The Old Cape Teapot (21 page)

Standing in the foyer, I pretended to browse some books that were for sale while I watched the car. I noticed trails of smoke coming from the half-open window. The driver sat very still. He
tossed a cigarette
butt out, reached into his black leather coat for another smoke, and then leaned back to continue his stare at the library doors. He almost looked as if he was watching me. Okay, stop it, I thought. I’m getting paranoid. Paul thinks I’m nuts because watching people is so
fascinating to me. I’m always wondering what they’re doing, or where they’re going. I quickly realized that my curious nature was getting the best of me and reminded myself of why I was at the library in the first place.
Perhaps the guy was merely noticing our gallery’s signage on the
van’s back window. Nothing to worry about, I decided.

One thing I was certain of, as I entered the main room of the
library, was finding the big-framed map on the second floor. I wasn’t sure if it depicted the Lower Cape but, when I saw it hanging in a dimly lit hallway, my phone’s flashlight revealed that it was indeed of the
Lower Cape. A grand piece of art, it was intricately drawn with names, dates, and places. I located Doane Rock, or something that looked like it. Curiously, it was labeled Enoch’s Rock, but I knew it
was right because the word Doane was written next to it as landowner.

My interest quickly turned to frustration as the flashlight illuminated the date of the map, 1856, later than what I wanted to see. I went back down the stairs in search of the reference desk and hopefully some answers.

“Excuse me. Do you have any old Cape Cod maps of the 1700s?” I asked the librarian.

Peering over her half glasses she said, “Let me see.” And with that she swiveled her chair around to open a low file cabinet behind her and pulled out an old brown envelope. “We only have a few hand drawn maps from that time period.”

I stepped closer as the woman rifled through the papers within the faded folder. One map was dated 1650, too early for what I was looking for, and the others were of the wrong locations.

I spoke up, wanting to show her that I also knew some facts. “I know Orleans was not incorporated until 1797, even though they
wanted to be separate from Eastham in 1717. On many maps, the name of Orleans is not listed.”

She smiled then turned away from me. “That’s correct.”

She must have felt I didn’t need her help after my spouting information so I politely said, “Thank you very much for your time.
Where are your historical books about Cape Cod?”

The librarian pointed to four stacks of books. “Some are
reference and others can be circulated.” She busied herself in another drawer at her desk.

“Thanks again.”

Pulling down an old, worn black book I noted that the date of
publication was 1919, not the right date but good for comparing. I
turned to find a table to scan the book for any images of maps and walked right into a tall young man.

 “Excuse me,” I said and returned to the open book in hand.
Then I stopped for a second to get a better look at who I had bumped into. I immediately recognized him to be Tommy D from the gaming store. I went back to my research but couldn’t concentrate. When I’d met him earlier in the month, he didn’t impress me as a frequent patron
of libraries. Throwing caution to the wind, I walked over to him.
“Pardon me, but aren’t you Tommy D Chandler?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know if you remember me, but I stopped into your store a while back and asked you about the estate china that you had recently sold.”

“Oh yeah. I remember.”

“Have you found any other pieces?”

“No.”

“Oh, I was wondering. Are you finding anything interesting here today?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, it was nice seeing you.”

Feeling my search was over for today, I decided to go home. I
left Tommy D browsing the old books. The maroon Toyota was still parked in the parking lot with its driver still smoking. I unlocked my car and drove to the grocery store. Two unusual guys in one day, I
thought.

***

Paul was getting the mail when I pulled into the driveway. He didn’t look happy as he juggled a batch of letters and some trash from the
road. I parked the van and opened the rear door to unload the
groceries. He came over and grabbed a few bags to carry in.

“Hi, honey. Everything all right?” I asked.

“Yeah, I guess. I can’t stand it when people throw things out of their car.”

“Yeah, it’s too bad.”

Paul put the grocery bags on the counter, tossed the mail on the
kitchen table and threw away the litter. “You know, it’s getting worse across the street. That house is such a mess and now there seems to be a lot of crappy cars going in and out.”

I hung up my coat. “I’ve been noticing, too. I think it started
around the end of summer. They must be renting it out.”

“I don’t know how they got past zoning. Wonder how many renters there are?” Paul asked as he went to retrieve the rest of the bags.

I gave him a kiss. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. At least the winter snow, when it comes, will cover the trash so you won’t see so much of it.”

 “How did the library hunt go? Did you find anything
interesting?” Paul asked as we unpacked the food.

“No, not really. But I did run into Tommy D in the historical book section. Remember, the kid I told you about who sold his estate dishes? The ones that matched my shard?”

“You’re kidding. What’s he doing in the library? I wouldn’t expect
someone like him to be a history reader, maybe renting DVD’s or
something.”

“I thought the same thing. It was kind of strange. But, of course, he is a bit of a strange character.”

“Watch yourself, Nancy. Don’t get too involved. I know how you’re always looking for something mysterious in everything.”

I raised my eyebrows and returned a little smile.

***

An hour later, on the way to his store, Tommy D had a hard time concentrating on the road. He turned down the hard rock music blaring from the radio and whispered to himself, “I don’t understand why Harwich is next to Eastham. That stupid library
was no help.” At a
traffic light, he rustled through the old papers that he’d found in his dad’s attic. When the light turned green, he was able to pull into the parking lot of his store. There was a paper sign on the door that read, “CLOSED.”

 “Jesus Christ!” he yelled. “I ask that creep to do one thing and he blows it.”

Tommy grabbed the two old books next to him on the seat and
slammed the car door. As he ripped the paper sign down and
entered the gaming room, a car pulled in next to his car. Within seconds,
Silas walked in behind him. Tommy turned on his buddy and
growled, “What’s goin’ on, man?”

“Nothin’. I had to leave for awhile.”

“Well, next time…don’t! Or you’re outta here.”

Tommy settled in his back office with the old ledger and Bible.

By 3 PM, the game noises were blaring as kids poured in after school, pumped for the weekend. Silas stayed out front. Tommy hunkered in the back searching through the old books. Closing the journal with a bang, he held his head in his hand, looking disgusted.
He wasn’t getting anywhere with the books or on the computer. He wrote down the address of Nancy Caldwell and shoved it into his pocket.

Present Day

CAPE COD

THE NEXT EVENING,
as I sat reading the daily paper, an article caught my eye on the third page towards the bottom titled,
Boundaries of Cape Cod
. I smiled when I read the last sentence: “
If you’re interested in volunteering to search for the boundary lines of Olde
Cape Cod, there will be a walk and explore on Sat. Nov. 11 (weather permitting).”

“Hey, did you see this?” I asked Paul, who was sitting next to
me on the couch, watching a woodworking show on TV.

“No, I didn’t notice it.”

“It’s about a group of locals who are searching for the original boundaries marking the towns of the Cape. They’re meeting this Saturday. I think I might go.”

“I heard we’re getting a snow storm this weekend.”

“Maybe. But I’d still like to go.” I laughed; Paul would never
want to go with a group anywhere, anytime. He’s just not like that. But I would. This sounded interesting.

***

My old blue snow jacket was zippered up as high as it would go. I patted my pockets for gloves, hat, tissues, phone, and camera. All set, I thought, as I walked through the gallery to Paul’s studio. “Paul,
I’ll be back in a few hours.”

As the car started, I felt ready for the challenge ahead of me. The thought of finding something that had been hidden for centuries
always excited me. One thing this spit of land could boast was that there were houses and vistas that had not changed over the years. In fact, Paul and I chose to move our family from the Midwest to historic Cape Cod to experience history at its best. But Paul’s free time was getting
scarcer. Even if he didn’t want to go, I bet he would have gone if I’d asked him. I waited patiently to turn out onto Route 6A, my head
swiveling
back and forth, looking for an opportunity to pull out among the
cars racing by me.

Driving through the center of Orleans, I spotted a small inlet off to one side of Route 28. I made a note to explore it later. I knew that after a good nor’easter, remnants of shipwrecks and relics would suddenly appear on the beach and then be covered over with sand or water when the wind changed direction, not to be seen again till the next storm. An avid beachcomber like me never loses the desire to find treasures hidden under the ocean shorelines. I went over the directions to where the boundary walk was going to commence. According to the article, volunteers were to gather a few miles out of town, along Pleasant Bay. I should watch for a white van parked on the right side of the road.

I pulled in behind the van on a large patch of dirt that looked like people used it as a turnaround.

“Nancy Caldwell,” I said, introducing myself to a group of ten people, mostly older than me, who were all standing in a semi-circle. Everyone smiled and said their names out loud to each other. I noticed there were a few rookies and some repeat explorers who were already acquainted.

“Ready? Let’s go,” said a hearty looking gentleman named Peter.

As we followed him in single file through a small opening in the woods, the brush and scrub swallowed us up. I looked back, trying to remember anything different that would point to the hidden
entrance and took note of a twisted tree growing around a smaller one. Not to worry, I told myself, as long as I stayed close to the others. After all, I was smart and had to be the youngest among
them.

“Isn’t this exciting?” asked a tall man, wearing a stocking hat
pulled close around his graying hair.

“Yes, I love hiking,” I responded.

“How did you find out about this walk?” he asked over his shoulder.

 “Read the article in the paper,” I shouted to his back.

He waved his hand to the side acknowledging my answer,
keeping pace with the others. I pulled my hat lower over my ears. The sun was out but the wind was now blowing hard. The temperature felt like it had dropped several degrees as we walked
deeper into the woods. I tied my hood around the hat.

 I couldn’t believe how out of shape I was as we tramped over
rocks and hidden bumps underneath the fallen oak leaves. After only ten minutes, I had to take some deep belly breaths to slow my heart rate, but I was determined to keep up with everyone. I followed behind the line of people snaking along a path that had
been carved out over the
years by the hiking of other nature trekkers. After another five minutes or so, we passed an old foundation set into an embankment, then ventured off the regular path uphill and pushed through a dense covering of prickers and fallen branches. When we finally
stopped, I
was ecstatic. As I stood still, my breaths started to come a little
slower. I promised myself to exercise more.

Peter gave us a command, “Fan out in this area. See if you can see anything out of the ordinary. Keep within earshot though. If you find anything, give a holler.” Then he cautioned us. “Don’t forget that even in deep winter, mice, deer, and several other small animals that roam the woods carry the tick. And…please do not get lost.”

People went off in all directions, studying the ground and
looking
for stone aberrations on the forest floor. I managed to keep a moving body in sight at all times so that I wouldn’t get lost. At the same time, my eyes kept searching for anything that stuck out above the
ground that looked interesting.

Snowflakes began to softly drift across the woods in the wind.
The group, undaunted, continued to explore.

Peter yelled out, “Wah-hoo! Found something.”

Five of us headed towards him. The others went a little further before turning around. We found our leader bent over a patch of
forest floor, scraping off dirt and moss from three rocks that were laid in a small half-circle.

“What is it?” asked the tall man named John.

“I have a hunch.” Peter straightened up, stood right behind the middle rock and stared out over the rough terrain.

We all looked in the same direction that Peter was eyeing. I laughed and asked him, “Are we supposed to be looking at something important?”

He smiled but didn’t answer me. Then he called out to
whomever
was standing nearest to him. “A couple of you walk in a circle
extending away from these rocks and see if you find more stones that might form a larger pattern.”