Mooncusser Cove Page 9

  Vesper erupted into fits of giggles as she came down from her orgasmic high. Jerrod pulled away and dropped back onto the floor, his pants still around his ankles, his member holding fast to a partial erection.

  Vesper sighed and slid onto the floor alongside Jerrod. “Oh, neighbor ... that was incredible. I'd say, ‘let's do it again,’ but if we do, I may not be able to walk for days."

  "Must be something about this house. I've never wanted to consume a woman so. I don't know how else to describe it. I wanted to eat you alive,” Jerrod replied.

  "I understand. In fact, would you be interested in trying something else?"

  "Such as?” Jerrod asked.

  "The traditional binding of Paladin to Mooncusser clan."

  "I'm intrigued."

  "You want to know the legends. You want me to spill my knowledge of the clan into you like a pitcher pouring into a glass. Well, Jerrod ... theirs was a blood oath, Paladin to Mooncusser. I think it is safe to assume that your father, and his fathers before him took the oath. A slice across the shoulder, over the heart.

  Jerrod shook his head. “I don't recall if my father..."

  "You have come to the beach, made claim to what's yours, and through your hand will Mooncusser Cove's glory days be revived."

  "You want me to take an oath? A blood oath?” Jerrod asked.

  Vesper nodded. “Do you trust me, Jerrod?"

  He couldn't reply. His tongue was tied and thick, and all the blood had rushed from his cheeks to his toes. He could barely focus. His vision tunneled on a spot on the wall beyond Vesper's beautiful face. The room behind them seemed to sway as if caught on a gentle breeze. He slipped into the breeze ... and allowed another memory to surface.

  "Do you trust me, sir?” Goodwife Josten asked.

  Joseph Paladin nodded his head. “I've no reason to distrust you, Mrs.—I've known you all my life."

  "Then it is time for ye to accept your mark and receive full compensation for your efforts on behalf of the clan."

  Joseph glanced over Goodwife Josten's shoulders to the pyre bearing the body of his father. “I am ready to take my father's place as Paladin Protector of the kin."

  "Joseph Paladin, son of John Paladin, son of James, son of Herschel, remove your shirt,” Goodwife Josten commanded.

  Joseph had witnessed an oath-taking before. All Mooncusser and Paladin children were encouraged to re-enact the ceremony during play. It was how they learned the ways of their fathers. It was how the oath between the Mooncusser and the Paladin would continue. In unbroken chain of parent to child. Father to son. Until John D. Paladin, II, born September seventeenth, nineteen hundred twenty-two. Jerrod's father had broken the connection. He knew this now. But why?

  "Are you all right, Jerrod?” Vesper asked. “You kind of left me for a moment there."

  "I am being bombarded with memories, Vesper. I'm not even sure they're all mine. It feels like I'm absorbing the memories of this house. I realize now that Father likened the life of a Paladin to Mooncusser like an indentured servant to his owner.” Jerrod covered his face with his hands. “I feel so torn."

  "You need to touch your land, Jerrod. You need to hold what is yours in your hand and then—then you shall understand the vastness of your ties to the kin."

  "Yes. Perhaps.” Jerrod started down the stairwell. “Vesper?"

  She was right behind him. “How long have you waited for me? For a Paladin? Ever since I got here, my nightmares have become more vivid, and like some kind of great and terrible tide, they're washing over me while I'm awake."

  Vesper put a soft hand on Jerrod's shoulder. “There are some things that are meant to be together. A symbiotic relationship of sorts."

  Jerrod turned his head. “Like Martin and Lewis?"

  Vesper giggled. “God, I hope we're not going to end up like that."

  "Romeo and Juliet?” Jerrod continued.

  "Not as tragic. And our households were never meant to be divided."

  "My father left, didn't he? He left the beach."

  "Yes. But now you have returned to claim your land and your legacy."

  Jerrod reached the bottom of the cramp stairway and turned. “I got it. Dracula and Renfrew."

  Vesper smiled. “That's probably closer, but don't you start eating bugs."

  "But the blood is the life, isn't it?” Jerrod asked.

  Vesper slid past him. “Yes. Yes, it is."

  Chapter Eleven

  "The rain has stopped, but looking at that sky, I can't say for how long,” Vesper said as they exited the mansion.

  "Well, let's not stop to worry about not putting on our wellies.” He reached into the puppy pen. “Come ‘ere, Moonie. Let's go piddle on our own land, huh?” He tucked the pup under one arm and encircled Vesper with the other. “Thank you for that. You know—upstairs."

  "My pleasure, darlin'. Your land is north of here. A footprint exists, as about seventy years ago a small brick smokehouse stood on the beach. Man ... smoked black cod, Atlantic salmon. Shrimp. God ... I'm hungry."

  "Again, you talk like you were there,” Jerrod remarked. His stomach growled. “How's about we head into town and get breakfast when we get back. I need to pick up my stuff at the hotel, too."

  "I hate going into town. But yes, breakfast would be nice. I have mail to pick up, too."

  "Why do you dislike the town, Vesper?” Jerrod asked.

  "It's not the town, per se. It's their pitchforks and torches that worry me."

  "What? Angry villagers like in Frankenstein?” Jerrod asked.

  "Yes. Exactly. Throw in a bit of Stepford and you've got Marshes Coomb. Ayuh."

  Jerrod laughed. “You do that well."

  "Lived here all my life and then some."

  The wet sand crunched beneath their feet, and the wind carried spray off the sea, drenching them as if the rain had not stopped at all. Jerrod let Moonie run free, and made use of his free arms to wrap himself around Vesper as they walked. “I could get used to this,” he said.

  "Couldn't have said it better, myself,” Vesper replied. “Who needs Match.com or speed dating when ties as old as America, herself, can bring two people together? I ask you, don't you just feel this is the way things should be?"

  "I belong here,” Jerrod said softly.

  "You do. A Mooncu..."

  Jerrod interrupted her. “A Mooncusser and a Paladin. Together again."

  Vesper slid her arms around Jerrod's neck and pulled him in for a long kiss. She felt comfortable and calm in his arms. Why had she ever hesitated in finding him?

  Vesper dropped to her knees before him and deftly unfastened his fly.

  "Uh, Vesper?” Jerrod questioned. “We could be seen."

  "By whom? This is private property, and the road ends just ahead. Now, do you want me to do this or not?” She ran her tongue along the rise in his shorts.

  Jerrod's hands went to her curls, where his fingers dug in for the ride.

  Vesper swallowed a chuckle as she took Jerrod's erection into her mouth. Using her right hand she pumped his shaft, letting the head hit against her tongue.

  He hadn't been with her long enough to know blow-job etiquette. Did she want a warning? He'd give her a warning. “Vesper..."

  "Yeah, I taste it,” she replied before stroking him to orgasm with her strong right hand. “Congratulations. You have just seeded your beach. Welcome home, Paladin."

  "This is my beach?” he asked.

  "It is. I told you it wasn't far. Can't you just see the deck festooned with paper lanterns and a rattan full-service bar here?” Vesper asked.

  "Hmpf. Yes. I can see it. I could build it."

  "By the Fourth of July?” Vesper asked.

  "I'd have to put off some of the other repairs around the house, but yes."

  Vesper giggled. “Thank you."

  Jerrod zipped his fly. “Thank you.” He walked up property, surveying his piece of crescent-shaped beachfront property leading to the lighthouse. “I'll need help with
some stuff. And building materials."

  "The DeSalvo Brothers work cheap. And smell like the cheap beer they consume, but hey—this is Marshes Coomb. There is no one else,” Vesper replied.

  "All right. I'll have my attorneys draft a lease agreement for the dock and walkway. We don't need a building permit?” Jerrod asked.

  Vesper shook her head.

  "Let's go get breakfast,” Jerrod said.

  "Good. I'm famished,” Vesper replied.

  "I don't want my girl to be hungry. In fact, I'll do my best to keep all the girls happy,” Jerrod said, running the back of his hand across Vesper's breasts.

  "Since we're going to be in town, I'm going to force myself to do some marketing. Do me a favor and make the twins happy in the green bean aisle at the TradeMart. I've always fantasized about being made love to amongst the canned goods. We'll have to give that a try while we do our grocery shopping."

  Jerrod took a moment to collect his thoughts. In the canned goods aisle? Public sex? Have I done that before? Hell, I don't know if I've done that before. All I know for sure is, this lady is insatiable. I am going to love it here!

  They returned to Vesper's land, strolling to the cottage, hand in hand, Moonie at their heels.

  "Tell me of the Mooncussers, Vesper. Sing me a song. Something regional,” Jerrod asked.

  Vesper shook her head. “I am not one to make a joyful noise unto the Lord, if you get my drift. Thereby, I'm not going to sing, but I can weave a mean story. How about the day Vesper the first received her first pistol?"

  "Do tell,” Jerrod said, following Vesper around the back of her home.

  "She was fifteen—a woman. Unmarried, of course, though it was not for lack of suitors. She dressed like a man. She cursed like a sailor and refused all proposals. Of course, no one knew why at the time. Vesper wore her hair in what we now call cornrows much like those of the runaway slaves which passed through the encampment. They trusted her. She found personal satisfaction in helping them escape north. It was on such a night she earned her pistol. Three women stumbled into camp. One had been hobbled in a trap. Another was great with child, and the third was old, feverish and dying. Vesper was out, wandering the shoreline, scavenging for any treasure that had washed ashore after a large wrecking. She was alone. The pregnant woman had gone into labor, and though the three were hiding behind the dunes, they could not hide the woman's fear of giving birth while on the run. Vesper had no weapon, but followed the muffled cries to the three tattered, runaway slaves. They begged for their lives, and the life of the child so desperately trying to force its way into the world. Vesper reassured them that she was not their enemy, and right there on the dunes not a mile from this house, she helped deliver the baby. She bound the wounds of the woman with the injured foot and lit a small fire made of drift wood to signal that she needed assistance “down beach.” The fire was seen, all right. By a tracker. He'd been in close pursuit of the women. He had a great stink of whiskey about him, and his eyes were hollow and black as ink. He spoke with a heavy southern accent, and though his speech was slurred and movements impaired by alcohol, he was a formidable foe.

  Vesper knew how to wrestle—but was no match for the tracker. He beat her badly, I was told. But then, just as he was about to pound Vesper's skull in with a piece of driftwood, the oldest of the women tripped him during the scuffle. He went down hard.

  Vesper pounced on him and reached out for a weapon ... any weapon. A piece of smoldering hot driftwood. Without hesitation, she burned out the slaver's eyes. As he screamed and fought, she rammed her own fist down his throat and choked him to death."

  "Holy shit,” Jerrod whispered.

  "A wrecker's daughter if ever there was one, Vesper ransacked the body before rolling it to the sea. As she gave the final shove of the corpse into the sea, men of the kin arrived. Vesper came away with the slaver's pistol, some silver coin and a good pair of boots."

  "And what of the women and the baby?"

  "They took shelter with the kin for about six months. The old woman passed, but the other two and the child made a full recovery. They moved on to free lands north of the beach, where their descendents probably still live."

  "What an incredible tale. Thank you, Vesper."

  "I have many more."

  "My publisher and I thank you."

  "Ah, the thanks will come when you write the frontispiece acknowledgement to the landlady of Vespers by the Sea."

  "And her foremothers for their courage, beauty and wrestling skills. But I'm wondering ... did she really drive her fist down the slaver's throat? That seems a bit extreme and unlikely."

  "She did. Her hand bore the scars of his teeth after that. She used the only weapon she had available to her,” Vesper replied.

  "Her portrait at the top of the stairs does not reflect a tomboyish lady pirate,” Jerrod said.

  "That portrait was painted in absentia. Do not believe for a moment that Vesper the first would sit still for an artist. Do note, however, that he gave her gloves. She wore gloves after besting the slaver to hide the scars on her hand."

  "What a remarkable woman.” Jerrod's stomach growled. “I need food."

  Vesper's empty belly embarrassingly returned Jerrod's call. “So do I. Let's head out. I pulled out a bag of kibble and left it in the kitchen. Do you want to leave Moonie here with a little snack?"

  "Yeah. I'll put her inside. Be right back,” Jerrod replied. “What kind of car do you have under the tarp?"

  "Oh, nothing special. You'll see. Hurry back."

  * * * *

  His pooch crunching away and happy, Jerrod closed the cottage door and dashed around back, just as Vesper pulled the tarp off her car. “Jesus Christ, Vesper! You have a 1940 Ford Woodie Wagon!” He ran his palm over the fine wood-grain side panels. “They don't make them like this anymore. I remember—I remember seeing one of these as a child. You certainly bring home memories for me. Pretty soon I'll know all the words."

  Vesper walked around the corner bearing a pack of crackers and small jar of peanut butter. “All the words?"

  Jerrod laughed. “Never mind. It's a brain injury thing. God, this car. I can't get over it."

  Vesper patted her Woodie. “I love it. Belonged to my Uncle Hez. He left it here when he moved on. Now I use it. Or the Harley. But since we're going grocery shopping, I think the Woodie is a better choice."

  "You have a Harley?” Jerrod asked.

  "Yes, I do.” Vesper nodded toward a small storage shed across the roadway. “In there."

  Vesper reached above the driver's side visor and passed Jerrod the keys. “Would you like to drive my Woodie?"

  "Yes, I would. You've been driving mine for the last twenty-four hours ... I might as well drive yours."

  Jerrod gallantly opened Vesper's door for her. “This is a gorgeous car."

  Vesper slid in the passenger side, scooting across the fine leather seat to sit in the middle. Better to caress the inner thigh of the driver that way. “You know your way to town?” she asked.

  Jerrod closed the passenger door and dashed around to the driver's side. His enthusiasm for the antique vehicle radiated out from him like a kid on Christmas morning.

  "I turn left onto the road and just keep going for about twenty minutes. Then I turn left again at the Texaco station and go another ten minutes up the road until I'm dead-center of Marshes Coomb."

  "A lovely little hamlet by the sea. I'm sure it was the inspiration for Peyton Place, or perhaps, as I have mentioned previously, Stepford."

  "That nice, huh?” Jerrod turned over the ignition. The car purred to life as if it were brand new. “Man, this is one well-maintained vehicle."

  "Thank you. I only drive it to church on Sundays."

  Jerrod turned toward Vesper, and in all seriousness asked, “You go to church?"

  "I'm kidding.” She slipped her left hand across his thigh and gave it a playful squeeze. “You know ... the little old lady who only drove her car to church and bingo ..
. the used-car salesman's pitch?"

  "Yeah. Right. I'm Jewish, incidentally,” Jerrod replied. “Mother wasn't, but Father insisted that I be raised up in the faith. Not that I recall much of my youth in Hebrew school."

  "My family line is strong with the blood of disassociated Catholics,” Vesper said softly. “I think the last time I entered a church was when I was baptized.” In eighteen sixty-four.

  "Beachling ways are all that matter. Mooncusser Cove is our Temple. Our refuge. It was the curse that drove the kin away from their beach and their God."

  Jerrod steadied his grip on the leather-encased wheel of the antique car. “The curse? Yes. The tales of vampirism. Tell me, do the vampires have anything to do with the haunted potato bin?” Jerrod asked.

  Vesper laughed so hard tears came to her eyes. “God, no. The curse came years after the...” she paused. “I don't know if I should continue. It might upset you."

  "Why? Is it a gruesome secret? Was the head of a wrecked captain stored in the bin?"

  Vesper nodded. “It was his hand. And you might be shocked to learn the name of the hand's former arm."

  "His hand. Hmmm, how nice. I'm assuming he was a Paladin, or you wouldn't be teasing me with the information. Are there are bloodstains in the bin?” Jerrod continued.

  "Yes. The stains sweetened the potatoes for years,” Vesper replied. “You'll understand once the memories catch up to you."

  Jerrod removed his right hand from the steering wheel and placed it atop Vesper's. “What are the memories? God knows that word is a sacred cow to me these days."

  "They are a part of the curse. The memories are passed from Mooncusser to Paladin."

  Jerrod shook his head. “I'm cursed? I have the curse? Vesper, I don't believe in curses.” He paused. “Still, my dreams. My nightmares. They're like old home movies. They have an almost déjà vu feeling to them."

  "Maybe you should talk to your doctor,” Vesper offered.

  "What could she do? I'm having a spiritual awakening. My roots were cut off below the frost line, but have finally broken through now that I'm back here."