The Old Cape Teapot

by Barbara Eppich Struna

  I smiled to myself, why not? My story is a great adventure. “What did that guy talk to you about before we got our food?”

  “Not much. He just asked where the best sailing was. I told him that I was Peace Corps and had only sailed once on the island.”

  The unfinished meal sat in front of me. I racked my brain trying to come up with a solution as to how I could get out of this predicament.

  “What if I asked to take it home?” I suggested to Brian.

  “She’ll know.”

  “I have to try; I can’t eat anymore.”

  I got up and asked Junior for something to take the food home in for tomorrow’s lunch, hopeful my fib would work. I offered many thanks and compliments upon Ms. Judith for her ability to combine interesting and tasty foods. My effort went well and she retired into the kitchen with a big smile on her face. As Junior handed me the tinfoil container, he asked, “I hope you don’t think me forward, but I couldn’t help noticing the beautiful jewelry that you’re wearing.”

  I placed my hand on my neck, “Thank you, it’s one of my favorites.”

  “It resembles earrings that belong to my mother.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, they’ve been in my family for many years, handed down from generation to generation.”

  My queasy stomach miraculously disappeared as my eyes widened with interest. “Do you know any history about them?”

  “No, I just remember my mother always keeping them in a box under lock and key. She would only wear them for special occasions, like her wedding anniversary.”

  “Junior.” A voice called from the kitchen summoning the teenager away from my next question.

  I quickly returned to our table carrying the supposed lunch for the next day. “Brian, Junior just told me his mother has some earrings that look like my necklace.”

  “Oh yeah? That’s nice. Shall we go? I’m kind of tired and don’t feel so well.”

  Somewhat perturbed that he wasn’t interested, I understood his ill feeling and tucked a mental note in my head to make sure to talk to him about Junior’s information later. Brian did look a little pale.

  Twinkling stars covered the black night sky. I felt a little better as we walked back up the hill to the house and it seemed that Brian did too. He smiled at me. “Did you enjoy your stew?”

  “So…you think it was funny?” I tried to smack him on the shoulder but he was too quick and dodged my hand.

  Nick caught up with us on the sandy path. “Hey, Mrs. C, I’ve got one more question.”

  I turned around. “Sure, what else do you want to know?”

  “What about the big treasure?”

  We continued walking up the hill. “I found that about a year later, beneath a huge boulder in our woods. It was in a rotted chest that was filled with gold and jewels.”

  Nick whistled. “Wow! Who would have thought you could find old treasure nowadays.” He stepped in front of me, walking backwards. “How did you know it was Bellamy’s treasure?”

  “Based on the parchment found in the cellar and the initials of S.B. and M.H. on it, I just assumed it was his.”

  Nick wistfully looked up to the stars. “Bellamy must have been one hell of an interesting character.”

  “That he was! You know, when the Whydah was discovered off Cape Cod’s coast in 1986, it made pirate Samuel Bellamy a national treasure.”

  Nick went into a pirate mode and jumped ahead of us. He yelled, “Shiver me timbers and avast, ye mates. ‘Tis a fine night for a stroll!”

  At the top of the hill, we laughed some more and then said our goodnights. Nick got into his jeep and disappeared down the dark road. Brian and I walked up the stairs to the house.

  “I know what I’m going to do with this stew,” I said, “throw it out!”

  Before Brian could say anything sarcastic, he stopped in his tracks and held up his arm. “Hold it! Something’s wrong here.”

  “What?”

  “The door’s open. I know I locked it. I always do.” He placed his head close to the screen and listened. “You stay here. I’ll go in and see what’s going on.”

  I stood still holding the pungent remains of those sweet baby goats while Brian quietly reached in and flipped the light switch. I watched him scan the room. He turned and held his finger to his lips in a ‘keep quiet’ gesture. More lights went on as he checked the bedrooms. Within a few minutes he re-appeared.

  “It’s okay. No one’s here now, but I think someone was…your suitcase is a mess.”

  I hurried to my bedroom to find my clothes strewn over the floor. I felt sick in my stomach. I couldn’t stand the idea of a stranger rifling through my things. The memory of the night I’d been tied and gagged in my own home shot into my head. I sat on the edge of the bed and took some deep breaths, trying to clear my thoughts and bring myself back into common sense mode.

  Brian scanned the other rooms. “The rest of the house seems untouched.”

  “I can’t believe someone got in here,” I said in a nervous whisper. “Do you think they were after this?” I touched my necklace.

  “I don’t know, Mom. Maybe.”

  “Should we call the police?”

  “Not sure. I’ll talk to someone in the office tomorrow.”

  I slowly got up and started to straighten my things. “Please make sure you lock the door tonight and maybe keep a light on in the living room.”

  “We’ll be okay.” Brian gave me a hug goodnight.

  “Would you shove a chair under the doorknob?”

  He moved over to the kitchen area and grabbed a chair. “Don’t worry.”

  I felt a little relieved as I watched my son do as he was asked. While brushing my teeth I made a mental note to talk to Brian about Junior’s comment that his mom’s jewelry resembled my necklace. But by the time I was finished, he was already asleep. Grabbing my flashlight, I dropped the netting around my bed and crawled in. I fell asleep thinking that I wanted to go back and visit John Julian at the sandwich place. I’d leave early enough to catch him before eleven-thirty.

  ***

  1722

  ANTIGUA

  Julian left in the early morning for the Smith’s house to make sure that all was ready for the arrival of the plantation owner’s son. With his own eyes, he confirmed that clean bedding and adequate food was prepared and that everything else was in its place at the sugar mill. When he was satisfied, he left for the harbor at St. John’s, eager to find Davis and young Isaac Smith.

  Within the hour, he was leaning against a black, oily barrel. John lit his clay pipe, hoping its spicy smoke would mask the putrid odors of dead fish, spoiled food, and the sweaty bodies of slaves as they loaded and unloaded cargo from the tall ships. On occasion, the sea air blew the stench away, but not today, it was calm and steamy. As he awaited the sight of the Voyager, he felt good; Elizabeth’s news of the child was a pleasant surprise for him.

  Isaac Smith had his bags ready on deck, keen to place his feet on land once more. Thomas Davis took his time below. Unlike Isaac, he enjoyed his sail, relishing his time at sea. As the Voyager entered the harbor, its hull skimmed across the glasslike water, headed for its docking.

  Davis joined young Isaac against the railing. “We’ll be on land soon. I suspect you’ll be very happy?”

  “Yes, I will that,” answered Isaac.

  The sun beat upon their heads and, as the ship slowed, the wind lessened its refreshing coolness.

  “Are you staying with anyone, Mr. Davis?”

  “No, but I’m meeting an old acquaintance.”

  “You’re welcome in my house. I’d like to repay you for your kindness towards me while we sailed.” Isaac scanned the dock for the plantation’s carriage and its overseer.

  “That’s very considerate of you, Isaac,” Davis said as he, too, looked towards the dock for John Julian.

  As soon as Julian spotted the vessel, he straightened his shirt and doused his pipe. He was ready to meet Smith and, hop
efully, Davis too.

  The harbor at St. John’s was wide and deep, enabling the ships to snug the land. Planks were drawn across the water and passengers began their exit, all looking for familiar faces. Julian recognized Isaac Smith from a portrait that hung in the great room of the big house.

  “Welcome, Mr. Smith. I’m John Julian, the overseer for your father’s plantation.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Isaac said as they shook hands.

  Isaac craned his neck to find Davis. “There’s someone I need to locate. He was very kind to me on the voyage, and I want to offer him the hospitality of our house while he’s here on the island.”

  Julian picked up the young man’s bags, carried them to the cart, then looked over his shoulder to where Isaac was searching.

  “There he is,” Isaac said as he pointed to the last man to leave the ship.

  Thomas Davis was dressed in gentlemen’s clothing and had the airs of a wealthy man, but Julian knew his face immediately. Davis did not look desperate for money, which would be advantageous for John’s plan. As Davis and Julian were introduced, they kept their alliance secret, greeting each other as strangers in front of the young man. They could talk later.

  By the time they reached the Smith estate, poor Isaac was soaked with sweat from the heat; he had already loosened his shirt and shed his waistcoat. Wishing he were back on the ship in the cool ocean breezes, he asked as he dabbed his forehead with a kerchief, “Is there a place where I can lie down, somewhere a little cooler?”

  “Of course, sir. Let me show you to your room,” Julian said as he took the bags from the cart. Isaac followed him into the house.

  Davis stayed behind in the wagon and called out, “Never you mind me. I’ll be fine. I’m sure your overseer will take good care of me.” He lit his pipe, leaned back, and was relieved at how easy it was to find his old cohort, John Julian.

  7

  Present Day

  ANTIGUA

  IT WAS MY last day on the island. I intended to make the best of it, despite the nerve-wracking break-in. All my things were laid out on the bed. I took into account my clothes for the day and what I would wear on the plane home the next morning, then jammed everything else into the travel bag. Several large knobbed conch shells that I’d found on the beach were strewn across the bed. I held one up to my ear; the ocean echoed back from deep inside the briny seashell. Molly and Danny would enjoy listening to the ocean sounds from these unique shells. I stuffed the large, chalky beach finds into a triple thick plastic grocery bag and tied them to my backpack.

  Brian called out, “Before we see John, I want to show you the site of the new orphanage and stop at the Peace Corps office to see what we should do about last night.”

  “Great. Let’s go.”

  The sun was already hot as Brian turned the jeep onto the road towards town. I couldn’t stop wondering if Brian would be safe here anymore. And what about the earrings that might possibly match my necklace? I stared ahead, oblivious of where we were going.

  We came across an open field of scrub and high weeds. The beginnings of a medium-sized house on the right slowly came into view. Two wheelbarrows, a small cement mixer, bags of powdered cement, and a pile of two-by-fours were stacked against its foundation.

  Brian pulled to the side of the road. “What do you think?”

  “You did this? All by yourself?”

  “John and a friend of his helped me last week. We had to mix the cement by hand and push a wheelbarrow up a wooden ramp and dump it into the cement blocks. But it’s almost done.” He stood next to the underpinnings of the new home for Mariel and massaged the back of his leg.

  “How’s your leg feeling?”

  “Better. You know, tearing my Achilles tendon from running on these bumpy roads, then landing in the hospital, was the only way I would have ever met Mariel.”

  I shook my head. “I wish I could have been here with you. I hated that you were hurt and I was so far away.”

  Brian walked the foundation with pride. “The first day I saw Mariel, in the children’s ward, she was in her crib crying and banging her head on the mattress. The nurses were yelling and hitting her, thinking it would stop her from crying.”

  Brian’s comment startled me. “You mean they were spanking her?”

  He looked right at me. “No, they were hitting her on the head and face. None of them knew how to handle a special needs child.” He carefully picked up a shovel from the dirt and placed it closer to the cement blocks.

  I shielded my eyes from the strong morning sun. “God put you in the right place, at the right time and…you did the right thing.” I knew it was good for Brian to talk about his feelings. Sometimes phone conversations are too quick, relating only a few bits of information.

  He wiped his forehead with his bandana and then stretched his arms out to mark an area. “Now here’s the veranda where the kids can sit outside in the shade.” He fanned his hand in a semi-circle. “We can house eight children, with two live-in health aides.” He moved to the back of the soon-to-be orphanage and pointed to where the bedrooms would be. Turning to me he continued, “The whole thing with Mariel bothered me so much that I couldn’t sleep the first night after I saw her. That’s when I decided to go back to the hospital the next day. I remember hobbling in on my crutches, past those nasty nurses, to find her crying again. I started to sit quietly next to her crib, so I wouldn’t scare her. Then I started humming some of the lullabies from when I was little. By the following day, I was singing the songs. It got her to stop crying. Eventually she just watched me, listened, and swayed to the melody.”

  He sat down on the pile of cement bags. I sat next to him. “At the end of that week, little Mariel was reaching for my hand and then my face. Finally, she let me pick her up and we simply hugged.”

  His face grew serious. “No one in the hospital was pleased that I was making progress with her behavior. They got even angrier when I started asking questions about how they did things and about the care in general at the hospital. They didn’t like it at all. And then I couldn’t believe the people over me in the Corps told me that I shouldn’t get involved, especially with the politics of the local government and their social service programs.”

  “They didn’t appreciate what a good man you are.”

  We sat a few seconds in silence, both of us savoring the progress of the orphanage.

  “Who designed all of this?” I asked.

  “The plans were donated by a Peace Corps engineer working on St. Martin’s. Next week some carpenters from Martinique are coming over and we’ll start raising the roof and installing hurricane clips.”

  I patted him on the back. “It looks like it’s all coming together for you.” I picked up a little yellow wildflower from the field; it was just a simple weed. “When you told me that some disabled children on the islands are looked upon as a curse and are either abandoned or left to die when they’re born, I was shocked.”

  “Mom, if these kids make it past the age of six or seven living in the hospital ward, they’re then housed in a section of the local prison.” Brian shook his head in disbelief and looked one more time over the foundation he’d built and then jumped into the jeep. “It’s funny, now that the project is started, everyone wants to become involved and help out.”

  “I’m glad you stuck to your ideals and persevered, even in adversity.” I glanced at my watch. “We should get going. John is going to close his shack soon and I don’t want to miss him.”

  “Okay, but we better stop at the office first.”

  I sat in the jeep, waiting while Brian went in to find out if he should call the police. He re-appeared after only a few minutes.

  “According to protocol, as nothing was taken or broken, they said I should just lay low for a while. They told me to keep the doors locked and watch my back. If any more suspicious things happen, they recommend that I find a new place.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes. The least involveme
nt with the police the better.”

  “Maybe you should move.”

  “We’ll see.”

  John was moving a large trash can towards the front of his stand. As he looked up, he saw the jeep and waved. Brian tooted the horn and pulled alongside the curb. We got out.

  “Good Morning, mon,” John said, then he greeted me with a tip of his baseball cap, “Good Morning, Brian’s Mom.”

  I walked over to him. “I met your son last evening at the restaurant where he works.”

  “Yes, he told me.”

  “Did he mention that I had a necklace resembling a pair of earrings your wife keeps in a locked box?”

  “Yes.”

  I took the necklace out of my purse and cradled it in my fingers to show him. “What do you think?”

  John leaned over the counter and looked at the delicate piece hanging from the silver chain. “It is similar to the earrings, but I see them so few times a year, it’s hard to tell.”

  “Didn’t Brian ever tell you about what I’d discovered?”

  Brian interrupted me, “I never mentioned anything. I need to keep a low profile as a volunteer.” He stood with his feet apart and rubbed the side of his face. “I’m no braggart, Mom.”

  “I know…and you also never caught the connection between your friend John here and the treasure that I’d found.”

  The word ‘treasure’ spiked John Julian’s attention, and he stopped filling the plastic containers of onion, lettuce, and relish on the counter. “Did you say treasure?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  I rested my elbow on the wooden ledge and stared right at John. “If you have a few minutes, Brian and I would like to tell you some things that might be of interest to you.”

  The seventh generation grandson of the pirate John Julian stood listening to my words, taking in every nuance and inflection as I explained the story of the Whydah and Sam Bellamy. With each detail, his face contorted into quizzical expressions of surprise and then sometimes doubt. I was spinning a curious web of mystery, hoping to pull him deeper into my reality.

  “Did you really find a pirate’s treasure?’ he asked.