THE OLD
CAPE TEAPOT
BARBARA EPPICH STRUNA
Booktrope Editions
Seattle WA 2014
COPYRIGHT 2014 BARBARA EPPICH STRUNA
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).
Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.
No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.
Inquiries about additional permissions
should be directed to: [email protected]
Cover Designers:
Loretta Matson
& Timothy Jon Struna
Edited by Nicola Burnell
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.
PRINT ISBN 978-1-62015-590-5
EPUB ISBN 978-1-62015-611-7
Bought by Maraya21
kickass.to / 1337x.to / demonoid.pw / h33t.to / thepiratebay.se
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014918193
REVIEWS
"Fans of Barbara Struna's The Old Cape House will warmly welcome this delightful sequel. Familiar characters from both the past and present return and find themselves enriched in new mysteries spun from the legends of Cape Cod pirates. Struna's historical research and exquisite plotting will keep both new and old readers captivated and wanting more."
—James Lang, author, Learning Sickness: A Year with Crohn’s Disease (Capital Books, 2004) and Cheating Lessons: Learning from Academic Dishonesty (Harvard University Press, 2013)
“The legend of the pirate Samuel Bellamy grows with each retelling, and because the real man left no paper trail and little verifiable history, the legend takes on a new shine with each author’s voice. In The Old Cape Teapot, Barbara Eppich Struna brings legends and folklore to life through the discovery of artifacts from the past, and reunites them with her own version of this unique Cape Cod story. It’s an excellent read for those who enjoy a contemporary treat—with some history on the side.”
—Elizabeth Moisan, author, Master of the Sweet Trade: A Story of the Pirate Samuel Bellamy, Mariah Hallett, and the Whydah
CONTENTS
COVER
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT PAGE
REVIEWS
DEDICATION
PREFACE
1
2
3
4
5
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7
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48
EPILOGUE
MAPS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MORE FROM BARBARA STRUNA & BOOKTROPE
To my husband Tim, my soul mate and partner in love, laughter, and eternal optimism.
Present Day
LONDON
ALEXANDER DAMIEN ended his day in the study with the same ritual. He required a crystal goblet filled with the finest sherry and a tufted Corinthian leather chair in which he reclined to admire his ‘beauties.’ He gazed upon six small alcoves built into a long wall lined in rich oak wood. Each one glowed with soft lights, highlighting his priceless collections.
With the flick of his wrist and a light push on a button, the middle niche slowly moved towards him then stopped a few inches from his knees.
“You are exquisite,” he said as he gently spoke to the Fabergé egg, now at eye-level. The oval treasure depicted a sapphire-studded Cherub pulling a two–wheeled, silver-gilded chariot carrying a diamond-encrusted gold egg. Mr. Damien studied it for several minutes, almost as if he expected the cherub to move across the small platform that it rested upon. He sipped his sherry as the beautiful egg retreated backwards into its protected environment, nestled in the strong oak wall.
A second button brought another glass enclosure forward. “And you, my beauty, will soon have a friend, perhaps to discuss the intricacies of the diamond process or the pleasures of the royals from whence you came.” He so enjoyed admiring the star and badge of the Order of Saint Patrick. The rubies, emeralds, and Brazilian diamonds mounted in silver were magnificent. The fact that he owned them was even more satisfying. Another button and the front glass disappeared with a swoosh. He carefully lifted the bejeweled star and caressed its dazzling points, then returned it to the display.
As he savored his sherry, each treasure within the alcoves presented itself to their guardian.
There was a slight rap on the door before an elderly gentleman entered. “Sir, will there be anything else?”
“No. Thank you, Stewart. You may lock up and set the alarm.”
“Has there been any word from Antigua?”
“Very little, but things seem to be in place.”
“Yes, sir. Good night, sir.” Stewart poured a drop more sherry and dimmed the lights.
Alone again, Mr. Damien smiled with relish as he thought of his secret treasures. Over the centuries, everyone had assumed they were lost to the world, never to be found. His eyes moved towards the only light in the now darkened room, which came from the sixth alcove. It was empty.
1
Present Day
BREWSTER - CAPE COD
THE FRONT PARLOR of the old Cape house had become my office. It suited my needs and even had a pocket door in case I wanted to hide from everyone. A manila file holding a hard copy of my manuscript was stored in the top left drawer of my desk. My writing was coming along; I was about half way to the finish line. The big question was whether it was memoir or fiction? I was confident that I’d have time to figure it all out on the plane.
I looked around one last time at the framed pictures of the kids, me exploring the woods of Cape Cod, sailing on a replica of the 17th century Elizabeth Tilley, and posing for the newspaper wearing the antique necklace that I’d found among the pirate treasure. The room looked clean enough. I was only going to be gone a week.
I yelled into the foyer, “Martha, make sure Molly gets to camp on time.”
The sound of Danny’s five-year-old bare feet echoed in the foyer as he slapped them against the wooden floor. “Do you have to go, Mommy?”
“I won’t be gone long. Your brother misses me just as much as you would if you were in a far-away place.” After one last check in the mirror, my light blue linen blouse looked nice against my prematurely grey hair and navy blue cotton skirt. I grabbed my bag and hurried out of the office, ready for a comfortable journey ahead.
“Why did Brian have to go away?” Danny asked as he followed close behind me.
Over my shoulder I said, “He wanted to help people, so he joined the Peace Corps.”
> Martha filled the open doorway wearing a bright red paisley top and black stretch pants that covered her huge derriere. She stared out into the driveway looking for my ride. Within seconds she yelled out, “Your taxi’s here!”
“Thanks, Martha.”
As I turned to give Danny one more hug, Molly came running down the stairs with a big smile on her face and her eight-year-old arms swinging like a windmill. “Give Brian a big hug for me when you get there.”
Another squeeze for Molly and I was out the door.
Paul emerged from his studio to meet me at the end of the deck. He put his arms around me. “I hope I don’t get any paint on your new clothes. You look wonderful in that color blue.”
I smiled. “Thanks. I’m really going to miss you.”
He picked up my suitcase and put it into the waiting open trunk.
I turned to wave at Martha who was now holding Danny.
She called out, “Bye, Nancy. Make sure you don’t get involved with any pirates on Antigua!”
I found myself laughing at her comment as I climbed into the back of the taxi.
Paul leaned his head into the window for one last kiss. “Nancy Caldwell, please try to have a nice, quiet visit with our son.”
I straightened my skirt, took a deep breath to relax, and sat back in my ride to the airport.
Stately homes and ancient trees flew by me like a movie in fast forward. I thought of how much I loved living on Cape Cod as I touched the antique locket around my neck for good luck.
2
April 28, 1717
CAPE COD
THOMAS DAVIS took off to Samuel Harding’s house, eventually convincing the old man to hide him and his salvaged treasure for payment in more gold. Within the hour, Davis returned to Maria Hallett’s shack, along with a wagon to load his share. As he left, he saluted his shipmate, John Julian. “Better days ahead, mate.” His last look was to Maria, who was caring for Sam Bellamy as he lay unconscious beside her. “May good fortune attend you and the captain, ma’am.”
Maria said nothing as she turned her attention back to Sam.
By the time the sky darkened into black night, Julian had secured his riches to a short pole stretcher, covered it with a blanket and tied a shovel across the top. It was a struggle to pull the heavy chest across the rough terrain but he was determined. When the sky turned to early dawn, he’d finished burying his cache beneath the largest rock in Eastham. Wasting no time, he piled stones and rocks on top of the freshly dug dirt to hide what was buried. Julian smashed the rustic stretcher and heaved the shovel as far away as he could to further elude anyone from his nocturnal secret. He took only a small pouch of gold coins with him. Now he needed to hide through the daylight hours and run through the night to safety. Then it was on to Antigua.
***
1722
THE ATLANTIC OCEAN
Thomas Davis never dreamed that he would be sailing again to Antigua, in the West Indies, especially after his ordeal with the pirate Captain Sam Bellamy. Davis had sailed with the captain five years ago, but not of his own choice, and the courts of Boston had agreed that he was innocent of piracy. Today, he was sailing as a gentleman traveler from his home in Yarmouth on Cape Cod. He stood tall, not wanting to get his fine clothes dirty from the rough wooden rail under his hands.
Isaac Smith, at 18 years and on his maiden voyage, stood to Davis’s right, pale-faced and leaning on the railing of the ship. Davis would give the young man not more than a few hours before the motion of the sea would make Isaac lose the contents of his stomach. Sadly, he proved to be correct. As if on cue, the sound of someone hurling vomit broke the stillness of the cool evening air as the young man leaned over the rail. Davis thought it humorous as he retired below for his dinner.
Later, within the same hour, Davis enjoyed one last smoke in the night air up on deck and noticed his ailing fellow passenger was still against the rail. He approached him. “Just let it all come out, son.” He patted Isaac on the back. “You won’t die, and in a few days, you’ll be just fine.” He filled his clay pipe and took a sniff from a gold inlaid snuffbox.
Spittle dangled from Isaac’s lips as he glanced over to Davis. “Thank you, sir. Your words are reassuring but not plausible based on the way my insides feel.”
Thomas Davis chuckled to himself. He looked up to the stars and rested his hand on a letter in his breast pocket that he had received a few weeks prior to his departure from Cape Cod. He remembered its words well.
Dear Thomas,
The time has come for us to talk. I seek your assistance in matters of our past together. I have information that would be of benefit both to you and I. Your presence is needed to reap great rewards.
J.J. Island of Antigua
Davis knew the initials stood for John Julian, the navigator and pilot on the pirate ship Whydah. He and Julian were shipmates together when the Whydah went down in a nor’easter, just off the coast of Cape Cod, on April 27, 1717. Davis shook his head, still in disbelief of how lucky he was that night. The other pirates had perished in the sea or were captured upon making it to shore. He pinched another snuff. He, Julian, and Captain Bellamy had eluded the soldiers that night by hiding in the shack of the young girl, Maria Hallett. In the early morning hours, the three had managed to salvage treasure from the wreck, then separated to hide their share of the booty until it was safe to return for it. Davis had almost lost hope when he and Julian were quickly spotted and captured, becoming prisoners of the King, then sent to Boston for trial with seven other pirate survivors. He had been found innocent, along with Julian, by reason of coercion; the rest were hung. They never saw Sam Bellamy again. Davis sneered with satisfaction and stroked the diamond encrusted gold ring on the smallest of his fingers.
3
Present Day
ANTIGUA
THE GLASS PANELS of the airport exit slid sideways, and I stepped out onto the island of Antigua. A sweltering 90-degree heat hit my body, as if I had just opened a hot oven. I saw Brian driving a dark brown, open Jeep looking for an empty space in the small airport’s lot. Waving, I watched him finally find a space and park. As he walked closer to me, I noticed his peculiar attire. His shorts seemed odd paired with a black button down dress shirt, black socks and black tennis shoes. A funky Khaki jungle hat was tied under his chin, making him look like he was on a safari expedition. But it didn’t matter what he wore, I was just happy to see my son.
I gave him a big hug. “Hi, honey. It’s good to see you.”
He grabbed my paisley suitcase from the curb and planted a quick kiss on my cheek. “How was your flight?”
“Okay. It’s great to be on land again, even if it is a little hot for me. How’ve you been?”
“Fine, Mom. It’s been good.”
As he carried my bags I followed him, hoping to talk more, but he was my quiet one…a man of few words.
When we pulled away from the airport, my hair took off with a mind of its own, flying and swirling around my head. It felt good across my face. As the road continued, bumpy and curvy, I grew edgy about the rough ride and kept turning to the back seat to make sure the bags hadn’t fallen out. Holding the side of the doorframe with one hand, my billowing skirt with the other, I felt like I was on an amusement park ride. The noise of the open Jeep made it difficult to talk, but I managed to get in a few simple questions: How far is your house? Do you have any meetings today? What’s with all the black clothes?
Brian grinned at my teasing. “I try to stay away from white clothes; the water here turns everything yellow.”
I returned a smile as he sped up around a bend and onto a two-lane highway. “Have I told you that I love you and am very proud of your work here?” I noticed another smile grow across his face. “Your brothers and sisters all say hello.”
He quickly turned to me. “Thanks, Mom. I love you too.”
Almost completing his second year in the Peace Corps, Brian knew his way around this little island in the West Indies. From
his recent phone calls, I also knew that his work was finally becoming satisfying. Most people never see the tremendous poverty that exists behind all the posh resorts. Brian was right in the middle of it.
We passed several fancy hotels on the highway and then turned off and onto the back roads again. A group of houses came into view along a dirt road that led to the water.
“Here it is,” Brian announced. He drove down to the end to show me the ocean and its white sandy beach.
“I can hardly wait to explore the beach,” I whispered in awe, admiring the cool colors of the sky and water.
“Yeah, we should go for a walk tomorrow morning.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said as we turned around and drove back up the small incline to the houses that were all clumped together. Brian’s was the first near the road.
“What do you think?” he asked as we stopped uphill on a grassy area under three tall palm trees.
“It’s nice and shady.” It was all I could think of after noticing the laundry hanging on the veranda, broken screens, empty beer bottles in a pail, and bikes leaning against the stairway.
As I climbed the steep stairs to the front door I asked, “Where’s your new roommate…is he around?”
Brian opened the door and carried my bag inside along with some milk and other groceries. “Nick had a meeting with the teachers in his school. He’s joining us in town for dinner at Mrs. Jones’s house.”
I stepped into the cramped rental. “That’s nice of her, although I just don’t know how much I’ll eat tonight. I’m a little queasy from all the travel…just tired maybe.”
Brian turned on a fan in the dark paneled living room. “We won’t stay out late. I’ve been up since six this morning.”
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