The black swan (3 page)

"Please," he said, more aroused than ever before. He seated himself, and she straddled his legs, her round buttocks toward him. Eagerly he watched her in the lamplight as she bent gracefully, tugging each boot off. His hands sought and caressed her as she moved.

"Yo' coat, Tom?" Her practiced fingers undid the buttons and slid his frock coat off. Each time asking permission, she removed his waistcoat, his cravat, shirt, and breeches, lingering over each movement as he had taught her, arousing him with slow, sensuous touch, until, naked and erect, he took her in his arms. At last his lips met hers, his tongue seeking, hers replying.

Abruptly he let her go and lay down. This again was a signal. Obediently she knelt and began to stroke his temples, moving her strong fingers down to the cords at the sides of his neck. She bent her head and kissed him lightly, her tongue teasing his lips. He pulled her to him so that she was straddHng his body, leaning so that he could kiss her nipples.

Expertly the slave girl kneaded his body, finally stroking upward, inside his thighs, until he thought he would explode with desire for her. His fingers cupped her breasts. He held himself still, feeling her fragrant warmth slowly envelop him.

They lay together, shuddering in mutual delight. Now he could tell her that he had bought her freedom. He could offer her a new and more precious kind of bondage, one they could share all their lives.

But only minutes from now, he would become Ullah's slave. It would be he who awaited her signals. It would be his hands that massaged her, feeling on her lovely breasts and belly the delicate striations that told of her having carried his child. And it would be UUah who would He quietly or move under him as she wished when they joined again. Ullah, his sweet love, his wife.

Late, when Tom had fallen heavily asleep, Ullah rose and put on her shift. It would be the last time she'd ever have to leave him, God be praised. It was too much that He should have given her Tom, her freedom, and her child as well—^it was more than anyone could hope to have. Never before had she known the airy lightness in

her heart that she felt now as she crept warm and content from Tom's bed.

She padded softly down the unlighted servant's staircase. Lights still shone on the main floor, though the house was silent.

"Somebody's gonna git it." She began to extinguish the lamps to save someone from a good thrashing. She opened the study door. Ross Bennett lay on the sofa, nodding groggily, the glass held loosely in his hand tilted, spilling liqueur on the shining floor each time he exhaled.

Ullah had always been a little scared of Mastah Ross. He wanted her, wanted her bad. In his eyes the glintings of desire mixed with covetous hate. A cruel gent'man, the other women told her after he had used them. She shivered, gooseflesh rising on her arms.

Stealthily she took the glass from his limp fingers. With the hem of her shift she wiped the floor. Ross's hand reached out, hunting his glass, and found Ullah.

The slave girl stiffened, then she rolled out of his grasp.

"'Nigger!" His voice was harsh, drunken, but commanding.

UUah knew better than to try to run, even to Tom. She took a deep breath and looked straight into his eyes. "Yes-suh, Mastah Ross." God knew what he'd do to her, but he would not break her spirit. Tomorrow she would be a free woman. She'd keep thinking on that.

Ross grinned sloppily, saliva glistening on his lower lip. "Hot damn!" he grabbed for her breasts.

Ullah sidestepped his groping hands. They faced each other, Ross weaving slightly. "Nigger, you better not move away from me again, or I'll thrash your yeller ass myself."

She said with dignity, "My name is Ullah, Mastah Ross." Hatred gleamed from her large, dark eyes.

Ross's hand darted out and caught her on the cheekbone, nearly knocking her down. "Don't you put no evil eye on me, nigger, you heah?"

Ullah lowered her eyes. "Yassuh, Mastah Ross.**

He was enjoying himself hugely. "Ease my britches off, wench. An' mind you don't make any mistakes, for I got a mighty big yearnin', an' I aim to have you tend to it for me.

Silently, skillfully, she removed his breeches. Then Bennett's large hairy hands were at her neckline, ripping the flimsy shift open.

"Hot damn! So Edmund sent youl Well, come here, yel-ler gal,, and le's see what you got."

Ullah hesitated. Ross grasped her hair, jerking her head to one side. She winced. "Tom never been rough? You're gonna like it." He laughed. "They all like it that way."

He threw her to the floor, falling heavily on her, biting her fan: skin, sucking greedily and painfully at her nipples, twisting handfuls of her flesh in his uncontrolled rutting.

Ullah held herself rigid, waitmg in fear for his next move. She was always afraid of what Revanche's guests would do to her. When folks thought you hadn't the same feelings and spirit they had, there was no telling what they might do. But Ross was worse than the rest; this night was worse. Tom was upstairs sleeping, never dreaming of the dreadful thing that was happening to her. He had promised her that for the first time in her life she could count on the pleasures of love and not the devices of lust. Tom would never lie to her. It was a nameless cruelty that in this moment, only hours from freedom, with the warmth of Tom's loving still heating her own blood, this insane, drunken animal should take her.

"On your hands and knees, bitch!"

She braced herself against the sharp pain and indignity, trying not to hear his grunts as he lunged into her. When he rolled away from her, panting heavily, he said, "Don't you move, heah? There's somethin' more you're goin' to do for me! Only got one time with you . , . make the best of it." He lay back, skinning her with his eyes, laughing cruelly.

Trying not to sob, not to feel the fire that gnawed inside her, Ullah waited, trembling with fear. Ross Bennett got up and sat, his legs sprawled. "Crawl over heah an' put your head on my lap."

Ullah made her mind a blank. She did what he made her do, then stayed on her knees in front of him, uncertainly. He raised one foot, planted it in her face, and sent her tumbling backward.

As she scrambled for the remnants of her shift, fighting against the urge to vomit, Ross Bennett turned on his side and went smiling to sleep.

Ullah crept to her cabin, tiptoeing in so as not to wake the other occupants. She lay on her cot, her head turned away from Angela, curled up peacefully in one small corner. Ullah muffled her sobs in the shuck-filled tick. She

had never cried like this before. But never before had she thought of herself as a person like anyone else. Never before had she been Tom Pierson's promised wife.

There were two sides to this world, the clean beauty-filled place she had glimpsed with Tom and the side populated by men like Mastah Revanche and Mastah Ross. That side was dirty, the abode of devils and demons and hell's fh-e nipping up from the dark regions to sear those who tried to walk this earth decently.

Tom awakened feeling happier than any other day in his life. The sun shone brighter. In the air was a perfume of blossoms. He would start for home right away. Edmund expected him to stay several days, but he had much to do before he dared make Ullah his own.

Edmund would understand Tom's unquenchable appetite for Ullah. He would never understand marriage between them. Edmund would rigidly support the vicious Black Code that forbade miscegenation. And for his resentment and humiliation that Tom had taken his slave to wife, Edmund would make Tom pay dearly.

He glanced outside. Ullah should have been here by now. This morning of all mornings he had expected her to be early. He finished dressing. Perhaps, like him, she wanted no more of their master-slave relationship.

Then too, it would be like Edmund to keep her busy until the moment Tom had her papers in his hand. Edmund could be petty like that.

"Good mornin', Edmund." With a grandiose bow, Tom placed the four-thousand-dollar bank draft on the desk.

Subtly Edmund's expression changed. He did not move to pick it up.

Tom's heart plummeted. Wasn't the man going to keep his word? Then Edmund opened a drawer, withdrew a paper, and signed it. "I wish you the joy of your purchase, Tom. I hope you are as wise as you are enthusiastic."

Tom felt as though Edmund were staring at his innermost thoughts. "Thanks, Edmund, I'm very—happy 'bout it." Suddenly he wanted to be away from the house, away from this room and Edmund that very minute. "I hate to leave so soon, but I've got an afternoon appointment. I hope you'll understand."

He left the study red to the ears, feeling like a youngster caught in wrongdoing. He went down the rows of white-

washed cabins to Ullah's. Two women stood talking by the cabin door. Their talk stopped abruptly. With wary, anticipatory looks they eyed him and moved off. Tom did not notice their unusual behavior; he was too anxious to be on his way.

Smiling again, he entered the cabin. Ullah sat dispiritedly on her cot, her hands folded limply on her lap. A golden-haired three-year-old child shrieking, "Mas' TomI Mas' Tom!" grabbed him around the shins and hung on, giggling in delight. He swooped down, taking Angela in his arms, raising her squealing and laughing until her small hands could touch the ceiling. Ullah sat unmoving, her head turned away.

Tom put the child down. "Honey, you go play. Pretty soon we're goin' for a ride in the carriage." Tom watched her fondly as she scampered into the bright patch of sunlight just outside the door.

He looked uncertainly at Ullah, huddled in the dimness. "You're not sorry to be leavin' here, are you?"

"Ah could never be sorry 'bout you, Tom," she whispered.

"Then what?" Gently he turned her face toward him. She jerked away, but he had seen. He said harshly, "What happened?"

Her eyes were fearful. "Ah . . . Ah fell."

His arms went about her. His tenderness should have thawed the awful feeling of cold shame. But Ullah had never felt soiled as she did now. She had been resentful, hurt, and humiliated other times when she had been used by Edmund's guests, but Mastah Ross had dirtied her in a way none of the others had—all because Tom had showed her what it was to be clean and purely loved.

Always before she had been able to ignore these dark thoughts or hide them away in some deep recesss of her being. But before, she had never believed there could be a better life.

"Ullah, tell me what's wrong," Tom pleaded. "We can't start this momin' with secrets and private hurts. What happened to you?"

Ullah said nothing, unable to tell him how his friend had abused her, afraid of what Tom might do.

But he had her by the hand, leading her over to the light. He slipped off her shift. As his shocked eyes darted over her body, she saw the veins in his temples swelL

"Keep Angela with you. I'll be back soon," he said hoarsely. He saw his daughter standing in the doorway, looking curiously at her beloved Mas' Tom. "Go stay with your mama now."

He knew it hadn't been Edmund. Edmund was simply too arrogant and fastidious for this particular method. It had to be Ross. It was like Ross to do this, to think it a great joke, never seeing the hideous cruelty of it

As Tom strode up the rise that separated the slave quarters from the house, Ross was on his way to the stables. Tom shouted, "Hey, wait a minute I I'll ride with you."

Ross stood waiting. "Edmund tells me you're leavin' already."

Tom managed a smile. "I've got time enough for a ride."

"Sure you won't stay? The Quadroon Ball's tonight."

"I've iready got my quadroon."

The grooms led out the horses, and the men mounted. "It isn't the same," Ross said. "Now those quadroons . . . they're taught to please a man. They know!"

"UUah is pleasin'."

Ross grinned at him, his look slyly knowing. '*Yeah," he drawled, "but a good mount isn't all there is to a woman."

Tom urged his horse to a full canter. As Ross caught up with him again, Tom turned shortly. "You liked UUah?'*

"Slow down a little. Sure I liked her. You angry?'*

"Why should I be angry?" Tom asked indifferently.

"WeU, you could be a little riled. Where's the fun if you don't care who has her?" He laughed. *'We had you wrong. Edmund and I thought you wanted her all to yourself. Looks like the joke's on us."

Tom dismounted at a grove of live oaks, festooned with lacy gray Spanish moss. "Let them cool down a bit" The horses headed for the stream that divided the grove from Edmund's fields. Several blacks stopped their plowing to stand silently watching. "Got a bottle with you, Ross?"

"Sho'ly." Ross sprawled comfortably against the tree. He drank, then handed the bottle to Tom.

Tom swallowed deeply and set the bottle between them. "Don't ever come near Ullah again, Ross."

Ross stared at him. "You back on that? I thought you didn't care."

"Did I say that?" His eyes met Ross's coldly.

Ross, reaching for the bottle, stopped. "Wait a minute,

Tom," he said, edging away. "It was just a lark . . . you know me ... it didn't mean a thing."

Tom stood up, towering menacingly over Ross. The Negroes in the field crowded closer to the edge of the stream. "Stand up, Ross old friend. 1 don't like kickin' the shit out of you while you're still on the ground."

"Look . . . Tom!"

"You heard me."

"I'm not goin' to do any such damned thing," Ross whined. "My God, Tom, Ullah's been with damn near every man we know. Why me? What'd I do? You goin' after aU of 'em?"

"No. Just you." Tom grabbed Ross by his lapels, jerking him to his feet, his face only inches away. Ross stood like a stunned rabbit as Tom's fist crashed into his mouth. Ross's punches were wild. Tom, cold with rage, found every target: Ross's chin, his eyes, the pit of his stomach. As Ross doubled over, Tom's knee lifted viciously into his groin.

Ross groaned and fell to the ground, his stomach and vitals paining sickeningly. Tom leaped on him, reaching in blind fury for the bottle they had shared. He hit it against the tree, showering liquor and glass. In his hand was the neck, jagged and sharp.