The Old Cape Teapot (13 page)

Martha came in to make a salad for dinner and stood at the table
to see what we were doing. “What’cha lookin’ at?” she asked as she
craned her neck to see.

“It’s an old map of Cape Cod.” I kept my focus on it.

“Can I see?” Martha furrowed her eyebrows.

“Of course.” I slid the map over to her view. “What do you think?” I pointed to the small little drawing. “The only thing I can’t
figure out is
that.” I leaned in next to Martha. Suddenly I noticed something
under it. “Wait a minute, there’s an x. See it?”

Martha got a better look. “Hmm…yeah, it sure looks like an ‘x’. And that might be Doane’s Rock. It’s a huge boulder in Eastham,
near
the bike trail, on the way to Coast Guard Beach.” She turned to reach for a large bowl and then took greens out of the refrigerator,
unaware of
her startling clue. “My children used to climb on it when they were
little. It was great fun.” She started to wash the tomatoes.

I felt as if I had just won the lottery, but grew cautious. “Paul? I
want to show you something in the parlor that might need fixing.” He looked at me funny as I folded the map and walked out of the kitchen. He picked up on my message of privacy and followed. Once
out of earshot from Martha, I turned and faced him. “If that x marks where the treasure is hidden, then we know where to find it!”

Paul sat on one of the antique chairs that faced the front bay
window and said, “It’s too easy. I don’t know.”

I sat at my desk holding the map in my hands. “Martha has got to be right; she’s lived here longer than us and boasts that she knows everything about Cape Cod.”

“How about we all take a ride to find it, tonight, after dinner?”

“I think it’s a great idea.” Now I was extra curious. “The only
way
to find anything more about all of this is to go and see it for
ourselves.”

Paul cautioned me as we left the parlor. “Now, don’t get too
excited. Let’s keep it to ourselves.”

I held fast to the map and went upstairs to put it back in the safe until later.

After a few minutes, Martha left. I decided to set aside the salad
and pizza for tomorrow night’s dinner and instead grab some fast food on our way out to find Doane Rock. After eating, we were back
on the
road and driving past the National Seashore Visitors Center, off Route 6. I noticed Danny was looking at one of his pop-up books in
his car seat. Casey was content in the rear bench to sip her soda; she only came along for the ride and some Wendy’s.

Nine-year-old Molly asked, “Where we going?”

“Daddy and I want to see a big rock that someone told us about.”

“Cool, can we climb on it?”

“I think so, but let’s wait and see if we can find it first.”

“Look, there’s the sign.” I pointed to a dark brown post with
white letters that directed visitors to turn right for a picnic area. Paul eased
the van to a stop in the small parking lot. A gray massive boulder
shot up through the pines and scrub oak.

“That’s it,” I whispered.

We gazed at the rock from inside the van.

Molly called from behind, “Can we get out? Can we get out?”

“Sure,” said Paul.

“Hold on a minute. Let me get Danny out of his seat.” I was as anxious as Molly to get out.

Molly scrambled out of her seatbelt and waited for the okay to run.

“Go ahead,” I said.

She took off and ran around the base of the boulder looking for a
place to climb, while Danny followed after her. Casey stayed in the car listening to her iPod. After circling the gray mass once, we both
stood still and watched Molly climb higher and higher out of our reach.

Paul called out, “Molly, be careful; don’t go too high.”

I pushed some dirt and stones near the boulder’s base with my foot. Paul did the same over to the other side. We were both hoping there would be something that could give us another clue. But there
was
nothing. Too many years had passed to leave traces of anything
buried.

He looked over to me and said, “Well, my dear, we seem to be as they say, ‘at a rock and a hard place’.”

“Crap, you’re right.” I looked up and around the boulder and then rested my open palm against its gritty surface. “Besides, we’re on federal property. No one is going to give us permission to dig or
do anything to
this rock.” Disappointed with the reality of the whole thing, we let Molly and Danny play a little longer until dusk began to settle in around us.

Casey finished the last of her soda and yelled out the window, “Mom, I’ve got a report due tomorrow. Can we leave now?”

“Yes, we better get going.”

On the ride home, the sun set across the bay with beautiful reds
and oranges. I refused to think that this would be the end of my
search for John Julian’s lost treasure and wondered when Brian was going to call again.

1722

YARMOUTH - CAPE COD

THE NEXT DAY,
Hephzibah quietly greeted the man of the house with, “Good Morning, Mr. Davis.”

“Humph,” he replied as he passed her in the downstairs foyer on the way to his study.

“My tea, and be quick.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Davis.” Hephzibah curtsied, turned, and ran to the kitchen.

Davis stood by the window, contemplating where he could hide
the found treasure of John Julian and how to accomplish this without Tobey’s knowledge. But first all the papers and bills that were
neglected while he was in Antigua needed his attention.

When he was finished, he decided to take a stroll outside to stretch
his legs. As he rounded the house towards the rear, he spotted Hephzibah bringing in the dried laundry from the morning wash.
She never noticed his presence.

Davis stood quiet in the shadow on the north side of the house, hoping for a chance to catch a glimpse of anything intriguing or
pleasurable to his eye from Hephzibah’s direction. He watched the young maid’s skirts billow in the wind and strained his eyes for a closer view of her breasts each time she bent over to fold the clothes into the basket. He thought a bolder move was needed on his part.
He straightened his posture, sucked in his stomach and walked towards the unsuspecting girl. “Hephzibah! ‘Tis a fine day, is it not?”

Startled, Hephzibah dropped a coverlet on the ground. “Mr.
Davis, you frightened me.”

“Here, let me help you with that,” Davis said and leaned over to pick up the material for her. He took his time to stand up so he could brush his hand against her ankle.

Hephzibah backed away from his touch. She looked to see if anyone else was near. Seeing no one, she feared her employer’s
kindness was a bad omen for her. Quickly, she gathered the last of the clothes from the fence.

He stood watching her every move.

She threw the dry clothes into the waiting basket then pleaded,
“Please sir, I must get to my duties. If you’ll excuse me.” She bent
over to lift the basket up.

Suddenly Davis reached for her wrist and pulled her close to him, forcing her to drop everything. “What’s your hurry? We’re
alone; no one will know if you neglected your work.”

“I beg you, sir. Let me be. It’s not right.”

With a quick maneuver he pushed her to the ground. Hephzibah
fell on top of the strewn clothes and blankets. Davis dropped down onto his knees over her. He unbuttoned his pants and pulled at her bodice to expose one of her breasts.

She cried out, “NO! PLEASE NO!”

Tobey was honing his knife in the barn when he heard Hephzibah’s scream. Dropping the sharpening stone he ran out the
door, carrying
his knife in an attack position. He saw Davis straddling the
screaming girl. As Davis was about to bring his open hand against Hephzibah’s
mouth to stop her from screaming, Tobey grabbed his hand and
threw him off the girl.

Davis roared as he fell onto his backside. “What are you doing here?” He sputtered, rolling over to his knees, trying to stand. “This
here’s none of your business. Get out of my doings.”

Hephzibah tried to crawl to safety but her layered skirts stopped her from gaining any distance and she kept falling atop the grasses.
With tears streaming down her face, she finally stood up. The frantic girl hiked up her skirts with one hand and ran to the rear of the
house, all the while trying to cover her unclothed breast with the other.

Tobey ignored Davis’s words and stood his ground. He cared
little for this evil man and longed to vent his anger upon him. He could feel his scar burning, but this time it felt good. Tobey put his
knife back in
its sheath on his calf, knowing his bare hands could take care of this bag of bones with one hit to the jaw. Davis stood up and attempted to take a swing at Tobey. The young man blocked his clumsy
attempt with his
muscular forearm and then clenched his other hand into a fist that leveled Davis flat to the ground. Hephzibah watched from the
doorway as her rescuer stood over her attacker. She wished Tobey would kill him, but knew it was not right.

Tobey thought the same and stopped himself. He had his limits.
He could not bring any more harm to this man whom he detested. The force of his blow had satisfied a part of him that had been festering within his soul for years. Finally he had righted a wrong.
He stepped
over the unconscious body of Davis and proceeded to find Hephzibah. He found her cowering near the back door. Her back
slid down against the rough wood of the doorframe to the ground. She cried with relief
that it was over. Her instincts had been correct about Mr. Davis. He had every intention to harm her. She vowed to herself that by the
time he wakens, she would be gone.

Tobey bent down to help her stand. He wrapped his arms
around
her shoulders, comforting her with a gentleness that she responded
to.

“Are you all right?” he asked in quiet tones.

“Yes,” she answered in between her sobs. “Please stay with me this night. I’m fearful of Davis’s wrath upon his wakening. It’s too
late in the day for me to travel home to my father.”

She turned to climb the steps to her room in the attic and held her hand out to Tobey. He took it in silence and followed behind her. Once the door was closed, he pushed the bureau against it,
preventing Davis
from entering, should he try to complete his evil deed. Tobey had no intention of taking advantage of their situation, aware that Hephzibah needed him for protection. That night, they shared the
same bed, but only to comfort each other till early morning.

***

The evening sky had turned black and dew had formed on top of Davis’s sprawled body. His clothes were wet through to the skin. A spotted garden snake slithered across his face in the night air. He flicked his fingers against his nose to stop the tickle and then slapped
himself,
thinking the problem was a pesky fly. He opened his eyes with a start then turned his head to see the snake’s tail wiggling away, all the while he was wondering what was happening. He tried to move his body but the pain in his face kept him still for several more
minutes. When he
finally righted himself, his pants fell to his ankles. Unaware of his bound legs, he stepped forward and fell once more onto the damp grasses. Grumbling under his breath, he found his way into the house, where the discovery of a cold and empty hearth and no supper made
him even angrier. His jaw was swollen and his mouth stiff; all he wanted was a pint of ale and his bed. He would tend to the whole
matter in the
morning. Not sure what he would do, he resolved to punish
someone for this travesty.

Present Day

CAPE COD

AFTER LUNCH
the next day, I secluded myself in the front parlor office. Maybe some writing would take my mind off the setback of not finding any other clues at Doane Rock. The manuscript that I’d been working on ever since I’d found the treasure in our backyard,
four
years ago was slowly turning into fiction. Although no one believed my theory that it belonged to the legendary Sam Bellamy, I eased my desire for credibility with my determination to tell a good story and let people believe what they want. Of course, I had the gold and
jewels to back up
all my assumptions. Bottom line, I thought, I’m sticking with the
Sam Bellamy premise.

My eyes focused on the computer screen, and with fingers
poised over the keyboard, I began typing, Chapter 15,
The gold and jewels….
I stared at the blank lines that followed the first four words for several
minutes before I blinked. Sitting back in my chair, I thought of the phone call I’d made to a New York museum before I left for Antigua. I had left on my trip hoping they would be interested in a special exhibit of the gold and silver coins that I’d discovered. As of today,
no one had
returned my call. The museum should’ve jumped right on it, I thought. After all, one doesn’t find pirate booty every day. Connecting with the museum curator was probably not going to
happen.

My thoughts circled back to the old John Julian as I got up to get a cup of coffee. There were no other clues as to where his treasure
could
be found, or even if it existed. The one lead identifying Doane Rock had become a dead end after I realized that there wouldn’t be any
digging
around it since it was on government property. I should have known better. With that and no response from the museum, I felt
disheartened
that my search was over. It seemed disappointment was now
beginning to shadow my every move.