The Old Cape Teapot (6 page)

The harbor at St. John’s was wide and deep, enabling the ships
to snug the land. Planks were drawn across the water and
passengers began their exit, all looking for familiar faces. Julian recognized Isaac Smith from a portrait that hung in the great room of the big house.

“Welcome, Mr. Smith. I’m John Julian, the overseer for your
father’s plantation.”

“Nice to meet you,” Isaac said as they shook hands.

Isaac craned his neck to find Davis. “There’s someone I need to locate. He was very kind to me on the voyage, and I want to offer him the hospitality of our house while he’s here on the island.”

Julian picked up the young man’s bags, carried them to the cart, then looked over his shoulder to where Isaac was searching.

“There he is,” Isaac said as he pointed to the last man to leave the ship.

Thomas Davis was dressed in gentlemen’s clothing and had the
airs of a wealthy man, but Julian knew his face immediately. Davis
did
not look desperate for money, which would be advantageous for
John’s plan. As Davis and Julian were introduced, they kept their alliance
secret, greeting each other as strangers in front of the young man.
They could talk later.

By the time they reached the Smith estate, poor Isaac was soaked
with sweat from the heat; he had already loosened his shirt and shed his waistcoat. Wishing he were back on the ship in the cool ocean
breezes, he asked as he dabbed his forehead with a kerchief, “Is there a place where I can lie down, somewhere a little cooler?”

“Of course, sir. Let me show you to your room,” Julian said as he took the bags from the cart. Isaac followed him into the house.

Davis stayed behind in the wagon and called out, “Never you mind me. I’ll be fine. I’m sure your overseer will take good care of
me.” He lit his pipe, leaned back, and was relieved at how easy it was to find his old cohort, John Julian.

Present Day

ANTIGUA

IT WAS MY
last day on the island. I intended to make the best of it, despite the nerve-wracking break-in. All my things were laid out on the bed. I took into account my clothes for the day and what I would wear on the plane home the next morning, then jammed everything else into the travel bag. Several large knobbed conch shells that I’d
found on the beach were strewn across the bed. I held one up to my ear; the ocean echoed back from deep inside the briny seashell.
Molly and Danny would enjoy listening to the ocean sounds from these unique shells. I stuffed the large, chalky beach finds into a triple thick plastic grocery bag and tied them to my backpack.

Brian called out, “Before we see John, I want to show you the site
of
the new orphanage and stop at the Peace Corps office to see what we
should do about last night.”

“Great. Let’s go.”

The sun was already hot as Brian turned the jeep onto the road
towards town. I couldn’t stop wondering if Brian would be safe here anymore. And what about the earrings that might possibly match my necklace? I stared ahead, oblivious of where we were going.

We came across an open field of scrub and high weeds. The beginnings
of a medium-sized house on the right slowly came into
view.
Two wheelbarrows, a small cement mixer, bags of powdered
cement, and a pile of two-by-fours were stacked against its foundation.

Brian pulled to the side of the road. “What do you think?”

“You did this? All by yourself?”

“John and a friend of his helped me last week. We had to mix the cement by hand and push a wheelbarrow up a wooden ramp and dump it into the cement blocks. But it’s almost done.” He stood next to the underpinnings of the new home for Mariel and massaged the back of his leg.

“How’s your leg feeling?”

“Better. You know, tearing my Achilles tendon from running on these bumpy roads, then landing in the hospital, was the only way I would have ever met Mariel.”

I shook my head. “I wish I could have been here with you. I
hated that you were hurt and I was so far away.”

Brian walked the foundation with pride. “The first day I saw Mariel, in the children’s ward, she was in her crib crying and
banging her head on the mattress. The nurses were yelling and hitting her, thinking it would stop her from crying.”

Brian’s comment startled me. “You mean they were spanking her?”

He looked right at me. “No, they were hitting her on the head
and
face. None of them knew how to handle a special needs child.” He carefully picked up a shovel from the dirt and placed it closer to the cement blocks.

I shielded my eyes from the strong morning sun. “God put you
in the right place, at the right time and…you did the right thing.” I knew it was good for Brian to talk about his feelings. Sometimes
phone conversations are too quick, relating only a few bits of information.

He wiped his forehead with his bandana and then stretched his arms out to mark an area. “Now here’s the veranda where the kids can sit outside in the shade.” He fanned his hand in a semi-circle. “We can house eight children, with two live-in health aides.” He
moved to the
back of the soon-to-be orphanage and pointed to where the
bedrooms
would be. Turning to me he continued, “The whole thing with
Mariel bothered me so much that I couldn’t sleep the first night after I saw
her. That’s when I decided to go back to the hospital the next day. I remember hobbling in on my crutches, past those nasty nurses, to find her crying again. I started to sit quietly next to her crib, so I
wouldn’t scare her. Then I started humming some of the lullabies from when I was little. By the following day, I was singing the songs. It got her to stop crying. Eventually she just watched me, listened, and swayed to the melody.”

He sat down on the pile of cement bags. I sat next to him. “At the end of that week, little Mariel was reaching for my hand and then
my face. Finally, she let me pick her up and we simply hugged.”

His face grew serious. “No one in the hospital was pleased that I was making progress with her behavior. They got even angrier when I started asking questions about how they did things and about the
care
in general at the hospital. They didn’t like it at all. And then I
couldn’t believe the people over me in the Corps told me that I shouldn’t get
involved, especially with the politics of the local government and
their social service programs.”

“They didn’t appreciate what a good man you are.”

We sat a few seconds in silence, both of us savoring the progress of the orphanage.

“Who designed all of this?” I asked.

“The plans were donated by a Peace Corps engineer working on
St. Martin’s. Next week some carpenters from Martinique are
coming over and we’ll start raising the roof and installing hurricane clips.”

I patted him on the back. “It looks like it’s all coming together
for you.” I picked up a little yellow wildflower from the field; it was just
a simple weed. “When you told me that some disabled children on the islands are looked upon as a curse and are either abandoned or
left to die when they’re born, I was shocked.”

“Mom, if these kids make it past the age of six or seven living in the hospital ward, they’re then housed in a section of the local
prison.” Brian shook his head in disbelief and looked one more time over the foundation he’d built and then jumped into the jeep. “It’s funny, now that the project is started, everyone wants to become involved and help out.”

“I’m glad you stuck to your ideals and persevered, even in adversity.” I glanced at my watch. “We should get going. John is going to close his shack soon and I don’t want to miss him.”

“Okay, but we better stop at the office first.”

I sat in the jeep, waiting while Brian went in to find out if he
should call the police. He re-appeared after only a few minutes.

“According to protocol, as nothing was taken or broken, they
said I should just lay low for a while. They told me to keep the doors locked and watch my back. If any more suspicious things happen,
they recommend that I find a new place.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes. The least involvement with the police the better.”

“Maybe you should move.”

“We’ll see.”

John was moving a large trash can towards the front of his stand. As he looked up, he saw the jeep and waved. Brian tooted the horn and pulled alongside the curb. We got out.

“Good Morning, mon,” John said, then he greeted me with a tip of his baseball cap, “Good Morning, Brian’s Mom.”

I walked over to him. “I met your son last evening at the
restaurant where he works.”

“Yes, he told me.”

“Did he mention that I had a necklace resembling a pair of
earrings your wife keeps in a locked box?”

“Yes.”

I took the necklace out of my purse and cradled it in my fingers to show him. “What do you think?”

John leaned over the counter and looked at the delicate piece hanging from the silver chain. “It is similar to the earrings, but I see
them so few times a year, it’s hard to tell.”

“Didn’t Brian ever tell you about what I’d discovered?”

Brian interrupted me, “I never mentioned anything. I need to keep a low profile as a volunteer.” He stood with his feet apart and
rubbed the side of his face. “I’m no braggart, Mom.”

“I know…and you also never caught the connection between
your friend John here and the treasure that I’d found.”

The word ‘treasure’ spiked John Julian’s attention, and he
stopped
filling the plastic containers of onion, lettuce, and relish on the
counter. “Did you say treasure?”

“Yes, I did.”

I rested my elbow on the wooden ledge and stared right at John. “If you have a few minutes, Brian and I would like to tell you some things that might be of interest to you.”

The seventh generation grandson of the pirate John Julian stood
listening to my words, taking in every nuance and inflection as I
explained the story of the
Whydah
and Sam Bellamy. With each detail, his face contorted into quizzical expressions of surprise and then sometimes doubt. I was spinning a curious web of mystery, hoping
to pull him deeper into my reality.

“Did you really find a pirate’s treasure?’ he asked.

I nodded yes.

“She’s telling you the truth,” Brian said, reinforcing my words.

John leaned back against the inside wall of the shack, took off his cap and rubbed his curly black hair. Turning, he asked, “So what you’re telling me is that my great grandfather, seven times removed, was THE John Julian of the pirate ship the
Whydah
?”

“I believe so. And if you have anything of value that you’ve had
in your family since the 1700s, those items might hold clues that
could lead us to more treasure…for you.”

“Mom, take it easy,” Brian cautioned. “You really don’t know what happened to John Julian, or if he ever got his hands on any
treasure.”

It bothered me that Brian questioned my supposition. I knew I
was right. I stared at him and continued, “If the earrings that John’s wife has in the locked box come anywhere close to resembling my necklace, then we can make an assumption that he did have some treasure.”

“Wait a minute.” John stood tall behind the counter and interrupted us. “You must slow down and let me get my head
around this whole
idea.” He began to close the front of the shack. “I need to leave
now.”

I thought he was angry with me but then I remembered it was 11:30. “After you pick up your children, may we follow you to your house and see the earrings?”

“You both seem to be very serious about this whole mystery. I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm for you to look at the earrings. But
we must be quick. The kids will be getting out soon.”

When we got into the Jeep to follow him, Brian looked over to
me. “Mom, try not to get everyone all riled up about this. It might be
nothing.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, I just want to look at the earrings.”

Once at the school, we parked to the side of the road and waited. We watched John carry a little girl in his arms from the building’s entrance to the back seat of his car. She was maybe five years old; her
hand was curled close against her chest, her thin legs hung loose in front of John. Her good arm was wrapped around his neck, and as
he
turned to place her in the car seat, I saw a big smile on her face. A young boy was trailing behind him. He too, seemed happy, hindered
only by a limp.

Brian whispered, “Rolanda has some sort of paralysis in her legs.”

I smiled. “She’s a cutie.”

“Anthony has Down Syndrome. He’s a nice little guy; one leg is shorter than the other.”

When the kids were settled, Brian pulled the Jeep behind John’s car, ready to follow him once more.

The Julian’s white stucco house was only a short drive down a rutted road. It sat in an open field and behind it were other houses
dotting the
hillside in the distance. His wife, Angel, came out onto the veranda to greet the little ones. John held Rolanda in his arms as he carried her up the wooden stairs. “Here you go.” He kissed the little girl on
her head and handed her over to his wife.

Angel noticed us in the Jeep. “And who might be visiting us, John?”

We climbed out and walked over to the stairs.

John hurried down the stairway and helped little Anthony exit
the car. As he closed the car door, he smiled at Angel, then gestured to us. “This is Brian, he’s Peace Corps, and his Mom is visiting from the states.”