The Old Cape Teapot (9 page)

Tobey stood now and faced Julian. “How do I know that you’ll keep your promise?”

Julian reached into his vest pocket and handed him two gold coins. “If you are capable and complete your task, you’ll have more of these. Trust me. You have my word.”

Tobey held the coins in his hand. He mulled Julian’s request over in his thoughts only for a short time and responded, “Yes, I’ll
do it.” He was frightened but desperate for his freedom. “Did I understand you to say you care only for your property, and not for Davis?”

“That’s what I said.” Julian turned away from Tobey, entered his house and closed the door.

Present Day

CAPE COD

WHILE THE BUS
sped along the highway from Logan Airport to
Cape Cod, something kept bothering me. I unfolded the copy of the old map for the umpteenth time to study the crude lines of the drawing again. One landmark on the drawing looked odd to me. Even though it was within the mass of the Cape’s land and I
recognized the names
around it: Harwich, Eastham, and Truro, I couldn’t recall the identity of the lumpy round mark near the coast of Eastham. I knew the
towns of Brewster and Orleans had not been incorporated until after the 1700s so almost the whole lower Cape was known as Eastham. This mark on the map had to be somewhere in present day Orleans.

It was almost dark when the bus pulled into the Hyannis depot. My heart skipped a beat when I saw Paul waiting by our white van.
Even after 24 years of marriage, we were still passionate about each
other. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he was tall, lean, and muscular,
sported a full salt and pepper beard and was born with beautiful
blue eyes. I laughed to myself, he must have bought some new sneakers; they were stark white against his khaki pants and looked huge next to the black pavement. Everything about him was balanced, strong, and sturdy. Even his physical numbers were good, from his height of six feet to
his shoe size of 12, all equal. Not like me, at five foot seven I wore a nine-and-a-half shoe…just a little bit odd. I was the one who
encouraged the
spur-of-the-moment decisions in our relationship and sometimes
needed to be brought back into reality. But we’re a good team.

I prayed a quiet thank you to Casey for watching the little ones
at home. As I stepped off the bus, Paul quickly walked toward me
with open arms.

I leaned in and smiled. “Hi, honey,”

“Welcome home.” He kissed me on the cheek. “Everybody missed you.”

His soft white whiskers mingled with my hair, instantly comforting me after my long journey. We held hands while the driver opened the bottom hatch of the bus so Paul could retrieve my bags. After loading everything into the back of our van, Paul pointed to the
bumpy plastic grocery bag. “What do you have here?”

“Surprises for the kids.”

He grinned.

I quickly got into the car, eager to get home. “I have so much to
tell you,” I said as I stroked his knee. “I missed you.”

He leaned over to kiss me. “It’s good to have you home.”

The drive home flew by as fast as the lights from the oncoming cars as they passed us. We talked of Brian, the orphanage project and of course, the mystery map.

Paul looked over to me. “When you called from Miami and told
me about finding a relative of John Julian I was hoping it wouldn’t be anything that might prove dangerous.” He shook his head back and
forth. “Remember the night those guys broke in to our house? I can’t believe this is happening to you again, I mean to us, to the family.
Please
be careful. We can’t be getting involved in any more treasure
hunting.”

I pulled my hand from his leg and turned away to look out the
window at the dark woods off the highway. “You know me…I’m always so curious.” It was all I could come up with to counter his words. I
decided to keep my thoughts of hunting for more treasure to myself. Maybe Paul doesn’t need to know that someone broke into Brian’s house. No harm was done.

***

1722

ANTIGUA

The lone figure crouched in the dark, pressing his shoulder against the massive twenty-four-foot facade of the rock. At its base, he patted the last of the loose soil flat then scattered stones across its surface. When he was
satisfied his secret
was concealed, he stood and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand,
tasting the crunch of dirt. He looked around
.

Grabbing the shovel, he smashed the rustic stretcher that had carried
the now buried chest and threw the spade into the thickets surrounding the large stone. Securing the small bulging pouch under his belt, he tied its leather bindings secure. As he ran swiftly through the early dawn along a path that followed the sound of the crashing ocean, branches hit his face and stones twisted his feet. He pushed himself forward; all the while sensing someone was following him, searching for a safe hiding place where he could wait
during the coming daylight hours.

John Julian bolted upright in his bed. Covered in sweat, he
rubbed his eyes with trembling hands then breathed a sigh of relief that it was only another nightmare. He was tired of them.

Elizabeth stirred in her sleep next to him, but remained quiet. As
he left the bed, his shirt clung to his clammy body. Wiping away the salty drops of liquid from his skin with the tail of his nightshirt, he
shuffled to the sideboard for a drink of ale.

After the pungent alcohol soothed his nerves, he walked outside
to sit on the bench. As he closed his eyes, his mind drifted back to
Cape
Cod. He remembered the grey color of the weathered shingles on the old house where he’d taken refuge that morning after burying his fortune by the rock. He had known the house was empty because
there
was no smoke coming from the chimney. Julian recalled thinking
that he would be safe there until night came, but within minutes of his
arrival, he’d seen the King’s men at the neighboring property,
searching for survivors from the wreck of the
Whydah.

Another swig of ale passed over his tongue as Julian shook his head. Why couldn’t he have gotten away with all of his treasure?
He’d
only had enough time to bury the extra pouch, filled with a small amount of gold coins, a short distance from the barn where he was
hiding. He’d
decided that if he were captured and, by chance, found innocent, he’d
surely be able to retrieve the pouch later. It would be needed for his
passage back to Antigua. The chest would have to remain hidden
for a
few years, until things calmed down on the Cape, and he could
return for the real riches, unnoticed.

Elizabeth appeared in the doorway. “John, you ill?”

“No,” he yelled. He was angry. Not with his wife, but at his past.

She knew her husband well enough to leave him alone to his thoughts.

Julian leaned back, his bare toes kicking at the dirt. He clenched his teeth and walked over to the side of his house to piss. The smell of urine and dirt evoked another memory; the dank and squalid
floor of his
prison cell where he’d awaited trial in Boston for piracy five years ago. It was also the day he thought he would be hung alongside Thomas Davis. Both men had sat on the putrid dirt floor that
morning, with
Davis penitently whimpering his sins aloud. ‘I had wanted all of Bellamy’s treasure,’ he’d tearfully confessed to Julian. ‘I followed Maria Hallett and Sam Bellamy to a house in North Harwich. I knew the wagon held Sam’s treasure chests and had hoped for an
opportunity to take it.’ With wide eyes he’d continued, ‘I grew tired of waiting, so I set the house on fire to ensure that no one would prevent me from gaining more gold.’

Before they were brought to trial that day, Davis had revealed to
Julian that within minutes of the deadly flames consuming
everything,
a wagon had crashed out of the barn, driven by a dark figure. He’d also seen someone running towards the wagon as it drove away, taking the treasure with them. Davis had waited until morning,
hoping to search for anything he could salvage.

Julian grinned as he flicked the last of his piss onto the sandy dirt, pleased that Davis had no chance to steal Bellamy’s cache
because he was captured in North Harwich the next morning.

Present Day

CAPE COD

THE SCENT
of Murphy’s Oil Soap tickled my nose as it drifted
upstairs
to my bedroom. My eyes opened in the morning light. The house was quiet. From the open skylight above my head, I heard gentle
breezes
rustling in the trees and traffic idling behind school busses along Route 6A. I rubbed my eyes clear, then stretched. Counting my blessings I whispered, “Good Morning, Lord. Thank you for Paul,
Jim, Brian, Casey, Molly, and Danny. And thanks for getting me home safely to my own bed.”

With feet planted on the carpeted floor, I stood to reach for my robe. Within a few minutes, I was padding down the steps and into
the
kitchen. Outside the window, leaves were falling across the
driveway as autumn began to make its appearance on the Cape. The smell of coffee was satisfying; it was good to be home.

Paul appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “Did you sleep well?”

“Wonderful. I forgot how great our bed is.” Pouring some coffee I sat at the table.

He gave a gentle rub to my shoulders and sat opposite me.

I held his hand. “Did the kids get off to school ok? I missed
saying goodbye to them.”

“No problem. Martha was here bright and early.”

I noticed Martha moving stealthily from room to room
downstairs, trying to be quiet as she cleaned. “Have you given any more thought to my news about John Julian?”

“Yeah, you might be on to something there.”

I perked up, pleased that Paul was agreeing with me. “I know I am. Of course, I still can’t believe Brian never connected his buddy John to the Bellamy legend and the pirates who survived the wreck of the
Whydah
.”

Paul stroked my hand. “So, what’s on your agenda for the day,
my lovely wife?”

“Not much, maybe a walk on the beach.”

My caffeine jolt was already kicking in. I stood up with wide eyes. “Oh my God, Paul, I was so tired last night that I never showed
you the map.” I started for the door. “Hold on, let me go get it.”

Paul grinned as he finished his morning coffee. “I have to get
back to work. Show me later?”

My heart fell. Here we go again, I thought, no time for me. “Okay.” I really wanted to share the map, but I knew he had some commissioned work that needed to be finished.

As he left for his studio he said, “I love you. I’m glad you’re home.”

I echoed back, “I love you, too.”

I reminded myself that Paul’s lack of interest in the map
shouldn’t bother me. He’s the one earning the living for the family. I examined
the calendar of appointments and events on the fridge and the
reality of being home and being responsible grounded me. Rinsing my cup I went to find Martha.

As I walked through the front parlor’s doorway, I found her
leaning
over, dusting the light green bookshelves. With red ringlets of dyed hair that fell alongside her face and partially concealing her
wrinkles, she was not your typical housekeeper.

“Hi, Martha.”

“Oh, hello.” She straightened up, adjusted her top and wiped her brow with the palm of her hand. “Did you have a nice trip?”

“Yes, I did. Thank you.”

The Murphy’s smell emanated from her every move. The use of the old soap was one of Paul’s weaknesses and requests. His mother had used it every day, so to him the smell meant a spotless home. I always thought I could fool him just by setting out a bowl of water with the oil
soap in it, hoping he’d think I’d been scrubbing all day instead of shopping.

“Everything smells so clean. I’ll be upstairs getting dressed.”

“Okay,” Martha said and turned her back to continue dusting the bookcases.

September 1722

YARMOUTH - CAPE COD

FELICITY DAVIS,
six months with child, waited for her mother, Bethia Gibbs, to join her for tea. Outside, the clouds had thickened and grew dark. The few trees surrounding the Davis home bent over backward in the nor’easter that raged its fury across the Cape. Rain
pelted its heavy drops against the paned window of the parlor where the ladies took their daily indulgence. Felicity looked uncomfortable in her skin and hated living in the Yarmouth house.

The new servant, Hephzibah, knocked before she entered the
parlor; her tiny voice greeting her employer with, “Pardon me, your
tea is ready.” She carried a large shiny silver tray that held a blue flowered teapot, two matching cups with saucers, and a few tasty
strawberry sweet cakes.

The sight of the blue tea set angered Felicity. This new face in
her
household was disturbing her afternoon with carelessness. She pursed her lips. “I don’t want to use that blue flowered pot. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Take it away,” she yelled at the young girl.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

As Hephzibah retreated with the tray, Mother Gibbs flew in behind the hired girl before the door closed. Dressed in widow black, Mother
Gibbs was also irritated on this bleak afternoon. Her satin skirts
swished
as she bustled over to a small settee and sat opposite her daughter who was resting in a straight-back chair. “I do not know why we
need to live in such a primitive place.”