The Old Cape Teapot (16 page)

“What do you think is going on?”

“I don’t know. It does seem strange. This whole mess started with your visit.”

“I don’t know what to think.” I felt bad and wondered if this could be my fault? But it couldn’t be.

“I hope you put that necklace in a safe place?”

It was still around my neck. “Brian, there’s no way I’m in any danger here on Cape Cod.”

“I guess so.” He was quiet.

“Did John go to the police?” I nervously fiddled with the necklace.

“Yeah. The police questioned him and wanted to know if he had any insurance on them. John was upset because they insinuated that he’d stolen them himself for the insurance money.”

Brian’s words surprised me. “I can’t believe they questioned him like a criminal.”

“Yeah, but that’s what they do here.”

“Oh my goodness,” I said.

Brian continued, “Then they went around quizzing his
neighbors for any information. But they still found nothing.”

“That’s too bad.” My thoughts quickly changed to my son and when I would next see him. “When do you think you’ll be coming home?”

“I don’t think it will be for Christmas, too much legal stuff in turning
over the orphanage to the local government. It’s a slow process.”

“Darn it.” His news was disappointing. “Will you promise me that you’ll be careful?”

“Yeah. Hey, you might be getting a visitor for the holidays.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nick’s getting some time off. He has no major projects that he’s working on and has no family to speak of, so he asked if he could come to Cape Cod for the holidays, at least for Thanksgiving. I said it would probably be okay. Hope you don’t mind?”

This was the last thing I wanted to hear, since it’s our busy season, but I reluctantly agreed. “No, it’ll be all right.”

“I’ll let you know if he’s really going to come.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“Love you too. Tell Dad I love him.”

***

All the way home, I began to go through the things that had to be done in case Nick was going to be in our house for Thanksgiving and maybe longer. Along with that, and what I’d found out today
about the stolen earrings, the pattern on the pottery shard, and a kid named Thomas Davis Chandler, I hoped I could do justice to everything. I never even had a chance to tell Brian what was
happening to me. Best to wait…so I can sort it all out first.

As I pulled into the driveway, rain appeared out of nowhere and
came down in torrents. I threw my cell phone and keys into my purse then reached for the umbrella stored in the side pocket of the door and scrambled out of the car. With my coffee mug and purse in
one hand, the umbrella in the other, I managed to open the back trunk, where the old teapot lay wrapped within a quilted blanket.

As the sky grew darker, I could see lights going on in every room of the house as the kids, already home from school, looked for their treats.
I slowed my pace as I walked up the decking towards the foyer door. I
didn’t want to drop anything, especially my special purchase of the
day.

Danny was the first one to greet me, followed by Molly chewing
on a red licorice stick. Martha was occupied in the kitchen,
unloading the dishwasher.

"Whew, it's really coming down out there." I shook the half
collapsed umbrella outside onto the covered deck. "You guys don't seem to be very wet."

Molly spoke up, "Nope, we got home before it started raining," and then she sat down on the bench in the foyer. Pumping her right leg in a fast rhythm, she watched my every move.

"Where's Daddy?” I asked.

"Working," Danny said as he hugged my legs hello.

"I love you, honey. Did you have a good day at school?"

He nodded his head and then he and Molly ran to the living
room to watch a TV show.

I positioned the wrapped teapot near the end of the bench, and then went to find Paul in his studio. While I passed through the living room, I pointed at Molly and asked, "Have you started your book report yet?"

Molly returned a wide-eyed stare and then ran to grab her
backpack containing her new library book. Nothing more needed to be said; she got my message.

Paul was painting at his easel. I planted a kiss on his cheek and sat in the lounge chair. "Guess what?"

"Uh oh. What's up?" He made one more stroke with his brush and then stopped.

"After visiting a few antique stores, I finally found Agnes in Dennis."

"And what did Agnes in Dennis tell you?"

"A guy sold her some china from his grandfather's estate that matches my little shard.”

"Keep going."

I pulled out the shard from my pocket, touched the blue flowers
that decorated its surface and continued, “Agnes didn’t have any pieces for me to look at but she said that the pattern looked familiar to her. Then she told me to follow her to the back of the shop.” I
looked at Paul
with a big smile across my face and added, “When we got to the back, she reached down into a cardboard box and pulled out an old teapot.”

“And?”

“It was chipped, cracked and the lid was stuck but it matched
my shard. She sold it to me for only $5.00.”

“That’s great, but what does that have to do with anything?” Paul sat down at his drawing table and folded his arms.

 “The teapot came from this kid’s estate that Agnes then sold to a
guy in London. Agnes would only tell me the seller’s name, no
address; client confidentiality. But as I was paying for it, I secretly copied the address from her ledger.”

The phone rang, Paul picked up the receiver. “The Caldwell Gallery, may I help you?”

I grew impatient, waiting for Paul’s attention. I wanted to finish my story and tell him that Brian had called. Twirling my hand in a
circular motion, I signaled for him to hurry up. Paul nodded Okay.

***

Danny, engrossed with TV in the living room, reached for his juice
box on the floor next to the couch and accidentally knocked it over onto the carpet. The red juice began to seep out of the plastic straw as the cup lay on its side. Instinctively, he ran to get something to wipe up his mistake. The first thing he saw was the small quilted blanket that lay
jumbled in a ball on the foyer bench. A fast tug at a corner of the material was all that was needed. It came off the bench with a clunk
against the tiled foyer floor. The sound of something other than the soft swish of material made Danny frightened. He stopped, quickly replaced the
bulky quilt back on the bench and stuffed its ends into the corner.
Then he ran into the kitchen calling, “Martha! Help!”

October 1722

YARMOUTH - CAPE COD

AFTER BAKER LEFT,
Davis dressed and began his investigation into who was in his house and on his property. He climbed the stairs to Hephzibah’s quarters to find them empty. Slamming her door, he
walked with an angry foot down to the deserted kitchen. He then proceeded to look for Tobey in the barn. Having no luck in his
search, he punched his fist into a hay bale inside the horse’s stall. “By God, those two have not seen the last of me.” He hissed, “I need a drink.” As he walked back to the house, he rubbed his reddened knuckles. Once in the kitchen, he filled his tankard, emptied it with one lift of his hand, and filled it up again. Then he took his drink and Baker’s information upstairs to his study.

Davis focused on two options: the up-and-coming business proposition and where to bury the newly found chest of treasure.
Throughout the day he wandered aimlessly about the house until he
finally devised a plan. He decided that he would remove as much booty as he could from Julian’s cache and hide it in a safe place, well out of sight. He was confident that as he travelled to the Baker Mill
site, he
would figure out where that safe place would be. Besides, his
journey would get his mind off the two scalawags who had roughed him up.

One of Felicity’s kerchiefs lay on the floor at his foot. “Humph… insubordination, and from a woman yet.” He mumbled,
“Why did I ever choose her? Such a disrespectful wife.” He shook his head back
and forth in disgust and clenched his teeth. “Partying away in
Boston,
not caring about her husband.” He grabbed the dainty linen square and threw it into the filled chamber pot. “She’s a shameful wife and now she carries my only child in her womb.” He collapsed on his
bed. His eyes closed and he remained there through the rest of the day and into the night.

***

Davis rose early and secured the house. He stuffed Baker’s paper detailing the mill site into his breast pocket, gathered a few garden tools, canvas sacks, plus several jugs of ale and then left for the barn. Finally, he strapped all to his horse and set out for Eastham.

Later that day, as he approached the crest of the dividing line
between Eastham and Harwich, he noticed a man kneeling on the ground with his back to him. Coming nearer, he saw a circular stone foundation radiated around the crouched, solitary figure. The man seemed to be carving on a stone with a chisel and hammer.

“Good day,” Davis greeted the lone carver.

The man kept quiet. He looked up and only tipped his hat to acknowledge Davis.

“Has Mr. Baker been here today?” Davis asked, dismounting his horse.

“No, sir.” The carver continued his repetitive tapping of his hammer.

“Do you know when he’ll be making an appearance?”

“No, sir.”

“I see.” Davis surveyed the land surrounding the mill site. The
location was certainly suited for a mill, with ample wind coming from all directions. It would be a good investment. He took his ale and sat on a boulder off to the side to rest. Davis couldn’t stop
thinking about the
treasure that lay buried only a few miles to the east. He stood and approached the stonemason. “Seems like you’re near finished,” Davis commented as he admired the man’s labors. There were eight
stones set
in a circle, each one marked with the directional letters of the
Compass Rose. The mason was chiseling the final seraph on the letter N. Davis ultimately inquired. “When will the carpenter come to frame the floor joists?”

The man kept his head down, concentrating on his work. “He took sick and near died, so they called in another man.”

Davis stepped closer. “Do you think the new carpenter will be coming soon?”

The carver kept his eyes downward. “Not for a week. Too busy.”

An idea sparked in Davis’s head. Now that he was part owner in this enterprise, he probably could utilize the site for his own needs.

After the stoic stonemason packed up his tools in a sack, he went on his way without a goodbye. Davis mounted his horse and left in the opposite direction, following the ridge down to the path that led to Enoch’s Rock.

The sun began to set as Davis neared the mammoth boulder that rose above the horizon. Looking around, he saw no evidence that anyone had disturbed the site since he and Tobey had last visited. Untying the spade from the back of his saddle, he began to dig under the stones and into the dirt that hid the chest. He laughed to himself. No matter how many times he set his eyes on gold coins and jewels, his mouth would salivate in lust for its possession. Spit now dribbled from his lips and into the open wooden box. Davis scooped as much
of the treasure that would fit into three sacks, leaving a small layer on the bottom for John Julian. Greed clouded his rationale, making him think Julian would not remember the bulk of the chest’s contents. He buried the near empty chest once more, placing a layer
of stones over the freshly dug dirt.

***

That night, Davis slept under the stars nestled against Enoch’s Rock,
with three lumpy bags snuggled close to his body, his arms wrapped tightly around them. He woke in the early morning, stiff and cramped, but with a smile on his face. Pleased with his new fortune, he paid no mind to his aches as he threw the filled sacks over the
saddle, tying them secure. Davis decided to walk, noticing his horse was already weighed down with the treasure. As clouds gathered above his head, he picked up his stride, eager to retrace his steps back to the mill site.

Davis made his way around the cove and up the ridge, finally
arriving at the excavation. He stepped into the circle foundation and scanned the area within. The west facing stone was carved with a W, traditionally marking the door opening to the mill. It enabled the miller to watch the weather outside and the millstones grinding
inside, all the
while taking note of where to turn the arms for the most
advantageous use of the wind.

When his work was finished and the three bags buried, he scattered stones over the loose dirt, noting the three steps that lay between the door’s opening and the gold. Too tired to continue that
day, he lay
against a rock until the morning. Spent from the open road and longing for the comforts of his home, he tried to sleep but stayed restless. Before the sun made its rise, he pushed his weary body up
off the ground and headed towards Yarmouth.

As the hours passed across the dusty roads, he grew even more fatigued until he at last reached his house, where, once upstairs, he
fell into a deep sleep. Davis lay there through the rest of the day and into the night. When he finally opened his eyes it was almost morning. Still dressed in traveling clothes, his aging body cried out to stay sleeping. Exhausted atop the bed’s coverlet, he slowly sat up. Feeling
the urgency to relieve himself and in need of some more ale, he
grumbled and winced from back pains as he made his way down the stairs and
into the kitchen. The house was cold. As he opened the back door, a
rush of frigid air pummeled his body, forcing him to stand in the doorway and not step to the outside left, as usual, for his morning constitution. The steam from his piss billowed into the
atmosphere; it fell upon the hard frozen ground and lay atop the surface in a shiny puddle.