Paradise Cursed – Snippet 6
Stepping aboard the schooner, Dayna took a moment to appreciate that a lifelong dream was about to begin. Okay, no fireworks, no band playing “A Place in This World,” in fact, there was another weirdo band playing something tropical, but she knew that would stop as soon as they sailed. She hoped it would.
She bounced her sneakers lightly on the deck, trying to keep the blazing good feelings from popping right out of her Texas mouth in a “yee-haw.” Then she took note of the true wind. Southeaster, about twelve knots, it whooshed through the rigging, a sweet sound she’d read about and now prided herself on detecting despite the island music blasting the air. A good seaman knew how to read and understand the wind even without an anemometer, and to foretell what the wind would bring. Studying and practicing at home had given her the basics, but this was the real deal. She couldn’t keep her lips from stretching into a silly grin.
A sailor greeted them with fizzy drinks. Not much older than Dayna’s almost-seventeen years, with curly dark hair and deliciously tanned skin, he carried their bags to the cabin. Erin’s two suitcases were filled with all the clothes intended for her aborted honeymoon, even though the brochure indicated that shorts, bare feet and swim suits were allowed everywhere. Dayna’s single backpack held everything she planned to wear. In such perfect weather, who needed clothes?
More important, what were the chances she could swing a job here next summer?
Their cabin, advertised as a Commodore Deluxe with its own porthole, was situated on the main deck and big enough for two if nobody sneezed real hard. It held bunk beds, a chair and a small bureau. The “deluxe” part was a private bathroom scarcely big enough to avoid scraping your knees against the sink on the opposite wall as you sat on the toilet.
Higher up that same wall, the shower head protruded.
Erin’s smile looked permanently molded to her teeth as she thanked the steward. Had it lodged there the instant Ola spoke of pirate ghosts? Her sister’s favorite books featured vampire lovers and zombies, but she got a bad case of the willies when anything spooky happened for real. On the upside, though, she’d snapped pictures during their entire launch ride to the Sarah Jane, which Dayna took as a sign that sis was out of her “poor me” funk and into new blog material.
“Are you all right?” The sailor’s worried frown as he studied Erin suggested he was eager for a “yes” answer.
“I just need to sit down,” Erin said. She perched on the wooden chair, placed her drink on the bureau and continued staring at nothing, yet still smiling as if her muscles had frozen in place for eternity.
Dayna fumbled in her fanny pack for a tip.
“Don’t bother about that. It’s all taken care of at the end.” The sailor tucked Erin’s bags snugly against the foot of the bunks, still looking concerned as he said, “Ma’am, do you feel well enough to come out and join the party? Or would you like me to bring you a plate of food?”
“I’ll sit a minute, then we’ll go out.”
As he swerved his gaze to meet Dayna’s, his face lit up like a puppy’s. “Save a dance for me?”
Dayna smiled and nodded.
“Yes. Of course,” Erin said woodenly, obviously unaware that he was no longer addressing her. “Thank you.”
At moments like this, Dayna couldn’t help feeling as if their sisterly roles were reversed, with Dayna the older and more experienced. Erin’s fear shone in her eyes above the icy stiffness that held her shoulders square and her smile rigid.
“I’m Victor,” the steward said, beaming at Dayna. “If you need anything—”
“We’ll ask for you. You’re great,” Dayna said, scarcely able to shift her gaze from her distraught sister long enough to dismiss Victor with a quick nod.
The moment he left, Erin grabbed her drink and chugged half of it.
“Sis,” Dayna said, “what’s going on with you?”
CHAPTER 5
The wind had come up cool and fresh by the time I claimed the barstool next to Ayanna, and the sun shone with a particular brightness, as if to burn away any shadows where the ship’s ghosts might be lurking. Perhaps her “protection amulet” was at work.
If so, this woman was worth more to me than she could know. At rest in this busy port, the Sarah Jane could hold her own against the unspeakable horrors that wander the sea, but later, at least one passenger, possibly more, would begin to show the dread and nervousness I’d learned to expect. Why my ship attracted souls that were hexed, bewitched or burdened by some other danger, I couldn’t fathom, but there it was.
“Thank you for waiting,” I told her. Then I thanked Burke for keeping her company and asked the young bartender to bring me, “whatever Ayanna is drinking.”
“Ah… sure, Captain. One coffee coming up.” He turned away to manipulate levers on our new coffee contraption and to place a mug beneath the spout.
“Jase is a good sailor,” Ayanna said. “I hope you convinced him to stay.”
Tasting rum in my Jamaican brew, I glanced at the woman’s cup and thought it a bit early for a crew candidate to be drinking hard spirits. But islanders, like sailors, tended to stretch the clock when it suited, and maybe her confidence had needed a boost.
“How do you know Mr. Graham?” I asked.
“Only by reputation, yeah. He has crewed with my brother. We were never formally introduced, but I have seen Jase Graham around.”
Despite the cool breeze, a sheen of perspiration shone at her temple. Was I hiring a boozer? Wouldn’t be the first time, but I’d rather not incur the handicap.
“I could do with a turn around the ship,” I said. “Would you care to join me? We can talk while we walk.”
Smiling at a lively pair of passengers dance-stepping to the music, she slid off the stool. The Rastafarian beat softened and faded, replaced by the sweetly lilting sounds of steel drums. The two bands would trade turns in a dueling playoff, revving the passengers’ enthusiasm while the crew passed around free grog. The Stowaway Party that preceded every cruise offered an opportunity for early arriving passengers to let down their hair a bit and become acquainted.
As we strolled, Ayanna championed her seamanship while I sipped my rum-coffee and tried to ignore the animal sensuality she exuded. Forbidden fruit, I reminded myself.
Protection amulet or not, I needed an able first mate far more than a romantic trifling. So many tempting dalliances presented themselves on these pleasure cruises, I often wondered if time was making an adjustment for my years of pirating, when weeks might pass without a woman in sight. Though my libido remains as youthful as my appearance, I trusted I could savor the visual appeal of Ayanna’s presence on the ship without sampling.
Then she turned to look at me. Sunlight sculpted her features into burnished gold. My resolve faltered and a vision invaded my thoughts— her dusky skin against the crisp white sheets of my bed.
Staunchly, I shifted my gaze out to sea and my thoughts to my rum-laced coffee. Despite its freshness, it reminded me of a taste from the past: the grog I learned to drink as a lad.Rancid water laced with rum to kill its nasty tang along with any lethal bacteria, the grog would send my landlubbers today running to the rail for a good barf.
Rarely did I ponder those bleak years under Stryker’s command. Nor did I often try to make sense of the transformation that began with the searing pain from Stryker’s sword and ended with my waking alone in the silence of the Sarah Jane, the burned out hulk of the Spanish brigantine drifting nearby.
At first I’d thought myself a ghost. There was no sign of the gaping wound I knew Stryker had opened in my belly, nor any evidence of how I had escaped the fire that ravaged the larger ship and left the Sarah Jane untouched. I was hungry, thirsty—surely a ghost wouldn’t experience such bodily needs. Later, after plundering the gold and silver nuggets from the Spaniard’s hold, I anchored off the first port I spied. A tavern-door beggar looked me straight on and lifted his cup. Allowing I must be flesh and blood, sure enough, I tossed a nugget in the cup and laughed when the beggar’s eyes grew large with astonishment.
No doubt, I had experienced a miracle, so I refused to question my good fortune. Months passed before I realized the fortune was also a curse.
Forcing my thoughts now to focus on Ayanna’s verbal resume, I soon acknowledged her litany of qualifications had put at ease any doubts about signing her on. She knew it all, every sheet and pulley of a four-master as well as every shallow and inlet around the islands.
Nevertheless, something about Ayanna was as off as turned milk.
When we paused at the rail to watch arriving passengers climb the gangway, I said, “What I can’t get a handle on is why you’re here and not still on the Poly. Or the Eclipse.”
She looked away, glancing to the right, and I knew she was about to lie. Several lifetimes of reading people had taught me to be wary. Then she surprised me.
“I need you and your ship as much as you need me,” she said, bringing her gaze back around level and straight. “I have spoken with people who sailed on your cruises, yeah. They say an angel rides the Sarah Jane, an angel who—”
“Ridiculous!”
“Some say a devil, yeah.” She shrugged, and the richly tricolored fabric rippled over her body before remolding itself to her curves. “Either way, you are short an able seamen, and I will be making a better sailor than any you find out there.”
I followed her gaze to the launch headed toward us, this time bringing three scrawny boys. They looked young and green, exactly like a dozen other lads I’d turned away.
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