “Did she do this, then?” Wide-eyed, she looked around the circle; they all solemnly nodded back at her.

  “ ‘Tis a grave accusation to cry witchery upon anyone,” Geoffrey said, “but—”

  “I was there in the room when she did it,” James interrupted flatly. “I saw her do it.”

  “I believe you,” Eliza breathed. “I... Our father recently bid me return to Kellbrooke Hall. And from what I saw of the Countess there, I do believe she would do such a thing. I think...” She frowned. “ ‘Tis odd, I do not entirely remember, but I think she tried to ensorcell me, too.”

  “Did she, now?” James eyed his sister speculatively, a glimmer of hope kindling. “But you defeated her?”

  “If she did try a spell against me,” Eliza said doubtfully, “it must have been a failure. I do not know if aught I did made it so.” She sighed. “She found another way, however, to undo me before my father.”

  “What was that?” Benjamin said warily.

  “Do you know of ... forgive me ... of the Countess’s accusations against you? Of... treason?”

  The stick in James’s hand snapped, and he leaped to his feet. “Aye, we have heard of them. They are a pack of filthy lies!” he burst out. “We are true subjects to the Crown!”

  “I know! But our father believes her. You see, the Countess is ...” She hesitated, and then forced herself to say the words. “The Countess is with child.”

  A heavy silence fell, broken only by the plaintive calls of gulls, dipping over the surface of the waves. The brothers exchanged looks as their hearts collectively sank.

  “And our father said,” Eliza continued after a moment, “that if her child is a boy, it will be his heir.”

  Now the brothers all looked to James. A spasm crossed his face. “The seventh Earl of Exeter, eh?”

  Abruptly, James turned and walked down to the water’s edge. There, he picked up a stone and threw it savagely into the water.

  Henry, the second oldest brother, got up and hurried after him. “Don’t,” he said into James’s ear as he reached his side. “The Earldom is not any more lost to you than it was eight years ago.”

  “Is it not?” James replied bitterly.

  “No.” Henry squeezed his forearm with rough sympathy. “Our ties were cut long ago, as you know well, James.”

  James stared at the gulls for a while as Henry waited. “God’s blood,” James muttered finally. “After all these years it still sticks in my throat. Well, this news makes it even clearer that it is time and past for us to leave this land.”

  “There will be time and enough to talk of that,” Henry replied. “But for now, take heart, man. We are all together again at last.” He glanced up the beach to where Eliza sat, her face a pale oval in the twilight.

  “Look you, do not grieve her over a wound so old, and one she cannot help.”

  James sighed, cursing himself for a fool. “You are right, Henry. As always.” The two men turned and trudged back up the slope of beach sand.

  “Forgive me, James,” Eliza said remorsefully as they drew near. “I little like bringing news that hurts you so.”

  “Nay,” James said with an embarrassed wave. “It is only ... I had hoped that someday, if the curse could only be lifted...”

  “I understand, truly.” Eliza’s gaze fell to her lap, where she stroked the eleven feathers tied with the narrow braid of her hair. “You see ... our father has cast me out, too. For when he told me he hoped for a new heir, I asked why he should need one, when he already had as many as a man could want.” She grimaced. “He did not like that.”

  That drew a ripple of rueful laughter. “I’ll warrant he did not,” said Stephen.

  “And for that he cast you out?” Robert said wonderingly.

  Eliza nodded.

  James drew a deep breath. “Your portion is the same as ours then, eh, little sister?” He stared down at the top of her bent head, and his heart stirred, both with pity for her and a little dismay. “Well, then,”

  he said with gruff heartiness, “we will bid you as welcome as we may.”

  “I say we must have a feast to celebrate our reumon!” said Benjamin, who was hungry.

  “Aye!” exclaimed Michael, liking the idea. “Let us show you some of the canny tricks we’ve learned to provide for ourselves
over the years.”

  “‘Tis well thought,” James said, setting his grievance aside and rubbing his hands together. “Now then, we must see what may be had. Michael—”

  “I will see if there are fish,” Michael said, getting to his feet and starting down the beach to the north.

  “And I will hunt for crayfish,” Frederick offered, rising to follow. Several others got up, too, and scattered to walk in several directions up and down the beach.

  “And you, Charles,” James said, “is it not your turn to sacrifice a sleeve to keep us warm tonight?”

  Charles elbowed Geoffrey, sitting next to him. “If it is not Geoffrey’s.”

  “Not mine!” Geoffrey said indignantly.

  Shrugging good-naturedly, Charles took off his coat. Eliza started at the sound of ripping linen.

  “What are you doing?” she exclaimed, horrified. “Your beautiful clothes—”

  “Aye, they are very fine, are they not?” Charles said cheerfully, with an edge of sarcasm as he shredded the sleeve of his shirt into small bits. “Fear not, Eliza; we all shall have another suit just as elegant tomorrow night.”

  “It suits our mother-in-law’s humor,” Hugh added, “to dress us like princes in the wilderness.” He was collecting dried beach grasses and small bits of driftwood into a heap. “Do not think we complain about her mockery, for we use our clothes as tools, you see. We bend nails from our shoe heels to make fishhooks ...”

  “... knot garter strings into rabbit snares ...”

  “... fashion coat sleeves into slingshots ...”

  “... and start fires with shirt linen.” Hugh accepted the small squares of cloth Charles offered him and delicately poked them into the pile of fuel he had gathered. He pulled the buckle off his shoe and struck a flinty pebble against it to make a spark. After several tries, the linen caught, firing the grass in turn as Hugh blew gently. He added more twigs as the fire spat and grew, and soon had a merry blaze going.

  “Hugh starts and tends our fires,” Charles said. “And a pretty job he usually makes of it, too.”

  “My red hair gives me the talent,” Hugh said, winking at Eliza.

  “Except when it rains, and we need it the most,” Geoffrey grumbled.