The Wild Swans

by Peg Kerr

  And that is how the men found her an hour later when they mounted the stairs and burst into the room. At the crash of the door against the wall Eliza came awake with a start and looked up, bunking with confusion at the strange, hard faces staring down at her in the crazily swaying lantern light Jonathan entered the room last, his face the grimmest of all. Eliza’s eyes widened. William stepped forward. His gaze flickered down to the nettle stalks at their feet and then up to her face again. “Mistress Latham,” he said, his voice quiet and calm.

  There was a pause, and then Eliza scrambled to her feet and stood, swaying. The men in the room tensed.

  “You are under arrest,” William said evenly, “and ordered to stand trial for the capital charge of practicing the unholy art of witchcraft.”

  Horror made the blood drain from Eliza’s face, and she thought that she might faint. Instead, she shook her head angrily, violently, making a vehement slashing gesture with her hand, and two of the men flinched in fear.

  “Men, do your duty!” William snapped.

  After a heartbeat of suspense, they seized her arms and backed her into the corner. She struggled for only a moment before stopping, but worse, words of fear, of protest, boiled up, hovering agonizingly at her lips until she thought she must shriek aloud or die. Terrified, for she had never come so close before to imperiling her brothers with her tongue, she bit her lip until she tasted blood. William saw this and his eyes narrowed. He took a lantern from the man standing next to him and lifted it to scrutinize her face. Eliza’s pupils constricted to pinpricks in the glare. The charm around her neck caught his attention and he warily took it in his hand, lifting it to examine it more closely. She gasped and held her breath. After a moment, he looked at her, lifted an eyebrow, and with one savage pull, tore it from her neck. She half fell to her knees, and the men holding her staggered. William stepped back. “The chest. Open it.”

  The lid was dumped open; again, Eliza almost cried out. Almost. A perplexed silence fell. Eyes glittering, William reached in and carefully lifted out the spindle, tossing it into the pile of nettles, and the frame loom holding a half-completed coat. He studied it for a moment, and then reached down, pulled out the completed tunics, and dumped them on the floor as if they were snakes. Eliza looked up and finally caught and held Jonathan’s eye.

  The message was as clear to him as if she had screamed it: If ever I asked anything from you, please, please....

  William raised a knee and with one swift motion cracked the loom over his thigh. He threw the tangle of wood, nettle thread, and cloth aside and gestured toward the coats on the floor. “Destroy the witch’s work.”

  Eliza wrenched her arms as hard as she could and began fighting in earnest, a wordless, voiceless howl contorting her face. One man struck a blow to the side of her head, and another crashed to the floor with her in a tangle of limbs, but over the commotion, Jonathan’s voice roared “Stop!”

  The men froze. Eliza lay still, breathing in great gasps, face mashed to the floor, a splinter driven into her cheek.

  “Why?” William demanded testily.

  Jonathan shouldered his way forward. “Let her rise.”

  Clumsily, the man lying on top of Eliza clambered off her, and they hauled her unceremoniously to her feet. She stared at Jonathan, her eyes a vast universe of pleading that left him shaken. Then she closed them, and her tears mingled with the blood on her face.

  He felt all his love for her welling up in him again like an aching pull, but he tried to tell himself it was only pity. Surely God would forgive him for that. “Do not destroy these... things she has fashioned. Let the coats be her covering in the gaol, and these”—he stirred the pile of nettle stalks with his foot—“they can be her pillow.”

  Eliza’s eyes flew open, and she saw it all. He loved her, and he would give her this. But he believed her guilty, and he would not save her.

  “Take her away,” Jonathan said wearily.

  She did not resist anymore as they led her out.

  Chapter Twenty

  Let us roll all our strength, and all

  Out sweetness, up into one ball:

  And tear our pleasures with rough strife,

  Through the iron gates of life.

  Thus, though we cannot make our sun

  Stand still, jet we will make him run.

  —ANDREW MARVELL,

  “TO HIS COY MISTRESS”

  “Bill!” Sean straightened up in his bed, looking almost awake again. “I can’t believe it. How long has it been, man?”

  “Too long.” Bill stepped forward, smiling, and reached out unhesitatingly to shake Sean’s hand. The smile transformed his face wonderfully.

  “It’s so good to see you again!” Sean exclaimed, pulling him in and reaching up to give him a hug. Bill returned it, and Elias winced, thinking of the newly installed chest catheter. But Bill seemed to be aware of it and carefully squeezed Sean only around the shoulders.

  After pulling away, Bill looked over at Elias, who wondered whether it was time to declare the need for another smoking break. “Sean,” Elias began, “maybe, um—”

  “Bill,” Sean interrupted, placing his hand on the small of Elias’s back, “I want you to meet my partner, Elias Latham.” It was the first time Elias could remember Sean introducing him as his partner. “Elias, this is Bill Addison—or, I should say, Father Bill—”

  “No, it’s Reverend Bill. I’m with the Metropolitan Community Church now.” He extended his hand and Elias shook it.

  “No kidding!” Sean said. “Here, grab the chair and sit down.” He gestured vaguely, and Bill did so. Elias shifted over on the side of the bed so Bill could see both their faces without Sean having to crane his neck to look around Elias’s shoulder.

  “How’d you find me?” Sean asked.

  “I’m on the chaplaincy staff here part-time. Your name came up on the new admissions list at this morning’s weekly staff meeting.”

  “Ohh ... so this is a professional visit.”

  “Professional and personal both, I suppose.” Bill smiled again.

  Sean looked down, and his hands began pleating and un-pleating a fold in the sheet “I suppose they go over each patient’s diagnosis at that meeting.”

  Bill nodded slowly. “I know why you’re here,” he said, his eyes intent on Sean. I understand everything hung in the air, unspoken.

  Sean nodded, too, pressing his lips together tightly.

  “Tell me what’s happened to you since I saw you last,” Bill said gently. Sean brightened, apparently glad for the change of subject. “Well, the first thing I tried after leaving seminary was law school.” Bill raised an eyebrow, and Sean snorted. “I know. What a mistake. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for me to come to my senses.” Sean tried to turn over onto his side, and the movement made him gasp. Elias turned his head and saw Sean’s face twist in surprised pain. “Ahh ... I think the painkillers are wearing off a bit.”

  Elias got up off the bed. “Can I help somehow ... ?”

  “Where’s that doohickey for raising and lowering the bed? Oh, here ...” Sean pulled the bed control toward himself and pushed the red button. Nothing happened.

  “I’m afraid the beds are often broken,” Bill observed mildly. “Sorry. But look on the bright side: at least they finally fixed the shower in this room. I understand it’s been busted for about four weeks.”

  “Here.” Elias reached out to support Sean’s head and shoulders and helped ease him down into a more recumbent position. Sean closed his eyes and sighed in relief. His shoulder blades felt painfully bony under Elias’s hand.

  “I think he’s kind of worn out,” Elias said apologetically.

  “Well,” Bill said, getting up. “I only meant to poke my head in for a quick hello today, anyway—I know you just got out of surgery.”

  “But I want to talk with you,” Sean said fretfully. “It’s been bloody ages since I’ve seen you, only I’m just so tired—”

  “I’ll be ba
ck tomorrow, and we can talk then.” His big hand covered Sean’s. “We’ll have time. But now I think you seed to sleep.”

  “Sounds good,” Sean said faintly after a moment, eyes still closed.

  Glancing up from Sean’s face, Elias caught a fleeting glimpse in Bill’s eyes as he looked at Sean of the same unguarded expression he’d seen earlier, a hint of something unspeakably sad. His eyes met Elias’s and he smiled faintly. Later, he mouthed.

  Sean was already asleep when Bill tiptoed out of the room.

  Elias missed Sean’s warmth in bed that night. He kept reaching out restlessly in his sleep, searching for a chest to curl his arm around, a flank to fit against his body, but he only embraced empty space. In dreams, he wandered barefoot in and out of vacant, echoing rooms, searching for something he never found. The sheets felt cold and damp, making his sleep restless. He awoke abruptly an hour before his usual rising time, shivering violently.

  “Hell.” Groggily, he wrapped the bed quilt around himself, staggered out into the living room, and started the coffeepot. Then he collapsed on the couch and sat there huddled up in a miserable ball for over an hour, watching the rain dripping slowly from the trees in the courtyard, making the bare twigs on the lowest branches tremble. Yellow leaves lay in circles around each trunk, plastered flat and slick against the pavement, as if the trees had undressed for the winter.

  Finally, Elias uncurled himself painfully and shuffled over to the counter to pour himself some coffee. But as he lifted the mug experimentally to his lips, the hot, oily smell steaming up suddenly made his stomach heave, and he set the mug down hastily, jaw clenched tightly against nausea. Once the worst of the queasiness was past, he picked up the telephone and called the store.

  “Van Hoosen Photography,” said a clipped, nasal voice.

  “Carl? It’s Elias. I won’t be coming in today.”

  “Again?” Carl answered. He sounded annoyed.

  “I’ve got the flu.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I want you in here tomorrow.”

  “You don’t want me to get everyone else sick, do you?”

  A rather ominous pause followed. “No, and so you’d better be well by then, Elias. I’ll be expecting you.” He hung up.

  Irritated, Elias went into the bathroom and took a shower, setting the water temperature as hot as he could stand it. That helped, some. But he felt cold again as soon as he got out, even after dressing in his warmest set of sweats. He wandered out into the living room, chose a cassette tape at random, and shoved it into the tape player. It was some of Sean’s Irish music, and listening to the tune gave him such a wrench that he hurried over to shut off the tape just before the fiddle launched into its second time through the chorus. “Damn.”

  At that moment, the phone rang. “You’re not at work,” Patty’s voice said accusingly when he picked it up. “You said you’d be at work.”

  “Did you call me there? Why?”

  “To find out how the surgery went, stupid.”

  “Look, uh, I don’t think you’d better call me at the shop about Sean.”

  “I thought you were out at work!”

  “Well, I was. But there’s this new manager, and so I’m trying to keep a kind of low profile for now—”

  “Oh, and so you think you can just stuff that particular kitty back into the bag, huh?” Patty said, her voice dripping with scorn.

  Elias shrugged, too weary to argue. “I don’t know how long I’ll be there anymore, anyway.”

  “Huh.” Patty snorted, and then apparently decided to let the matter drop. “So anyway, how is he?”

  “Fine, except he was totally wiped out when I left last night. But now that they’ve got him on the drug, maybe he’ll be able to start eating more easily.”

  “Goody for him. Now, the next thing I want to know is, how come you’re not punching the clock today? You don’t sound good—or did you just take another day off to stay with Sean?”

  Elias rolled his eyes. “What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?”

  “Elias—”

  “If you must know, I’ve got the flu.”

  “ ‘Zat so? And is that what your doctor told you?”

  “Why should I see a doctor about something as ordinary as the flu?”

  “If that’s what it is. Are your lymph glands swollen?”

  Reluctantly, Elias fingered his neck. “Of course they’re swollen. That happens when you get the flu.”

  “Yeah, right. Go see your doctor, Elias. Better yet, go see Sean’s internist—”

  “What gives you the right—” Elias began hotly.

  “Or I’ll call Sean and tell him.”

  “You do that,” Elias said tightly, “and you’re no ‘buddy’ to either of us. And you’ll only see Sean again over my dead body.”

  There was a long silence on the other end. “All right, I’m sorry,” Patty said finally. She actually sounded contrite. “I’m sorry, Elias. That was way over the line.”

  Elias didn’t say anything. He was afraid that if he did, he’d start crying and be unable to stop.

  “Elias? You there?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” he managed.

  “Okay. Okay, look, I may be an idiot, but I’m an idiot with my heart in the right place. Get yourself checked out, will ya?”

  “I’ll think about it,” Elias said grudgingly. He cradled the phone against his shoulder with his cheek and pressed his fists against his eyes.

  “And you’d better decide beforehand whether you’re going to tell Sean,” Patty said, her voice unexpectedly gentle, “if the news should turn out to be the worst.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know.” Tears were leaking out now, trickling down the curve of his nose. He grabbed a dish towel and wiped them away. “I can’t be sick now. I just can’t.”

  “Why not, Elias?”

  “Sean needs me too much.”

  Patty sighed. “And so you think the universe is therefore gonna arrange itself for your convenience?”

  “What should I do?” Elias asked. He felt small, vulnerable, very frightened.

  “I told you. See a doctor.”

  “You’re on your fourth AIDS patient now, and you tell me that? Doctors can’t do anything against this.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Nobody can do anything unless you let them try. And if you’ve got AIDS, letting people help you is the only hope you’ve got.”

  Is it? Elias slumped down on the floor and curled his arms around himself, trying to stop his shivering.

  “And one more thing: whatever time you have left— whether it’s Sean’s time or your own—just make the most of it, Elias.”

  He sat on the floor for a long time after hanging up the phone, leaning forward with his head on his knees. Make the most of whatever time you have. He thought of Sean, typing like a maniac to beat the deadline, and the wistful look on his face when he’d spoken of giving up on the idea of a world tour. He reached for the phone and dialed another number.

  “Hello?”

  “Rick? It’s Elias. Listen, I need your help with a special project. It’s for Sean....”

  He called Sean later without mentioning he wasn’t at work.

  “I overheard a couple of residents talking about the drug I’m on,” Sean told him. “This wonderful drug amphotericin they carved a hole into my chest so I could start taking. Apparently, it has a nickname:

  ‘amphoterrible.’ ”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I asked the gastroenterologist about it and finally got him to admit they call it that because the side effects are so horrendous.”

  “Oh, great.”

  “I think he was headed from here to go chew out the residents for letting me overhear them. Apparently, he frowns on that sort of humor; it’s rather hard on patient morale.”

  “How is your morale, by the way? Not to mention your appetite.”

  “Hmm. Maybe both would improve if I thought there was anything here worth eating.” He laughed sourly. “My par
ents have been back already.”

  “And?”

  “They’re trying.” Sean sighed. “They’re staying through the weekend and then heading home. But I think they might come back next weekend, too.”

  “Did, uh, Bill come back to see you, too?”

  “Oh, yeah—yeah, he did. We had a wonderful talk. Well, not exactly, actually: I mostly talked and he listened. I’d forgotten what a good listener he is.”

  Elias managed a politely interested, is-that-so sort of noise but the strength of his own feelings surprised him. Not jealousy, exactly—after all, he’d learned not to be jealous of Sean’s tricks over the years.

  But he knew that Sean’s history with Bill had meant something different.

  “Oh, and both my parents and Bill asked about you, too. They wanted to know what time you would be stopping by tonight.”

  “I... don’t know if I can. I want to, Sean, but I think I’m coming down with the flu. The last thing you need is for me to give it to you.”

  “Oh, no, Elias. You going to be okay by yourself?”

  “Of course I will.” At least he didn’t ask if that was all it was, like Patty. He wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or disappointed.

  “You sure?”

  “Look, if it’ll make you feel better, I promise I’ll call somebody if I think I need help. Ruth or Leo or somebody.”

  “Well... okay, then.” Sean sighed.

  “I miss you,” Elias whispered. “I hate not being with you.”

  “So, whatcha miss the most? My razor-sharp wit? My dazzling musical genius? The dramatic flair I have when throwing up in the bathroom?”

  “Oh, all of them, I suppose.”

  “Admit it. You miss my cold feet in bed at night.”

  “I do! I slept terribly.”

  “So did I. Of course, having the nurses come in every few hours to clean the catheter didn’t help, either. A vacation spa this ain’t.”

  That night, Elias set his alarm to get up for work the next morning, but when it went off, he couldn’t make himself get out of bed for over an hour. Finally, he dragged himself out into the living room and called the shop. A new employee, Luiz, answered the phone this time.