I nodded yes.
“She’s telling you the truth,” Brian said, reinforcing my words.
John leaned back against the inside wall of the shack, took off his cap and rubbed his curly black hair. Turning, he asked, “So what you’re telling me is that my great grandfather, seven times removed, was THE John Julian of the pirate ship the Whydah?”
“I believe so. And if you have anything of value that you’ve had in your family since the 1700s, those items might hold clues that could lead us to more treasure…for you.”
“Mom, take it easy,” Brian cautioned. “You really don’t know what happened to John Julian, or if he ever got his hands on any treasure.”
It bothered me that Brian questioned my supposition. I knew I was right. I stared at him and continued, “If the earrings that John’s wife has in the locked box come anywhere close to resembling my necklace, then we can make an assumption that he did have some treasure.”
“Wait a minute.” John stood tall behind the counter and interrupted us. “You must slow down and let me get my head around this whole idea.” He began to close the front of the shack. “I need to leave now.”
I thought he was angry with me but then I remembered it was 11:30. “After you pick up your children, may we follow you to your house and see the earrings?”
“You both seem to be very serious about this whole mystery. I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm for you to look at the earrings. But we must be quick. The kids will be getting out soon.”
When we got into the Jeep to follow him, Brian looked over to me. “Mom, try not to get everyone all riled up about this. It might be nothing.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, I just want to look at the earrings.”
Once at the school, we parked to the side of the road and waited. We watched John carry a little girl in his arms from the building’s entrance to the back seat of his car. She was maybe five years old; her hand was curled close against her chest, her thin legs hung loose in front of John. Her good arm was wrapped around his neck, and as he turned to place her in the car seat, I saw a big smile on her face. A young boy was trailing behind him. He too, seemed happy, hindered only by a limp.
Brian whispered, “Rolanda has some sort of paralysis in her legs.”
I smiled. “She’s a cutie.”
“Anthony has Down Syndrome. He’s a nice little guy; one leg is shorter than the other.”
When the kids were settled, Brian pulled the Jeep behind John’s car, ready to follow him once more.
The Julian’s white stucco house was only a short drive down a rutted road. It sat in an open field and behind it were other houses dotting the hillside in the distance. His wife, Angel, came out onto the veranda to greet the little ones. John held Rolanda in his arms as he carried her up the wooden stairs. “Here you go.” He kissed the little girl on her head and handed her over to his wife.
Angel noticed us in the Jeep. “And who might be visiting us, John?”
We climbed out and walked over to the stairs.
John hurried down the stairway and helped little Anthony exit the car. As he closed the car door, he smiled at Angel, then gestured to us. “This is Brian, he’s Peace Corps, and his Mom is visiting from the states.”
“Nice to meet everyone,” Angel said as she opened the screen door with Rolanda in her arms.
John followed close behind her with the boy in tow. He spoke to Angel, “Brian is the one that got me involved in the new orphanage being built in the heights area.”
She smiled back at us.
He waved for both of us to come inside. “Angel usually substitutes at the high school, but not today, a lucky occurrence for your visit.”
The house was typical for the island in its layout; we entered into the living room, which was connected to a dining area and a kitchen to its side. A railing alongside some steps led to the upstairs. I wondered about John’s six kids and where they all slept.
Another quick glance around the room revealed a small mahogany curio cabinet standing against the wall next to a long couch. Within its glassed confines were small figurines, miniature framed photos and decorative shells. On the middle shelf, a wooden jewelry box was highlighted. It had an oval white piece inlaid on its top.
“Angel, remember Junior talked of a necklace that looked like the family’s heirloom earrings?”
“Yes, I do,” she said as she poured some juice for the kids.
“Maybe you could take a look at it?” John asked.
I came closer to the dining table and held the necklace in my hands for her to get a better look.
“Oh, it’s beautiful. It does have the same colors and delicate findings,” Angel agreed. “John, would you grab the kids’ sandwiches out of the fridge while I get my key?”
“Certainly.”
She disappeared into a room off the dining area and appeared within seconds with a small silver key attached to a black ribbon. Everyone watched as Angel opened the cabinet door. She carried the smooth wooden box to the clean end of the table. I could see that the white oval on top of the box was a piece of ivory. The ancient technique of scrimshaw was used to artfully scribe black tinted lines of a sailing ship floating across ocean waves. As Angel lifted the lid the smell of cedar drifted into the air. She reached for a white linen cloth from within and carefully unwrapped two earrings. I laid my necklace next to the delicate pieces.
8
Present Day
ANTIGUA
AS SOON AS I saw the two earrings, they spoke to me of mystery and the unknown. “May I hold them?”
Angel moved in front of the two pieces of jewelry that lay on the table as if they needed extra protection. “Of course,” she said. She was so protective that I had to reach in front of her to pick them up. “They’re so special to me and the whole family,” she cautioned. “I feel obligated to make sure they’re safe.”
“I’ll be very careful with them.” My hands trembled as I picked them up. They felt light as a feather as I moved them back and forth from one hand to the other. They were so beautiful. My heart beat faster as I envisioned these delicate pieces in the hands of the pirate John Julian or an 18th century woman of means as she dressed for a special occasion.
When I placed them back next to the necklace, the design and color of both pieces of jewelry clearly indicated a matched set. I sat down to gather my thoughts. Brian and John moved closer to get a better look. No amount of doubt, if anyone had any, would sway me from my theory that the pirate John Julian indeed had access to Bellamy’s treasure.
Angel glanced at her husband. “What do you think, John?”
The Antiguan said nothing. He stood quiet and focused his attention on his wife, as if he was unsure of us and what we were going to do with the information we were uncovering.
In soft-spoken words, Angel said, “John, I think that Brian’s Mom should meet Old Sugar.”
Old Sugar? My heart skipped a beat. Now we’re getting somewhere.
“If you think that’s a good idea.” John waited for Angel to respond.
“It’s fine with me.”
We said our goodbyes and waited in the Jeep for John to lead us to his grandmother’s house. “I still have enough time to finish packing for my flight tomorrow. I just can’t leave until I get more answers.”
Brian nodded in agreement.
We followed John around a large rotary and then turned down a densely packed street filled with houses, high fences, multiple cars, and trucks.
“I hope this little trip will be worth it,” Brian said, as he kept close behind the Antiguan’s car. “Once, when we were working at the orphanage, John said that his Old Sugar knew everything about their family history and could remember a lot of things…if she was having a good day.”
I looked at Brian. “So you knew about Old Sugar?”
“Sure, but I’ve never actually met her.”
We came upon a chain link fence surrounding a three-story cement-block house. It was built in
to a hill near the side of a gas station’s retaining wall. I tilted my head over the side of the jeep’s door to get a better look. “That must be Old Sugar’s house. I hope today is a good day for her.”
We watched John enter through the gate. He motioned to us where to park on the street of closely aligned houses. We squeezed in between two small trucks. I checked out the neighborhood. “Are we safe here?”
“I think so. I’ll lock the glove compartment, but you’d better take your backpack in with you.”
Once we gained entrance into the fenced yard, we only had to walk up a few steps to Old Sugar’s doorway, which then took us down into a large basement room. The casement windows across the top of the walls were shaded and closed; the stale air added to the overall murkiness of the home.
John called out, “Grandma Sugar!” as he closed the door behind us. “Sorry about the condition of the place, but Grandma Sugar likes to keep the heat out the old fashioned way…by closing everything up.”
A frail but clear voice came from another room. “Is that you, John?”
“Yeah, Grandma.”
Grandma Sugar appeared with her walker under the archway of the kitchen. She was wearing a colorful housecoat and pink slippers, her grey hair perched atop her head in a bun. She stopped halfway into the living room to take a good look at her visitors. “Well, who are you?’
John smiled and introduced everyone.
She shuffled towards us, her head down, watching her every step. “I wish I knew you were bringing some company; I might have baked something.” Old Sugar made her way to a well-worn rocker that was strategically placed in front of the television and beside a TV tray filled with tissues, a TV Guide, and several soap opera magazines. With a huff she took a seat. “Sit down, sit down. Tell me why you’re here.”
John took the earrings out of his pants pocket and unwrapped them in front of her. “Do you remember these?”
“Oooh, aren’t they beautiful? I recall that I wore them on occasion. Doesn’t Angel wear them now?”
“Yes she does, and they’re the reason we’ve come today.”
She took a tissue and wiped her nose. “Tell me more.”
I opened my cosmetic bag that held the necklace.
“Brian’s Mom has a necklace that seems to match these earrings.”
Old Sugar leaned in to get a closer look at my jewelry and then she stared at the earrings. “Why yes, I think you may be right. Now what does it have to do with me?”
“Do you remember anything about where the earrings originally came from?” John replied. “What do you know of our earliest relatives?”
She mulled over her grandson’s questions. “John, would you get me another glass of water?” she asked as she rubbed her chin. “And while you’re up, go and get a box from under my bed. It’s in a plastic bag. It might be dusty.” She shook her head back and forth. “I just can’t seem to get down there to clean.”
We sat in silence. It was too quiet for me, so I started with small talk. “You have a very nice place here, Grandma Sugar. I understand that your daughter lives upstairs; how convenient for you.”
“Oh yes.” Her smile was broad and toothless. Contented, she rocked back and forth.
John returned with a dusty black plastic bag. He pulled a shoebox from within and dropped the dirty bag to the floor.
Old Sugar tapped her bony finger on the TV tray. “Here, clean this table off and put it right here.” John did as he was told.
“Now open it, will you John?”
As he lifted the lid from the brown box, it made a swoosh as the bottom fell away to the tray.
We all craned our necks to get a better view of what was inside.
Old Sugar’s arthritic fingers lifted out a book from within the cardboard box. It looked like a Bible. The bumpy black leather that encased its yellowed pages was devoid of any decoration. “This here’s the family Bible,” she announced.
I carefully placed the necklace back into my purse and sat next to Brian on a dark green polyester couch, directly opposite Sugar. John gathered the plastic bag into a ball and tossed into the kitchen’s trash bin.
The old woman gestured to her grandson, “Come over here John.” She carefully opened the Bible and pointed to its pages. “In here are your ancestors’ names and dates.” Grandma Sugar turned the stiff, brittle paper to get to the front. He knelt by her side. “When I was little, I remember my mother writing in the names of my brothers when they were born, and then my father’s date when he died.”
John looked at the written words that made a list on the beginning pages of the small book. He reached in front of Old Sugar’s hand and pointed to the first name at the top of the page. “Old Sugar, is this our first relative?”
“That it is.” She read slowly, “John Julian, Born 1692, Died 1740.”
John read the next entry, “Elizabeth Thompkins Julian, Born 1701, Died 1735.”
“May I see it?” I asked.
“Of course, help yourself,” Old Sugar said with a smile.
As the old Bible passed from her hand to mine, its pages fanned open and a folded square of heavy vellum fell to the floor next to my foot.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I gasped. “I hope I didn’t damage anything.”
Brian carefully picked it up and handed it to me.
“May I open it?” I asked, holding the folded vellum over the open Bible.
Old Sugar waved her hand at me. “Go right ahead, I ain’t never paid much attention to the scribbles on its inside. Never could understand them.”
After closing the Bible, I attempted to separate the stiff sections of the folded square. After a few seconds, the vellum loosened and I was able to unfold it, exposing Old Sugar’s ‘scribbles’, as she called them. “It looks like a drawing.”
Everyone took a turn examining it.
I could clearly see what lay scribed before me. “It’s a map of Cape Cod!”
Brian quickly added, “You’re right, Mom; I can see the shape of the bent arm. See, there’s Brewster, even though the words say Harwich. It’s definitely the Cape.” His finger moved close to the map’s surface but drew back, cautious not to touch the vellum.
“Cape Cod?” John asked.
My eyes stared at the astonishing piece of evidence that had just been uncovered. My head was swimming with excitement. It was the clue that I needed. I kept my eyes focused on the remarkable drawing. “This clinches my theory that John Julian, your ancestor, has more than just a slight connection to Sam Bellamy and Cape Cod.” I looked at John. “I think there’s more treasure to be found. This map may just lead us to it.”
John looked stunned. He sat down on a chair next to his grandma.
While I studied the map, I whispered as if I was having a conversation with myself. It was an old habit of mine. “Why else would there be a map in this Bible, if not to lead someone to something valuable?” I cocked my head to think deeper. “Bibles were safe places to put important things. This book is the Julian family’s history.” I glanced up at John. “Am I right?”
John and Old Sugar nodded.
By now it was 1:30 in the afternoon and I knew John had to get back to his sandwich shack. He’d already missed lunch and I assumed he didn’t want to lose any more business.
I went right to the point. “I don’t want to take up any more of your time. Would you allow us to take the map and make a copy of it? We’ll return it to you as quickly as we can.”
John rubbed his forehead to find an answer. He finally said, “I would agree to that.”
“I promise I’ll be very careful with it.”
I placed the Bible on the TV tray next to Old Sugar and then asked one more favor. “John, do you think you could find a plastic bag to carry the map in for safekeeping?”
“Let me see.” He looked pleased that I wanted to be careful with the old map.
Old Sugar spoke up, “Well, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I know my John will take care of everythin
g. Won’t you, John?”
From the kitchen, he returned with a small plastic bag, “Yes, Grandma, I’ll return this evening and set everything back the way it was.”
Standing up, I reached for the plastic bag. “Don’t worry, Brian will drop the map off at your house as soon as possible.” I slowly folded the vellum and placed it inside.
“I sure hope you’re on to something.” He looked at me with steady eyes. “Brian’s Mom?”
“Yes?”
“If you find anything…don’t forget us.”
”I won’t… I promise.”
Brian couldn’t drive fast enough for me as we headed to the Peace Corps office to find a copy machine. I knew flattening the relic was not the best idea as it was very brittle, but I needed a good copy and my phone wasn’t the greatest for pictures. I stayed in the Jeep while Brian copied it for me.
Nick came from behind me as I sat outside. “Have a safe flight home, Mrs. C.” He walked past me on his way into the office. I waved and wished Brian would hurry up. It was getting late and I was exhausted. My flight was at six in the morning and four AM would arrive before I knew it.
9
Present Day
ANTIGUA
THE COPY of the old map was slid into my journal. Although I was sad to leave Brian behind on the island, I was anxious to get home to Cape Cod. I felt sure I was embarking on a new adventure with this map, and the Cape was where I hoped to find the answers to the many questions filling my head. Besides, John is such a nice guy, if I actually found anything it would be nice to help him and his family.
My small writing book was zipped into the outside pouch of my backpack, which already puffed out like a fat man’s belly from all my extra clothes. It looked even more cumbersome with the addition of the large grocery bag that held the six conch shells tied to the shoulder strap.
“Almost ready?” Brian asked, as he made sure everything was turned off in the little house.
“Yes, I think I am.”
“We should get going; flights are erratic around here.” He picked up my suitcase and headed down the steep stairway of the house.
The Old Cape Teapot Page 5