The Old Cape Teapot (10 page)

Adjusting the cameo brooch that was pinned to her stiff neckline
collar, Mother Gibbs looked over to her visibly upset daughter.
Shaking
her finger at her, she scolded, “I told you that this was a
mistake… coming to this godforsaken place.”

“I do regret agreeing to live in Yarmouth,” Felicity sighed.
“Boston was so much more civilized.”

Their conversation stopped as Hephzibah returned with a rose patterned teapot.

“Will there be anything else, ma’am?”

Felicity glanced at the tray to make sure everything was acceptable and then dismissed the girl with a quick wave of her fingers. The unhappy wife of Thomas Davis leaned over the small
table and rested her chin atop the palm of her hand. She grumbled, “Oh Mother, why did I not listen to you?”

Mother Gibbs poured the hot liquid into the delicate teacups, one for herself and one for her pouting daughter. She voiced another concern, “And now that you are with child, what are you going to
do?”

A sweet cake seemed to calm Felicity. “I think I do love Thomas. I know he tries his best to provide, but I despise where he chooses to make his home…this no-man’s land.”

Mother Gibbs kept her eyes lowered and coyly asked, “Has he ever confided to you about where his fortune came from?”

Felicity reached for another cake with a confident air in her
voice. “No, and I really don’t care. I have the papers that say I will receive everything upon his death.”

“Yes, of course you will.” With another sip of tea, Bethia Gibbs added, “It was fortunate that your father was able to see you
married before he passed and…” she glanced up, “…to have your husband’s assets legally bound over to you.”

Davis’s pregnant wife gazed out to the storm ravaged landscape. “Thomas should soon be home from the West Indies.”

Her mother reached for her piece of sweet bread and spoke the last word of the afternoon. “I wonder what Thomas will say after he discovers that he will soon be a father?”

***

Thomas Davis exited the ship in Barnstable Harbor with Tobey following him down the rain-sodden plank. Davis felt a few days of delay from the nor’easter that pummeled the whole New England
coast would be an
opportunity for him to find a suitable gift for his new wife. He
turned and stopped, then ordered Tobey. “Hear me out, boy.”

With rain dripping from the brim of his hat, the obedient slave stood his ground on the dock and listened.

Davis handed Tobey several coins. “Take this and find your own way ‘til the ship sails again.” He preferred to be separate from his ‘appointed guard’ and couldn’t care less if he ever saw him again.

“Yes, sir.”

Davis left Tobey in the rain and walked to the nearest inn looking for his own shelter. Tobey, alone and frightened, stayed
where he was. It was his first time away from Antigua. He knew not where to go or what to do in this strange port, but he wanted his freedom, so he would make do.

The following morning, with rain still lingering, Davis went in search for a token of affection for Felicity. A woman walking
towards
him caught his eye as being familiar. When she approached and
came closer, he definitely recognized her but could not place her.

No nod or greeting was passed between them and as he rounded
a corner, he turned to look at her again as she crossed the street. She was so beautiful. Her brown hair hung in ringlets from under her
cap,
framing her delicate features. Very pleasing indeed, but who was she?
He began to follow her at a safe distance. She led him to a side
street where she entered a small printing shop.

Curious, he also entered the shop. The little black bell jingled as the door closed behind him. After Davis shook the rain from his coat, he found himself alone. Large iron printing presses occupied all the space behind a wooden counter close to the front of the room. To one side, a small hearth gave heat to the cramped quarters.

After several minutes, the woman that he’d followed came from behind a door. “May I be of assistance?”

“Yes. I’m looking for stationary, a gift for my wife. I need it
before I sail home in two days.”

“Let me check my husband’s schedule book.”

He waited for an answer, all the while studying her face. With
lustful eyes, he continued to stare at her rounded bosom. “Forgive me, but you are so familiar to me.” He raised his stare on her.

She looked up from her ledger at his face. “I’m sorry, I don’t
recognize you. If you’ll excuse me?” Then she disappeared behind the door.

Davis scanned the counter and could not help but notice a blue
flowered teacup. It resembled a similar pattern that was on the porcelain tea set that he’d given to his wife upon their marriage. He
remembered
the circumstances surrounding how he came in possession of the delicate china and began to make sense of whom this woman might
be.

Maria Ellis held her forehead and sat down on the small bench next to her husband’s worktable.

“Is everything all right, Maria?” her husband asked.

She was silent.

He came closer. “Are you feeling ill?”

“Matthew, I feel faint. Would you please help our customer?
He’s in need of stationary.”

“Certainly, my dear.” He kissed her on the top of her cap and
did as he was asked.

Maria recognized the pirate Thomas Davis; his face was etched
into her memory. Maria Hallett, as she was known then, had been the lover of Davis’s pirate captain, Sam Bellamy. Her hands shook as she
recalled how Sam had perished in the North Harwich fire, along with
her dear friend, Abigail. The two other pirate survivors from the shipwreck, Davis and Julian, had disappeared from her world. She
always prayed that they were dead.

Marriage to Matthew Ellis had made it easier for Maria to keep her past a secret. Building a life with her beloved husband was
progressing
well and now two children blessed their life together. If anyone knew of the things that she had done, they might take everything away from
her, even her children. Young Matthew, only three years old, and two-
year-old Abigail, were the beacons that lit her path to happiness. Determined
to protect herself and her family, she would need to destroy any evidence that could lead to her true identity. Maria wrung her hands
over and over in her lap trying to figure what to do.

“Are you better?” Matthew asked as he returned through the door to the rear of the shop.

“Better.”

“That’s good to hear. The gentleman inquired about you and thought he knew you.”

“He did? What did you tell him?” Her voice quivered.

“Not much, my dear.” He took her in his arms and held her until she stopped shaking. “The secrets of your past stop with me, my love.”

The next morning, while the children played under the watchful
eye of Anna, their nanny, Maria busied herself in the back parlor. Their living quarters were behind the shop and consisted of five
rooms total:
three below and two on top. She closed the door to separate herself
from the kitchen and hurried to begin her plan. As young Matthew played with his wooden wagon in the kitchen, a loud crash came
from behind the closed door and broke the tranquil setting. Little Abigail began to cry. Anna picked her up for comfort and then went to find the source of the noise. She discovered Maria standing over the broken pieces of her blue flowered china. A tray lay upside down over the shards.

Maria feigned surprise. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Oh my,” said Anna. “Let me help you.”

“No, you tend to the children. It was my mistake. I’ll clean it up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Alone with the last of Sam’s gift of china, Maria knelt down onto
the wood planked floor and with great care she picked up the once
cherished white and blue pieces. She reached for a large piece of
material from her weaving chest. After she placed all the shards on top of the cloth, she folded the fabric over the pieces and tied its four ends together. Within
seconds, she remembered the teacup from the front shop. She must
retrieve it. In a few days, Davis would return for his order and must not see the china. Hurrying through the house to the shop, she grabbed the cup and, in an instant, thought of Sam and smiled. He
had loved her in
his own way, and she had loved him…at one time. Tracing the thin edge of the porcelain with her fingertip, she wondered if surely one tiny cup and saucer would not matter, if kept out of sight. Maria decided to keep the last two pieces. She looked around her bedroom
for fear there was anything else that might incriminate her. The ring that Sam had given her on the night of their betrothal was safely stored in a tin box beneath her clothes. She and Matthew may need some extra money in the future.

Before the approach of dusk, Maria told Anna that she would be
gone for a short time on an errand. Matthew was busy on Davis’s
order so dinner would be later than usual. She lifted the heavy cloth filled
with the broken china into the children’s wagon and pulled it to the harbor. As she walked the back streets, she comforted herself with
the
thought that what she was doing was necessary for her future. The remains of the china were the last of anything that pointed to her past. The gold coins were all gone. She fondly recalled the old
leather chest
that had safeguarded her riches for so many years throughout her exile on the outskirts of Eastham, where she had been banished for her supposed sins against the church. It too, was gone. The chest had
been
destroyed by accident when, filled with her treasure, it fell off their wagon the day Matthew and Maria arrived in Barnstable as husband
and wife. As a wedding gift, Matthew had built Maria a new chest to hold her treasures.

By the time she approached the landing of the dock most people were home for their last meal of the day, affording her privacy to
complete her plan. The wheels of the wagon rumbled against the black-tarred boards of the pier. When she could go no further, she untied the woven cloth and, with all her might, lifted it up and threw the shards from the material out into the bay as far as she could. The
pieces sunk fast into the dark, blue green vastness.

Maria stood for a short while until the water settled smooth again, then she picked up the handle of the wagon and retraced her steps home. She hoped that young Matthew and Abigail were
enjoying their evening meal; she could hardly wait to hug them, confident now of her family’s safety.

Present Day

BREWSTER - CAPE COD

DANNY CAME HOME
from pre-school around noon. He slammed the screen door, ran over to me and planted a big wet kiss on my lips. What a treat, I thought. He was my miracle baby. I’d had him
when I was 40 years old, and he was the last of my five children.

“How was your day?”

“Great, Mommy.”

He dropped his backpack on the foyer floor and took off for the kitchen. “I’m hungry.”

When he ate the last bite of his PB&J sandwich, Sesame Street
was just about over. I asked, “Want to take a walk on the beach?”

“Sure.”

“Grab your pail and let’s go.”

***

The cool, shallow water lapped against my feet as we walked the
expansive tidal flats on the bayside of Cape Cod. Danny was
carrying
his yellow pail and shovel, little toes patting the soft rippled sand just ahead of me. It was late September and one of the final days of summer.

The air was warm on my face but I could feel an underlying flow of cooler air, a clear signal of autumn’s approach. To my left, a stone
circle
that I’d built a week ago had fallen apart from the tidal flow. I
promptly
found several rocks to fill in the empty spaces so the circle would be
whole again. As I placed the last stone, I spotted a piece of pottery sticking up above the wet sand, among some broken pieces of quahog shells. I quickly picked it up and rinsed the creamy white piece in a tidal pool. It was curved on one edge and looked like part of a large
dinner
plate. A pattern of delicate blue flowers trailed across the surface of the old porcelain. Happy with my treasure for the day, I stuffed the
chalky relic into my pocket.

Grey clouds had begun to crowd the western sky. I watched with
awe as the dark mass gained strength above our heads. “We better get
going.” Grabbing Danny’s hand, I ran to the safety of our car. As I buckled
him into his car seat, I joked in my best pirate voice, “Sure looks like something’s brewing up there.” He giggled so I gave him a little tickle. “Now let’s go see what your Daddy’s doing.” I touched my delicate 18
th
-century locket for good luck and hoped the weather would improve.

We arrived home just before the rains came pelting down. I
emptied
my pockets and put the newly found shard on my dresser before
taking a shower.

After dressing, I put away all the travel lotions and creams. When the last of the little bottles was stored in the top drawer, for future
travels, the pottery shard from the beach caught my eye. Sadly, the blue flowers had already faded across its now-gritty surface. The
lack of seawater always triggered this natural process of drying after being
left out of the salty water. Its simple beauty and where it came from began to speak to me. I wondered if I could locate the name of the pattern on this piece. Maybe an antique shop that specializes in
ceramics and pottery could identify it for me.