The Old Cape Teapot (4 page)

Brian reached for his sandwich and casually asked, “Hey, John, is your last name Julian, like on the sign?”

“Oh yes, I was named after my long ago grandfather.” He stood tall and proudly added, “I am the seventh generation descended
from the first John Julian.”

I swallowed hard. With a timid voice, I ordered, “I’ll take the turkey on wheat…with a bottle of water.” Stepping back from the
counter I took hold of Brian’s arm. “Haven’t you ever noticed his name?”

“What do you mean?”

“John Julian…?” No response from Brian. I repeated with more emphasis. “John Julian! One of the pirates who survived the
Whydah
?”

With his mouth full, he looked up at the sign, then to his friend John and back to me. “Holy crap!” He tilted his safari hat back on his
head, let out a soft whistle and added, “I can’t believe it!”

***

1722

ANTIGUA

Flour puffed into the air and circled Elizabeth’s tightly woven hair.
She always felt fortunate to have John Julian as her husband and
never
questioned him about his doings. He had told her of his past, and she paid no mind to what he’d been; she only cared about who he was now. As she prepared bread for the day, the bright morning sun
reflected its
light onto the tiny diamond orbs that dangled beneath Elizabeth’s
earlobes. They created flickers of rainbow colors that encircled her head and danced about the sparse room. She loved the small circles
of ivory, painted with blue and green, from which the faceted
diamonds swung. John had presented these earrings to her on their first night together as man and wife.

He had cautioned her to hide any sign of wealth from their neighbors for fear of retaliation or robbery and to be careful of who
was near her when she wore them. So Elizabeth wore this gift from John in secret, only when she was alone during the day.

While the bread rose on the hearth, Elizabeth tended to her mending and spotted a few drips of black ink beneath the table.
Perturbed, she tried rubbing them with salt and then vinegar to no avail. Wishing that John would be neater when he made his drawings, she passed over this small indiscretion as not worth her mention and went back to her sewing.

By sunset, John made his appearance at home. After their evening meal, he took a bottle of ink down from a high shelf along with the vellum papers that rested next to it. The prior week, he’d taken these items from the counting house for his personal use. He felt no guilt because he knew he was a good overseer and justly deserved occasional gifts.

Elizabeth sat reading the family Bible by the light of the hearth; she glanced over to John with each turned page. He seemed so intent in his drawing that she hesitated to interrupt him with concern over
her coming late this month. Settling her mind with the thought of waiting a little longer, to be sure if she was with child, she continued
her prayers.
John, using his navigational skills, honed from his time at sea with Sam Bellamy, tried to recreate from memory a map of Cape Cod,
carefully noting where his treasure was buried.

Present Day

ANTIGUA

WHILE I ATE LUNCH,
I couldn’t take my eyes off the living relative of the 1717 pirate, John Julian. My stomach churned with
curiosity. I’ve always had an uncanny ability to solve mysteries and this was like a gift of a dozen roses. My leg bounced up and down under the picnic table with anticipation of finding answers. Suddenly the big wooden
cover to the front of Julian’s shack slammed shut. My whole body
came
to a screeching halt. Why was he was closing? I stared at Brian.
“What’s going on? It’s only 11:30 in the morning.”

“He always closes at this time.”

“But I want to talk to him.”

“I understand, but John has to pick up two of his kids from
school. He’ll open again at noon.”

I folded the waxy paper around my sandwich. “So…how many children does he have?”

“Six in all: four of his own, two that are adopted, one of whom is handicapped and the other has Down Syndrome.” Brian crumpled
his
sandwich wrapper into a ball and tossed it into the garbage barrel. “Don’t worry, we’ll come back later so you can ask him about his
ancestors. Right now, we should leave. I want you to meet Ian.”

“Okay.” Disappointed, I turned and looked again at the name
Julian’s
painted across the top of the lime-colored shanty. Ever
determined to
discover more information, I promised myself to return as soon as possible.

As Brian cautiously pulled out onto the road, I leaned back against the headrest. He started to talk to me, but I wasn’t listening;
my head was swirling with thoughts of pirates and treasure again. I did hear him say, “We better drive there; his neighborhood isn’t the greatest.”

Riding the back roads, I found myself appreciating the beauty of
the less glamorous side of this island resort, the one a tourist never sees. My trip was not luxurious but was proving to have plenty of
interesting
new information about the Sam Bellamy legend. I was excited.
Hopefully there’d be a chance to share an adventure with my son, maybe even solve another mystery.

We came upon Ian’s house after a few quick turns and crossing several streets. It was in a closely settled section of St. John’s where every house was painted a different color. Ian’s was salmon colored.
Brian pushed the door in.

Curious, I asked, “If it’s such a bad neighborhood, why is his door open?”

“He wants to let his neighbors know that he’s their friend and not afraid.”

Ian’s rented house was small, with the inside walls painted to match the outside. The main room included a full size couch, two
leather
lounge chairs, and a coffee table. The kitchen was to the rear of the house. Brian lay down on the couch and I sat on a leather chair while
we waited for Ian to come home.

Brian’s cell rang at noon. It was Ian. He said he might be another hour.

I noticed there were two bedrooms and a bathroom down a narrow hallway. I pointed to the closest bedroom. “Do you think I
could stretch out on the bed in there?”

“Sure, go ahead. Ian won’t mind.” Brian settled back onto the couch.

A twin bed and dresser were the only furniture in the tiny
bedroom.
I lifted my legs onto the bed, dangling my feet over the side; being careful not to disturb the tightly tucked green blanket. My head rested on a clean white pillow. Almost immediately, something
began to
tickle my hands and arms. I sat up to see beige specks over the
surface of the bed and assumed it was sand. I brushed my hand across the raised patterned lines of the blanket that ran lengthwise down its surface. The specks jumped. I jumped.

“Whoahhhh!!” I hurried out of the room and down the hallway.

Brian glared at me. “What’s wrong?”

“The bed is covered in fleas!” I rubbed my hands all over my clothes, trying to brush off the little pests.

“Sorry. That must be where the dogs sleep.”

Perturbed again, I asked, “How many other things are you going
to keep from me?” He shot me a coy smile as I settled in the other crackled leather lounge chair in the living room. By now it was
12:30PM and there was still no sign of Ian. The house was quiet. “Brian, how did you meet John Julian?”

“He was one of the first people to sign up for my committee to
study the problems of handicapped orphans on the island.”

I looked over to him. “Your project…the special needs
orphanage for Mariel. Will I get to see it?”

“Of course.” Brian stood to turn on the kitchen faucet. “Want a glass of water?”

“No, thanks.” I remembered the terrible smell of the water back at his house. I joined him by the sink. “Anything else to drink?” We both checked out the refrigerator. Three cans of Coke stared us in the
face.
“I’ll split one with you,” I said. We found two clean glasses, some
ice,
then leaned back against the sink and grew silent once more,
enjoying our cool drink.

 “Mom, it’s been such a struggle getting the orphanage started,
over a year now.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And there’s so
much more to do.”

“I’m glad you persevered…you know… against all odds.” I put my glass on the counter and gave him a hug.

At that, Ian opened the door. “Hey, what’s going on in here?”
He
looked amused as he dropped his backpack on the floor by the
couch.

Nick was right behind him.

Brian laughed. “My mom’s catching up on all her lost hugs from over the last year.”

Ian’s short stature didn’t hold him back from making his
presence known. He bounded towards me. “Do I get some?”

Nick hung back by the open door, not like the other night at Ms. Jones’s.

“Come on over here you two, there’s always room for a few
more in a mother’s arms.”

Ian wrapped his arms around me.

Nick came a little closer and gave me a quick but awkward hug, then asked, “Mrs. C, where’s that beautiful necklace?”

I touched my neck. “Brian thought it would be safer if I didn’t wear it out in public. It’s in my purse. I’ll probably keep it in my suitcase while I’m here.”

“Oh.” He took his seat in one of the leather chairs, picked up a sports magazine and said nothing more to the rest of us.

His behavior seemed odd to me. He’d been so curious before but… perhaps he was thinking of all the work that lies ahead of him. I understood his somber mood; everything must be so new to him
here.

***

1722

ANTIGUA

After work, John Julian hurried home; he was almost finished with
his maps. No word had come from Thomas Davis, but he knew a ship was arriving from Cape Cod tomorrow. Isaac Smith, the young
son of his employer, was scheduled to be on the vessel and it was his job to greet him. John hoped Davis would also be aboard.

That evening, Elizabeth grew sleepy as she tried to focus on the
words in her Bible. She glanced over to John at the table. “Will you
be staying up much longer?”

He returned a contented look and said, “No. I’m finished.”

Two pieces of vellum, displaying the same drawing on each, lay
on top of the sideboard. Elizabeth got up from her rocker, carrying
the Bible, and came closer to him. “They look like two bent arms.”

“Yes, do they not?” Pleased with himself that he remembered it
so
well. “Wait and see, they will bring wealth and happiness to us.” He
folded each one into a square.

Elizabeth turned to stoke the fire and pushed a new log back into the hearth. Julian stood to replace the ink and extra vellum back on the shelf. Under a tankard on the table, he placed one of the folded
vellums; the other he slipped into the back of the Bible. All was
ready for the morrow. He was sure of his plan. Davis was his lifesaver, and his dream of being a wealthy man would soon become reality.

Elizabeth took off her earrings and put them in a wooden box that had an ivory carving on its lid. She slid into bed next to John.
Leaning on her elbow she watched him before she finally spoke.

“John, are you awake?” She whispered again, “John?”

He opened his eyes. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“I think I am with child.”

“Elizabeth, that’s good news. Are you sure?”

“Yes. I have not bled in two months. I also spoke with the
midwife and she agrees.”

He pulled her close into his arms. “It’s fitting that you tell me on the eve of the completion of my maps.” Then he gently kissed her hair.

“I’m pleased that you’re so happy,” she said as she nestled in the crux of his elbow. “It will be a fine day when you write with your inks into our Bible the name of our first born.”

A warm tropical breeze wafted through the one window of their small room and softly lulled them both into the night.

Present Day

ANTIGUA

THE NECKLACE
matched my linen blouse perfectly; I couldn’t
resist wearing it down to dinner.

It was almost five o’clock before Brian and I were able to walk
down the rutted dirt road to the ocean restaurant for dinner. Nick would join us later. We passed several cute goats tethered on the
grass under palm
trees. At the bottom of the sloped road, I could see the buildings’
outside
walls. They were painted orange and trimmed in turquoise, with
palm fronds covering the roof.

We entered into an attached lean-to that opened onto a sandy
beach. Heady smells of spice mixed with the salty air. Four round
tables were
positioned in front of a long polished wooden bar. Six high stools divided its length, inviting the casual beach stroller in for a drink.
Two men were drinking beers at the bar as we made our way to a table. They looked
out of place to me; sporting crew cuts, dark glasses, and white boxy shirts. I laughed at the thought that maybe they were on a break
from guarding some celebrity.

Ms. Judith came out of the kitchen to greet us. She extended a slim, dark hand covered with gold rings. “Good to meet you, Brian’s Mom.”

Our hands clasped together. “Nice to meet you, too.”