The Old Cape Teapot (15 page)

As she stood up, her face was bright red from bending over. In her hand the lid of a blue and white teapot peeked out from the crumbled newspaper that was wrapped around it. Agnes slowly
unwrapped it.
Its spout was chipped and the handle was broken away from the
bullet
shaped body. “The lid seems to be glued on. I could never open it
and thus couldn’t sell it,” she said as she tried to wiggle the lid to prove her point.

“Is this from the estate?” I held the shard against the body of the teapot.

“Yes, it is.”

“It looks like it matches my pattern perfectly.” I could feel
myself getting excited.

“It does look pretty similar to your piece.” She held it out to me. “You can have the teapot for $5.00.”

“I’ll take it.”

I carried the teapot back to the front and placed it on the counter.

It took Agnes several minutes to finally make her way to her desk and sit down. “Not as fast as I used to be,” she said as she maneuvered her cane so that it wouldn’t fall between an old bureau
and a dark
green metal cabinet. She opened the file once more and scrolled down to the bottom of her inventory sheet. “I can tell you the young man’s name, but that’s all I’ll say. It’s Tommy Chandler.”

1722

YARMOUTH - CAPE COD

TOBEY HAD DECIDED
the prior night that, if Hephzibah would allow him to accompany her, he would also leave the Davis household. He woke before dawn and gently shook the young
woman’s shoulder, hoping to awaken her without alarm.

Hephzibah turned onto her back, slowly opened her eyes and smiled at her guardian. Tobey’s eyes reflected no evil and she felt no fear.

He whispered to her, “I want to go with you.”

With relief, she said, “I would like that.”

“Then we must leave before Davis awakes.” Tobey rose and
faced the brick chimney as Hephzibah dressed for travel.

Within minutes, the two were ready to leave. He slid the bureau away from the door and lifted its latch in silence. They crept down the stairs and into the kitchen, making no sound other than the swish of Hephzibah’s skirts. She grabbed a small pint of ale with
some day-old bread and wrapped them in a cloth.

Once outside, Tobey instructed her, “Go. I’ll catch up with you. Don’t worry.” Then he disappeared into the barn to retrieve his belongings as she went ahead of him. He made sure his papers were
concealed in a
small pouch along with the gold coins from Julian. A blanket and extra shirt were rolled into a bigger sack, which he slung over his shoulder. He caught up with Hephzibah as she reached the end of
the road that
took her away from Davis’s house. Together, they picked up their
pace in the early morning light, each hoping to reach the open road before
the townspeople began their day. Neither wanted to face the
questions of those who objected to their differing skin color.

Tobey turned to Hephzibah and finally spoke. “I need to ask something of you?”

“Yes?” Hephzibah kept her eyes on the rocky, rutted road before her.

“I have decided to leave Davis for good. You say that your father is a kind man. Would he hire me?”

She looked over to him. “Now that my brothers are married and gone, he may well be agreeable to your request.”

Tobey was relieved at a potential opportunity for work. He
walked a little taller.

As they came closer to another village in the early morning, they walked apart again, keeping a distance between themselves until they once more reached its outer edges, and away from inquisitive eyes. Several hours and miles passed before they felt safe enough to
sit and
share the bread and ale that Hephzibah carried. Both travelers welcomed the rest and sat to the side of the road under an old elm tree. Tobey talked
of the island of Antigua and the orders he was given by his overseer, John
Julian.

“Was there really a chest filled with treasure?” Hephzibah asked.

“I saw it with my own eyes, and Davis knew I did.” He bit off a piece of bread and took a swig of ale. Pleased that he had caught the attention of this young woman with his story, he smiled and
continued,
“Davis closed it so fast I thought he would catch the front of his
pants or fingers in the latch.”

Hephzibah laughed. “I wish that he did. It would serve him right.”

The young Antiguan lay back against the trunk of the tree and admired her humor and beautiful smile.

***

DAVIS HOUSE, YARMOUTH

Davis lay sleeping long after the sun had risen. A loud knocking from outside roused him. Rolling over, he opened his eyes and
winced with the pain from his swollen jaw. He tried to remember where he was and how he got into this predicament. As the memory of what had happened slowly seeped back into his head, he rubbed his cheek and cursed, "God damn, that girl is going to pay."

The noise grew louder and then he heard his name. "Davis! Are you in there?"

He didn’t recognize the voice. "Just a minute, by God, I'm
coming," he grumbled.

As his feet landed on the wooden floor he called out, "Hephzibah!" Standing up, he yelled again, "Where are you, girl? Answer the
door."

Outside, Mr. James Baker was growing impatient. After hearing no response, the unannounced visitor walked to the rear of the house and headed for the barn.

Davis hobbled down the stairs to the front door. Seeing no one, he turned and proceeded to the kitchen for a drink. Both men swore as they continued calling out, each perturbed at the inconvenience of no response.

When Baker found the barn empty, he went to the back door of the house and banged his fist against it.

At the same time Davis, now in the kitchen, lifted ale to his lips. The loud noise startled him and he spewed his drink across the floor. "Gall darn it!” Ale dribbled from his lips and down his shirt. “Who’s at my door?"

"Davis, is that you in there?"

"Of course it's me! Who else would it be?" Davis refilled his tankard and yelled out, "James Baker, is that you?" Without waiting for a response, he took another swig of ale, got up and unlocked the door. "Come on in."

James Baker pushed the door open to see his friend looking like he had been dragged through a field. His clothes were grass stained and dirty, while his cheek bore the colors of black and blue patches.
"What have you been doing, man?" Baker asked with a sarcastic
smile on his face.

“I don't want to discuss it.”

"Is there no woman about the house?"

"No! And I’m thoroughly disgusted with the whole situation." Davis slammed his tankard to the board.

Baker laughed and sat down opposite his friend. "Well sir, I
haven’t come to question your personal life." Helping himself to some drink, he continued, "I have traveled here to ask if you’d be interested in a business proposition."

With these words, Davis grew more attentive. "Will it involve a profit for me?

"Yes, indeed."

"Then you have my interest." Davis stood. "I need to piss."

"Be my guest," he waved his hand, gesturing towards the door.

Davis leaned one arm against the outside shingles of the house
to relieve himself. He called out over the dull thud of his bodily fluids against the damp mud. "Will it involve me doing any hard work?"

From inside, Baker replied, "Just your money, Thomas. Just money."

The two men sat by the cold hearth as Baker explained his venture, based upon the need of a mill to grind corn for the ladies of the North Parish of Harwich. It would be located near the natural
ridge that
separated Eastham from Harwich. He unfolded a paper with the words
‘Baker Davis Mill’ across the top as a heading, and a list of facts,
expenses,
and site directions underneath it. Baker added, “The Paine Mill, near the mouth of the Namskaket, is too far for the good Harwich ladies to travel.”

Davis listened, allowing Baker to convince him that it would be a
welcome addition to the commerce in the area. Davis knew of the location; it was not far from Enoch's Rock. This might be the answer
to his problem of where to secure his newfound treasure. Being a part owner of the
mill would also place him in a desirable position to hide his newly discovered cache in secret at the mill site. Control. That is what he
wanted. It was all about control.

Present Day

CAPE COD

THE HIGHWAY
was my best choice to travel home; it was quicker
and would give me some extra time to visit Tommy Chandler at Tommy’s Gaming in Yarmouth. A little guilt flickered through my
head as I
remembered how I’d secretly copied the kid’s business address. I
was sure Agnes wasn’t aware of my snooping as I deciphered the upside down words from her open ledger and wrote them into my small notebook. It didn’t seem that terrible to me; besides, it felt
exciting, like I was a spy.

Right before Exit 10, I caught sight of a soaring hawk in the sky
through the top of the windshield. “Wow, that’s so beautiful,” I whispered,
until I saw the small chipmunk swaying in its talons. I took it as a
warning. My instinct told me to be careful, reminding me that not all things are what they seem to be.

Once off the highway, a small open strip mall appeared on my left. The shopping area housed a variety of businesses, from medical practices to a hardware store and a pizza shop. I eased the van into the second row from the sidewalk in front of the gaming store. Its giant windows were covered with black paper and logos from heavy
metal
bands. It was not the most inviting place to me, but it definitely
appealed to a certain few.

Cautious to go into the store at first, I made up my mind to go forward with my original plan of finding Tommy Chandler. I
assumed
that the game room was probably empty; kids would still be in
school. With only phone and keys in hand, I started for the door.

It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dark interior and black lights, but because I was wearing a white blouse, I literally glowed and lit my own path to the back counter. Couches, beanbag chairs, and
low tables lined up against the walls under several large flat screen
TVs. To the right side of me were random sounds of binging and clanging coming from another room that housed pinball machines. A young man, slight in build, with long black hair that hung down around his shoulders appeared from behind the counter. “What can I do for you?” he asked, flipping one side of his stringy hair over his
shoulder.

He took me off guard and I stumbled over my first question. “Uhhhh….”

He waited with an annoyed look on his face.

“Are you Tommy Chandler?”

“That’s my name. Who’s asking?”

“My name is Nancy Caldwell.” I took a deep breath. “This is
kind of an odd question, but, well, did you sell some china from an estate sometime last year?”

“Yup. What about it?” He stared at me.

His attention unnerved me. Not sure of what to ask next, I regretted not being more prepared. “I’m interested in the style of
china that you sold. Do you have any other pieces for sale?”

“Nope.” He began to look through some gaming magazines on the counter.

Now he was ignoring me. “I see.” I sensed our brief conversation was coming to a close if I didn’t come up with something more compelling. Perturbed with myself that I couldn’t think of anything
else to ask, I just
stood there. As I started to say goodbye, someone called from the
pinball room, “Hey, Tommy D! Got any more quarters for change?”

“Yeah, just a minute.” He moved over to the cash register. “Lady, if you don’t have any more questions, I got work to do.”

I quickly reached into my pocket and handed him a card with
my
name and email on it. “If you find any more pieces of that china
would you contact me? Here’s my email.”

He took the card and dropped it on the counter. “Yeah, sure.”

“Nice talking with you.” I turned to leave, but stopped and
asked
one more question. “I heard that man call you ‘Tommy D’, what
does the ‘D’ stand for?’

He stood a little taller. “Davis.” Opening the register, he started counting out quarters. “My dad named me after some dead
relative… Thomas Davis.”

***

I turned and hurried out of the store, barely believing what I’d heard. “Thomas DAVIS Chandler,” I repeated under my breath. I
knew from the Bellamy/Hallett legend that Davis was another survivor of the
Whydah
. Was this coincidence or fate that I’d found a shard of pottery on the beach that matched his family’s china? I could barely
contain my
excitement as I made my way back to the van. Once inside, I
repeated
his name out loud, “
Thomas Davis
Chandler
!” It pulled me right back
into
my quest. The question now was what to do with this new
information? Could it be connected to where John Julian’s treasure was buried? As I started the car, my cell phone rang. It was Brian.

“Mom?”

“Hi honey, I’ve been waiting for your call.”

“Sorry, I got busy.”

It was good to hear his voice. “Any news about John and the earrings?”

“Like I told you, they were stolen the day we were all at the orphanage reception. John and Angel seem a little nervous now
because someone was in their house, and they’re pretty sad they’ve lost a family heirloom, but they’re doing okay.”