The black swan by Day Taylor

moon Adam took his mother home. They were singing, Zoe's soprano blending with her son's baritone and the tenor voices of Ben and Beau.
    Oh, potatoes they grow small over there! . . . 'Cause they plant 'em in the fall—
    and then they laughed to hear Tom's voice calling over the water—
    And then eats 'em tops an' all over therel
    Chapter Seven
    "We have to leave, Ullah," Tom said. The barbecue was over. The time had come.
    She was quiet for a time, pondering. "Where? What place gwine want us any better than they do heah?"

    Tom had no answer. In the South he knew they wouldn't be welcome. In the North he would never feel welcome. "Maybe Southwest . . . into the new territories. I'm not sure, honey. We'll look until we find a place where people haven't already got their minds set. Most likely that will be West, where folks are just beginnin'."
    She said no more about it, that day or any other. It was not in Ullah to defy her master or husband directly, but she had her ways of procrastinating so that Tom might have the time to reconsider.
    Tom didn't hurry her, for he too believed he had time. The longer he stayed, the easier it was to think that he had allowed himself to panic when he saw Edmund in New Orleans. The peaceful tempo of life in the bayou house lulled him falsely. The days slipped into weeks.
    December fifth was warm and pleasant, with the breeze from the Gulf pushing heavy white clouds in long, smooth streamers over the patches of woodland and water. The air was fresh, the bayou inviting. Early that afternoon the three boys came to the landing near the woods. Adam gave the sharp whistle that Tom could hear anywhere on his property.
    Tom strolled through the woods to meet them. "What are you monkeys up to today?"
    "Filling Ma's larder." Adam gestured toward the rifles and some large kettles. "We spotted a bee tree yesterday. Couldn't you use some honey?"
    "I'd better not come," Tom said regretfully. "If I don't get Ullah to packin', we're never goin' to get out of heah.'*
    "What's one more day?" Ben teased.
    Tom shook his head. "You three are worse than Ullah. Next year I've got to plant somethin' or starve. The way we're goin', we won't be anywhere when plantin' season comes."
    "You're not going to leave tomorrow, are you?'* asked Adam.
    Tom scratched his head, his eyes already shining in agreement. All reason cried out against it, but they were tipping the boat crazily now, laughing and shouting, tempting him with their antics. And as always, he wanted to go. Just one more time before he left the bayou behind forever.
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    Ullah had sent Angela out to play after breakfast. Angela wandered everywhere, causing her mother to spend most of her day worrying over what had taken her daughter out of sight so quickly. Now she peered anxiously out of the cookroom window.
    Running as fast as she could on her short, sturdy legs, Angela was making her way toward the woods. Ullah shouted her daughter's name, then gave up, knowing she would have to go after the child.
    She removed her apron, deftly foldmg it and placing it on the table, and hurried to the main room. Her smile faded. She stopped suddenly, her heart thumping v\dldly.
    In the outer doorway stood a tall, slender man, impeccably attired down to the brilliantly shining black leather boots. In his left hand he loosely held a whip, its tails dangling. On his head was the outsized grotesque Mardi Gras mask of a boar with sharp, curling tusks. Behind him, crowded into the opening, were five others. A Goat, a Snake, an Alligator, a Raccoon, and a Bear all thrust their huge, leering heads into the room, tipsily jostling each other for the clearest view of her. The laughter from the menagerie was drunken, distorted, hollow.
    Ullah backed away. Their lau^ter and their unintelligible talk ran together deafeningly. She grabbed the folded apron, pressing it against her as though by some magical power it would shield her from the boisterous animals advancing with