The Old Cape Teapot (18 page)

The next morning, Hephzibah watched the three men mount
horses to begin their journey to Enoch’s Rock in Eastham. Confident that Tobey would prove himself trustworthy, she returned to the
house and her chores for the day.

***

The men traveled from Sandwich to Yarmouth, where they stayed the night within Maker’s house. All three, anxious about what they
would find the next day, encountered a restless night. When dawn broke, they left for Eastham, eager to continue their quest.
Remembering the tension of his last travel, Tobey felt good to ride a horse instead of
walking. By late afternoon, the gray crest of Enoch’s Rock rose above the trees before them. Quickening their pace, they arrived at its
bottom within minutes.

“Show me where it is,” Maker ordered.

Tobey dismounted his horse with confidence. He went straight to the small pile of stones that lay to the rear of the enormous rock and pointed. “Here’s where I buried it.”

Hephzibah’s father grabbed a spade from the back of his saddle and instructed Tobey, “Go and get yours and give me some help.”

As the two men pushed aside the stones and dug into the dirt,
their tools did not need to plunge very deep. The wood and leather bound chest showed through the loose soil within a few shovelfuls.

Once the chest was uncovered, Maker knelt on the stones and
examined it with slow and determined actions. In an investigative
manner, he scraped away the caked dirt around its edges, then brushed his hands of the loose soil, wiped them on his pants, and reached for the exposed latch. McCleron and Tobey leaned in. The lid opened.

Tobey gasped, “I don’t understand.” He knelt down next to Maker. His hands dove into the dark box searching for the gold coins
that he had seen not more than a month ago. “Where are they?”

“What are you saying?” Maker asked. “There doesn’t seem to be much of a treasure in here.”

“Where’s the rest?” Tobey yelled out. He sat back on his
haunches, shaking his head in disbelief.

McCleron knelt to the other side of the constable. “Let me see.” He put his hand into the dark chest. “There are coins at the bottom but not many.”

Tobey stretched his hand down into the chest again. His forehead grew wet with perspiration and he felt himself spin into a
panic. “It must be here! I saw it with my own eyes.” He panted under his breath, “It can’t be. It can’t be.”

The constable pushed himself upright, taking a position a few steps back. McCleron also stood and both men watched the young
Antiguan frantically swirling his hand inside the near empty chest, banging his knuckles against the old wood.

“Mr. McCleron, it seems that we have a bit of a wild-goose chase on our hands.” The constable stroked his chin trying to decide what to do next.

McCleron went over to Tobey and, with a sympathetic touch,
tried to hold the black man’s hands still. His voice was gentle. “Stop! You
need to stop.” He pulled back on Tobey’s shoulders, forcing him
upright. McCleron placed the handle of a spade in Tobey’s palm and coaxed, “Here now, let’s dig it out together.”

When the chest was pulled from its secret grave, the gold coins were scooped out, filling only a small leather pouch. Tobey sat to the
side and hung his head between his knees. Bewildered at the near empty chest, he shook his head back and forth in skepticism. “No one knew of the chest, it was just me, Davis, and Mr. Julian. I don’t
understand.”

McCleron spoke up in Tobey’s defense, “I can attest to the fact that this young man has been on my property since he and
Hephzibah
arrived weeks ago. He would not have had the resources nor the
time to return here.” He walked over to Tobey and placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Besides, why would he lead us to it, if only to prove his innocence? Freedom seems to be the utmost in his mind, not treasure. He’s a man to be trusted.”

Maker straightened himself and spoke with authority, “Let’s
finish here. No need to take the chest with us. Leave it.”

He dropped the pouch into one of his saddlebags and motioned to the other men. “I know of a tavern not far from this place. We’ll stay the night there and then home to Yarmouth to sort out the situation tomorrow.”

McCleron and the Constable rode together with Tobey in the rear, out of earshot of the men talking. “Now what of Tobey?” McCleron asked.

There was no response from Maker.

After a short time, McCleron spoke again. “I know that the
Smiths have just been delivered of a new child. Hephzibah aided in the birth
and they have named her Lydia. They may be in for a celebration
and interested in my meat.”

Constable Maker glanced over his shoulder at Tobey. “My job is done here. You may contact the Smiths and arrange for his freedom.”

Present Day

CAPE COD

THOMAS DAVIS CHANDLER
tapped his fingers across the computer’s keyboard, tracking an order from a game supplier. As he
waited for the information to come up on the screen, he glanced at the business card that lay to his right: Nancy Caldwell, Gallery Director-Antiquities.

The word ‘antiquities’ caught his attention. He chose a new
window and typed in her name. Up popped 50,000 entries, and #1 listed a Nancy Caldwell along with a caption in bold type,
‘Brewster couple uncovers treasure’.

He scrolled down the list of hits. Her name was highlighted along with other interesting words: Sam Bellamy, pirate ship,
Whydah
, gold, jewelry and untold riches. On the second page, at the bottom, he saw his own name. His eyes fixated on the bold letters. “What the hell?” A shot of adrenaline rose through his body. “Why is my name linked to pirates and treasure?”

Tommy called out to his buddy in the backroom. “Hey Silas, come on up front for a while, I gotta go home. I got some business
with Sheila. I’ll be back in a few. Keep your eye on things…okay?”

Driving the back roads to the house he grew up in, Tommy recalled hearing people whispering at his dad’s funeral...‘the last of
the Thomas Davis lineage’…‘too bad he’s the last one.’ Tommy mulled the words
over in his head as he turned onto the neighborhood street. He was
an only child and his father had no siblings, so he would inherit
anything valuable. A smile curled across his face as he thought of what might lay ahead for him.

***

Silas Maroni played his last quarter. An old pinball machine known
as the Black Knight clicked, binged, and flashed as he racked up points. When the last ball rolled down to the silver paddle, Silas
spread his legs apart, determined to finish his game with a flourish. In a matter of minutes it was over. He watched the points tally to 850,000 across
the multi-lit backdrop. He was now the top player at the gaming
store. Fist pumping his hand in the air, he regained a normal stance then yelled, “Yeah!”

As he walked towards the front area of the store, all the chains that hung from his black baggy pants made a clanking noise. He
eventually settled himself behind the counter to watch some TV.

***

Tommy kept the music turned up in his car as loud as the speakers would handle. He knew Sheila hated it and any chance to irritate her was good for him. It gave him some control over their relationship. He stayed in the car a little longer with the radio blaring.

Sheila Jenkins was Tommy’s stepmother. He’d been comfortable enough to hang around at his dad’s house but, after his father died,
the new wife was meaner than ever to him. Unfortunately, she
continued to live in the family house and his visits became fewer and fewer.

She shrieked from the kitchen as he entered the small ranch house, “How many times have I told you to keep your music down?”

“Yeah, I heard you,” he said slamming the door behind him.

“What do you want?” she asked without looking up from her crossword puzzle.

He ignored the question, grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and sat across from her at the kitchen table.

After several seconds, she lowered the newspaper a few inches, and in a sarcastic twang asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be working at your little game store?”

He continued his sullen stare at her.

She went back to the puzzle. Finally, she took her cigarette out of her mouth and yelled at him, “What? What do you want?’

“What do you know about my family?”

“Not much.” She leaned back in her chair.

“What about my Dad’s grandparents or great grandparents?”

Sheila stood up, poured a cup of coffee and turned to face him.
“Well, look at you. Little Tommy has found some adult words and
he’s actually using them in a conversation.”

He took a drink then banged the bottle on the table. “Look, I just wanna know about the history of my family.”

She sat down again and sipped her coffee. “All right, I’ll tell you what I know, which isn’t much.”

Tommy leaned over the table.

“Remember the boxes of stuff that I gave you after the funeral?”

“Yeah, the old dishes and crap.”

“Your father said that whatever was in them belonged only to you.” She grew quiet.

“Is that it?”

“Yup, that’s all I know.”

“Shit.”

Sheila went back to her crossword.

Tommy slapped his hand on the table, stood up and leaned his back against the sink.

Without looking up, Sheila continued, “If you’re so curious, go up in the attic and look for yourself. Don’t bother me with it.”

***

Bored, Silas decided to busy himself with the computer. Sitting on a high stool, he wiggled the mouse to wake up the screen and took out a pocketknife to clean his fingernails while he waited. Whatever Tommy had discovered earlier was now in front of Silas’s eyes and
the same words that caught Tommy’s attention piqued Silas’s
curiosity.

He began to move one leg in a nervous bounce as he read deeper and searched more pages. Silas ran his fingers through his curly red hair and scratched at his freckled cheek, trying to figure out how he
could benefit from this information. He highlighted Nancy Caldwell’s full name in the search box and added the word
‘address’. Two hits came up from the Find People site. One Nancy Caldwell was from California and one was from Brewster, Massachusetts. He copied her address down and stuffed it in his pocket.

Present Day

ANTIGUA

THE CARIBBEAN AIR
was steamy against the railing of the open veranda as the impatient caller waited for the voice on the other end
to answer. He’d ordered a cold beer and could see it resting on the bar just under the palm-covered eve. He could almost taste its cool
liquid. An elderly but distinguished voice answered, “Damien residence.”

“Mr. Damien, please.” Sweat dripped from the caller’s forehead to the cell phone.

“Whom may I ask is calling?”

“I’m calling from Antigua. He’ll talk to me.”

“Of course, sir. Please hold on.”

He couldn’t stand it anymore; he hurried in under the shade and quickly grabbed the chilled bottle from the counter, then walked back outside.

A terse, accented voice asked, “Yes?”

“Mr. Damien, I’ve some good news for you. I have the earrings.”

“Well, that is good news. What about the necklace?”

The sweaty caller hesitated. “Not yet.” He wiped his brow. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to follow it to Cape Cod.”

“If you must.” An audible sigh could be heard.

“It’s almost within my grasp. I’ll have it for you soon, sir.”

“I hope you will. We wouldn’t want anything to go wrong,
would we?” Mr. Damien sounded threatening.

“No, sir.”

“I’m not paying you a finder’s fee of three million dollars to find only two priceless items. I want all of them. I expect my employees to complete their assignments.”

The cell phone clicked off, a sea breeze blew, and the nervous caller ordered another beer.

***

Across a continent, Mr. Damien took his afternoon tea in the
solarium. He admired the blue flowers on his antique teacup, beautiful against the green of the delicate ferns, English ivy, and oriental lilies that surrounded him.

1746

BOSTON

“IF YOU CHOOSE
to live in that house and defy me, you are dead to me,” Felicity Davis screamed at her 24-year-old only son as he turned his back on her. In one last attempt to persuade him to stay, she changed her tone and begged, “Ezekiel, please don’t leave me! I’m your mother!”

The door slammed shut and he was gone.

Ezekiel Davis found himself suffocating under his mother’s roof.
He could not put up with her whiney and dominating personality anymore. Now a successful lawyer, he was ever grateful for his education, but still felt compelled to leave and start his own life, with
his own rules. Today he ventured out on a journey to claim his deceased father’s house. Willed to him at birth, it had sat empty and abandoned for 24 years in the town of Yarmouth on Cape Cod.

Soon after boarding the ship on his first voyage unattended, he
was confident that he would be fine. It would be a short sail, landing by late afternoon. The young man eagerly reached for the railing
with
anticipated excitement of being on his own. But his body cringed as thoughts of freedom and adventure collided with words from his
dead grandmother: ”You are just like your father, a boorish oaf.” Ezekiel shook his head, trying to free his mind of these thoughts, reminding
himself that he was a good person; he wasn’t anything like his
father.
He never even knew him. The muscles in his neck tightened once more recalling his mother’s threats as a child. “Behave yourself or
your
inheritance will amount to nothing.” Ezekiel quickly regained his composure. He was determined to push on, be independent and begin a new chapter in his life. And what about his father? He was
curious and wanted answers.