The Old Cape Teapot (12 page)

Tobey sat on the edge of the roped bed, then got up and walked towards Jacob. “Where’s Davis goin’?”

Jacob shrugged, “None of my business, but he said you was
goin’ with him.”

Tobey stretched out his stiff muscles. As he scratched his head, his shirt opened to reveal the top half of a branded ‘S’ on his chest.

Jacob stopped and stared. He kept his gaze on the scar long
enough to make the Antiguan uncomfortable.

The young man quickly tied his shirt closed, rifled through his hair to massage his scalp and said, “I’ll be ready soon enough.”

Jacob finished readying the old horse and rolled a short handled spade in a blanket behind the saddle. “Go on in and get some vittles from Hephzibah. It looks like you will be travelin’ far today.”

Tobey shook off the chill from the cool morning air as he took his piss behind the barn. He buttoned his pants and wondered what was
ahead. Several days had passed without knowing what was
expected of him. He reckoned he would find out today.

Jacob cautioned Tobey not to forget anything that he might need.
He pointed to the bed. “Take that blanket with you for the nights.
Carry your food safe…on your own person.”

“Yes, sir. I’m grateful for your words.” Then Tobey checked to make sure his knife was strapped tight to his calf and hidden under the bottom of his loose pant.

Within the hour, Davis and Tobey began their journey to
Eastham.
Tobey followed on foot behind the constant swish of Davis’s horse. They stopped once for a short respite. Tobey relieved himself and
crouched against a tree to eat, distancing himself from Davis. By evening, they reached Higgins Tavern, where Tobey found himself
relegated to the barn behind the inn with the horse.

Davis went into the tavern for the night.

“Good evening, sir,” Mr. Higgins greeted the weary traveler. “How may I oblige you this cool night?”

“A room, sir.”

“That I am able to accommodate you with. Your name?”

“Thomas Davis, from Yarmouth. My servant resides with the
horse outside.”

“Follow me to your quarters. When you’re ready, I’ll provide a meal for you and your man.”

“Thank you,” Davis answered and trailed the proprietor up the narrow steps.

Soon he was enjoying a fine meat stew and a pint of ale. When near to completion, Davis asked Higgins, “Might I inquire your
expertise in a matter that’s a mystery to me?”

“I’m at your service.”

“Do you know of a large rock or stone aberration close by?”

“Let me think, now.” Higgins wiped the sideboard in careful thought.

Davis waited.

“I can think of only one place that holds such a description.” He
came closer to where Davis was sitting. “Not far from here, on the other side of our small settlement and near the shore, lies a large outcrop. You can see it from a distance.” Higgins sat down on a chair
opposite Davis. “The good settler, David Doane, named the massive protuberance after his ninth born son, Enoch. Some call it Enoch’s Rock.”

“Thank you for your kindness. I’ll set out before the sun rises, as per your directions. I bid you good night.”

“Best be careful. The land is private and belongs to Doane.”

That night, Davis examined John Julian’s map once more. What was asked of him seemed an impossible undertaking; but now, girded
with the knowledge of the whereabouts of a large stone similar to the
one on the map, his task was proving feasible. Davis retired with
eagerness for the morning and foresaw a possible advancement for more riches in his life. He would need a new strategy.

***

By midmorning they arrived at Enoch’s Rock, which rose eighteen feet above the ground and had a width almost the same. Only the eastern face was slanted for a safe footing; the southern–most facade
was a straight vertical from top to bottom. Davis dismounted his
horse and walked closer to further inspect the task before him. He placed his hand on
the granite surface to steady himself as he kicked away leaves and sticks from its base. Then, walking around the rock’s circumference, he glanced up and down, side-to-side, looking for any aberrations in
the
ground that would reveal where Julian’s treasure might be located. Tobey watched and waited for word as to what his role was in this venture. As Davis rounded the southern side, he came across a pile
of small rocks and called out, “Get the spade!”

Tobey did as he was told, “Yes, sir.”

Standing over the mound, Davis directed Tobey. “Move away those stones and dig under them. Give me a hole two feet square.”

The young man picked up the stones and put them aside, all the while thinking that what lay buried is, without doubt, what Julian sought.

Davis sat on a slope to the side. As he lit his pipe, he cautioned Tobey with, “Mind you keep a pace with your digging. We must
leave here by sunset.”

It wasn’t long before Davis leaned back and closed his eyes.
Tobey wanted to rest also, but as soon as his spade ceased cutting into the dirt, Davis sat up.

“Hear now, boy. Why have you stopped?”

Tobey had no reason but exhaustion. He continued his rhythm.

With one more hit into the black dirt, his shovel resonated with a
dull thud. Davis looked towards the sound and then walked over to see what Tobey’s shovel had found. As he came closer, Davis
flapped his arm sideways, a clear signal to move away.

Tobey wiped his brow with the back of his hand and stepped back from the hole.

“Go further away to the horse; this is none of your business.”

Again, he did as he was told.

Davis brushed away the dirt to reveal the top of a small chest. His past life as a pirate fueled his greed this day as his fingers
furiously
scratched at the dirt around its edges. He grabbed the spade and dug deep gouges along its sides. When the grooved line of where it
opened
was revealed, he scraped away at the center of the latch. With
ferocity, he threw the spade to the ground behind him.

Tobey could see Davis’s face turn crimson
as he leaned further and lower into the hole. He hoped that he might be free of Davis if
only the man’s heart would give out. Maybe one hit of the spade over the man’s head would be all that was needed. As his thoughts wondered about what was buried, they also encouraged him to step nearer to
Davis and the sharp, flat tool on the ground now closest to his own foot. In silence, he reached for its wooden handle.

Davis opened the top of the chest, drew in a deep breath and closed it within seconds. Wiping saliva from the corner of his mouth, he caught sight of Tobey behind him with the tool in his hand. “Get
back, boy, I told you once already.” He struggled to lift himself up off his knees. “Best you get started filling in this hole,” Davis ordered. “We have no need of its contents.”

Tobey had seen a glimpse of what the chest held and questioned
Davis’s actions, but he kept his lips tight. He began to throw
shovelfuls
of dirt back into the hole. Taking note of the markings on the chest that was trimmed with leather, he tried to figure out what might happen next.

He stretched his arm out and held a fist to the late afternoon sun.
Turning his palm toward his face, he counted how many folded knuckles fit within the orange ball and the horizon. All four fit
squarely between; each bump signifying 15 minutes. He surmised that he had an hour to finish.

After a while, Davis grew impatient. “Replace the stones over the loose soil. We need to leave this place.” He pushed the last
remaining dirt over the covered hole with his own foot.

When Davis was satisfied with the Antiguan’s work, the two men retraced their steps back to Higgins Tavern for the night. Tobey scrutinized the landscape, noticing any unusual tree or peculiar
scape that would enable him to return, by himself, to the rock if needed.

The next morning, the travelers set out on their journey back to Yarmouth. It was dark by the time they reached Davis’s home. Hephzibah
had already retired and lay still under the covers listening to Davis rummage in the kitchen beneath her room. Felicity and Mother
Gibbs
had left for Boston earlier in the day and the young woman was uncomfortable in the house alone with Mr. Davis. She crept over to the door in her attic room, making sure the latch was secure.
Hephzibah then placed the lone chair across its front and tiptoed back to bed.
She would force herself to stay awake until there were no more
sounds below her floor.

Present Day

BREWSTER - CAPE COD

BRIAN’S TEXT
was a shocker. I stood for a moment, stunned, at the top of the stairs. My free hand flew up and touched the delicate necklace
around my neck. I wondered if I should take it off. I shrugged my doubts away. How could there be danger back here on Cape Cod? Besides, I can take care of myself; I’m no dummy.

A gloom blanketed the inside of the house as the storm I’d witnessed from the beach turned into a nor’easter. Stepping down
into the dining
room, I turned on a few lamps. That’s better. I decided to tell Paul
about the break-in at Brian’s house.

He was building a frame in our attached garage. I waited until he had joined all four corners. “We need to talk.”

“Now what’s wrong?”

“Well…before I left Antigua, Brian and I went to dinner at a café’ down on the beach. It belonged to his landlady. When we got back to the house, someone had broken in and rifled through my
suitcase. Nothing was taken.”

Paul looked upset.

“The Peace Corps office told Brian not to report it, but to be
careful, and if anything else happens, he should move.”

“So…what else?”

“I just got a text from Brian. Remember the earrings that
matched this necklace?” I held it up. “Brian said they were stolen from John Julian’s house.”

Paul was quiet.

“I know I should have told you about the break-in, but I just
didn’t think it was important. Besides, you kind of yelled at me on
the way home from the bus terminal about not getting involved in any new adventures.” I went over and gave him a hug. “Forgive me?”

“You know, you’re quite a handful but I still love you.” He
pulled back from me. “So what are you going to do now?”

“I might do some more research. I’m curious about what events spurred Bellamy to leave the Cape and sail to the West Indies. I don’t think he was a pirate in the beginning.” I turned to leave. “I promise to keep you informed of whatever Brian tells me.”

***

Danny was folding clothes with Martha as I closed my office door and settled in front of the computer. The windy storm kept up its fury as rain blew sideways against the house. As I searched the
internet, I
found that there had been a hurricane along the Atlantic coast in 1715, the year before Bellamy left for the West Indies. In fact, there were several shipwrecks; one big one was Spain’s treasure fleet, led by the San Miguel. The fleet consisted of a dozen or more galleons sent to the Americas by Phillip V to boost its coffers. Suffering from years of war,
Spain needed money and bringing home the profits of its expansions into the new world was necessary. Besides, Phillip V was about to be married
to his second wife, Elisabeth of Parma, and before she would consummate
their union, she wanted a treasure trove of gifts and jewelry. I sat back in
my chair. So…that’s what Bellamy was
going after…salvage.

***

The sky lit up with a flash of lightening then a thunderous boom
shook the old glass in the parlor’s bay windows. I heard a loud bang on the parlor door.

“Mommy?” said a frightened voice. “Are you in there? Can I come in?”

To be safe, I closed down the computer. “Sure, honey.”

Danny pushed the door open and ran over to me. He wrapped his little arms around my waist. “I’m scared.”

“It’s okay. Let’s go find Daddy.” I felt relief knowing that,
according to the weather station, we weren’t in for another hurricane, just an ordinary nor’easter.

***

By late afternoon, the storm had stopped. The kids were settled in front of the TV, Paul was closing up the gallery, and I took out a frozen pizza for dinner. I remembered the old map and dashed upstairs to get it from the safe. The kitchen had the best light for
what I wanted to see. I laid
it flat on the small oak table. The familiar shape of a bent arm
indicated
that it was, indeed, Cape Cod. The names of the towns of Harwich,
Eastham, and Truro were written across its surface. I could only estimate where the existing towns of today were located. The only other image on the map was an odd curved shape, just above the present town of Orleans.

Paul joined me in the kitchen carrying the mail. “Is that the map?”

“Yes. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It looks awful primitive,” he said.

“When it fell from John Julian’s Bible, back in Antigua, my jaw just dropped.”

“Let me take a look at it.”

I left Paul studying the map and went across the foyer to get a magnifying glass from the junk drawer in the laundry room. Within
seconds, I was back at the table and gently pushed Paul aside. “I
need
to see what this little drawing is,” I said, leaning nearer with the
thick glass. “I think it looks like a big rock or boulder.”