The Old Cape House

by Barbara Eppich Struna

  Paul dug down twice more with his shovel on the opposite side, to reveal only dirt. That confirmed my idea of steps on only one side. Now I was excited. I stood up to get a better look. “What do you think?”

  “I’m not sure, but it looks like a stairway down into some kind of a small room?”

  “Maybe it’s a root cellar?” I asked thinking of where people, centuries ago, used to store their winter foods.

  “You may be right; it’s too small for anything else,” Paul said as he stood up.

  I could smell the freshly dug dirt. It reminded me of spring but within a few seconds, my thoughts slowly turned dark. I wondered if there was anything dead–animal or human– underneath the soil.

  10

  Present Day – July 1

  BREWSTER – CAPE COD

  THE SOUND OF RUMBLING GRAVEL on the driveway distracted the two of us as we stood over the mysterious stone circle. What time was it? I brushed the dirt from my hands. “That must be Molly.”

  I left Paul in deep thought, staring at the circle. He called over his shoulder, “I’ll stay here.”

  Molly was smiling from inside the big SUV’s rear seat. She waved with one hand and flattened her drawn picture up against the window with the other. “Mom, look what I made,” she said as she scrambled out of the car.

  As we walked to the backyard, I waved goodbye to my new carpooling partner for day camp and asked Molly, “Do you want to show Daddy your beautiful picture? He’s in the backyard and…we have something to show you.”

  “What? Is it for me? Can I play with it?” she said, happily skipping, holding fast to me with her tiny fingers and gripping her artwork in her free hand. We rounded the garage and saw Paul leaning on his shovel. Molly ran over to him, circling his legs in a big hug.

  “Hi Daddy!” She pointed to the round patch of dirt. “What’s that?”

  “Well, it’s something that your Mommy and I found. We’re not sure what it is.”

  “Can I dig in it?”

  “Yes, but only if you stay on the grass. Go get your digging stuff.”

  In a second she was back and squatting on the edge of the stones with eager anticipation of finding something important.

  The crunch of gravel echoed again into the air. “I’ll go see who it is. You keep your eye on Molly. I’ll be right back.” I headed towards the back of the gallery. My head ducked under the low doorframe that was once the entrance to the old outhouse. As I passed our antique cash register, I could see potential customers already browsing the artwork.

  Paul looked at his little girl, “Molly, Daddy will be in the garage painting a cabinet. I can see you through the garage window. Be careful to stay on the grass, and no eating dirt!”

  Molly smiled with satisfaction. She loved to get dirty and this giant hole pleased her. As she dug, she found several broken clamshells and laid them carefully on the grass in a row. She pulled out an old spoon, which she conveniently made into a shovel, and scooped out more dirt from inside the circle. Something small and round embedded in the dirt caught her eye so she knelt down to get closer. Cautious not to go into the circle, she reached in as far as she could and dug around the tubular shape. Her old rusted spoon quickly uncovered what looked like a pipe, almost two inches long, with a flat handle attached to its end.

  She whispered to herself, “What’s that?” She spat on her fingers and rubbed them over the handle to reveal markings. Pleased, she pushed her hair behind her ears to get a better view, leaving long black smudges across her cheeks. With a big smile on her face, she looked around to see if her Daddy could see her, then she stepped into the circle to pull the treasure out of the dirt.

  I returned from the gallery to find Paul in the garage. “They were just browsing; here for the week. They said they’d be back before they head home to Connecticut.” I sat down in the lounge chair next to the drawing table. “They seemed interested in your full sheet watercolor, Cape Cod Bay.” I looked over to Paul. “It would be great to sell a big painting. We could really use the money…where’s Molly?”

  “I let her dig in the dirt. She’s fine. She was getting pretty dirty a few seconds ago.”

  I peered out the window of the garage and saw Molly standing up, covered in dirt, examining something in her hands.

  “What did she find now?” She was holding an object straight out with her hands. “Oh my God, what is that?” Fear gripped me as I ran outside, Paul following close behind me.

  “Molly!”

  The little girl turned, pointed the object at me and said, “Bang!”

  11

  Present Day – July 1

  BREWSTER – CAPE COD

  I TRIED TO REMAIN CALM and gently coaxed Molly, “Give it to me, honey.”

  Molly kept her hands on its handle. The gun was covered with dirt but its identity was obvious and Molly knew exactly what it was.

  Coming a little closer, I asked again, “Molly give it to me so we can look at it together.” I had hoped she would just drop it on the ground. Lunging forward, I latched onto it as fast as I could and whisked it away from her little fingers. Up close I could tell, with a sigh of relief, that the gun was only a toy. “Do you know what this is?” I demanded from her.

  “It’s a gun Mommy,” she answered timidly.

  “Yes it is, and thank goodness it’s only a toy.” The gun fit into the palm of my hand. I turned it over and brushed more dirt off it.

  Tears began to wet Molly’s eyes, and her bottom lip quivered.

  Paul asked, “Can I see that?” He reached to take it from me.

  “Here,” I said, eager to be rid of it. Even though I was angry with Molly, thinking about what might have happened, I couldn’t stop myself from imagining what else was in that hole.

  Paul immediately examined the old toy, then turned back to look at the freshly dug dirt. “We better be careful if we’re going to dig any deeper.”

  “Yeah, I guess we better watch our step,” I agreed.

  Molly started to bawl.

  Paul scooped her up in a big hug. “I told you not to go inside the circle, didn’t I?”

  She nodded.

  “All right, now don’t cry. Let’s go inside and wash your hands and face.” He gave the gun back to me and walked into the house with Molly nestled in his arms.

  I called after him, “I’ll be right in. There’s a snack in the refrigerator for Molly.”

  I laid the small toy on the edge of the grass by the hole. Afraid someone might trip on the exposed bricks and stones, I decided to find something to cover the open circle. I found two sawhorses leaning against the back wall of the garage. It only took two trips to carry them outside and arrange them in the front and back of the circle, with enough room for me to continue digging. “That should do it.” I put my hands on my hips, feeling confident about my well-constructed barricade.

  Casey appeared at the back door of the house. “Hey, Mom.”

  I motioned to Casey. “Come and see what your Dad and I found.”

  She came nearer as I grabbed a trowel and plunged it into the dirt. My heart was racing so fast with what already had been discovered, I didn’t even make eye contact with my own daughter. Finally I looked up. “Sorry honey, I’m so curious about what’s buried in here.” I tossed the toy gun across the grass to her. “Look at what your sister found!

  Casey bent down to look at the gun then started to push the dirt around with the old spoon that Molly had used. “Dad told me. How did you know it wasn’t real?”

  I pointed to a small stamped image on the gun. “When I brushed off some of the dirt I could see a little circled star printed on the handle. My brother and I had one just like it when we were kids.”

  Casey examined both sides of the toy. I was just about to tell her that it was too rusty to be dangerous when she casually dropped it on the ground and asked, “What’s for dinner?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I got too engrossed in all this digging to think about food. I complete
ly lost track of time.” Dinner was not a high priority on my list of things to do. Too bad she’s not interested, I thought, this is such fun.

  “Okay, I’m goin’ in.” Casey stood up and sulked back to the house in one of her teen moods.

  Intent to keep digging, I hoped to uncover more buried items and possibly even a little treasure. Maybe I’d find something worth a lot of money. I scooped more dirt out. With each shovelful I kept pushing myself to dig deeper, hoping that the next shovel might be the one that reveals something out of the ordinary.

  One hour later, after finding only a few pieces of shells, colored glass, and an old, navy blue button, my quest for riches began to lose its luster and disappointment took over. I looked at the huge mound of dirt to the side of me that was growing by the minute. I needed to find a place to put all this extra dirt. Frustrated, I leaned back against my heels. It was getting dark and I convinced myself that I could always work on this tomorrow. Reluctantly, I gathered my found treasures: the spoon, the button and the gun. I tossed the shells onto the graveled driveway.

  The items cradled in my hands didn’t look that great to me. I wished that I’d found something… anything unique. Grudgingly I walked into the house to face five starving people.

  ***

  That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking of buried treasure, gold coins and pirates. I moved closer towards Paul under the sheets. A flapping noise, somewhere close, began to prey on my nerves. I tried to dismiss it as something outside blowing in the wind, but with every little creak or groan from the old house I slid even nearer to Paul. By the time I found a good position, Paul had already begun to breathe deeply. When he was snoring an even rhythm, my eyes finally closed and I fell asleep, nestled up against his back.

  It must have been an hour later when I felt someone shaking me. I sat up, half asleep and covered with sweat. I felt more shaking. I screamed, “No, I can’t stay here. I want to get out! I can’t get out!” I heard someone talking but their words weren’t clear. I was panicked.

  Paul had his hands on my shoulders. “Nancy, wake up! You’re dreaming. You’re having a nightmare.” His voice softened, “Honey, are you all right?”

  I rubbed my eyes and arms. Running my fingers through my hair, I finally recognized Paul. “Oh, my God, what a terrible dream. I felt all this shaking. I’m so glad it was you just trying to wake me.” I sat on the edge of the bed. “I need to eat something before I tell you my dream.”

  Paul was half asleep as he grinned at my silly superstition; I always ate before sharing my dreams. If I didn’t eat, I believed they might come true. We walked down the steps in silence to the kitchen for some gingersnaps and milk.

  “Okay, spill your guts,” Paul said to me as I sat down at the table.

  “It was so scary. I was floating in the air and looking down into a small round room. I could see a dark figure in the corner, bending over a box or something. There was dirt all over the floor. It was a woman in a long dress and she was digging. Then all of a sudden she turned and looked up at me. I tried to leave the room but I couldn’t get out. Her face was covered in grime, and she had red lines on her cheeks that looked like blood.”

  Paul calmly leaned against the counter, munching a cookie. “I bet the room was the cellar that we found yesterday. You know how your subconscious pulls things together that you see during the day into random images, then mixes them up so that your dreams are just plain weird.”

  “I guess so. But it all seemed so real.”

  “Did you see any old movies or unusual commercials yesterday?”

  “No, but I’ve been thinking a lot about pirates and treasure. Come to think of it, after supper I showed Molly an ad for the Pirate Museum in Provincetown. It had a discount on tickets for Tuesday mornings before 10:30.” I reached for the ad in the newspaper that was ready to be recycled come morning and pointed to the colorful figures in the ad. “See, it shows pictures of Sam Bellamy–they call him the Prince of Pirates–and his supposed lover, Maria Hallett.”

  “Well that solves the mysterious long dress. Don’t worry about it. Let’s get to bed.” He gave me a hug and followed right behind me, turning off the lights as we went back upstairs.

  July 2

  The following morning I could tell Paul was already up. The coffee smelled delicious. I lay in bed trying to figure out if the nightmare and the late night snack actually happened. I shook them off as silly and began planning my day. With eyes half open I ticked off the things that needed to be done. First, get Molly off to day camp, look through yesterday’s mail and then get back to my digging. I should have plenty of time to explore in that old root cellar. I hoped it wasn’t the same one in my nightmare.

  No shower now, I’ll take it later. Jogging pants, a Beatles t-shirt and old sneakers will make a fine outfit for digging. After tucking the bottom of my pants into socks, to ward off ticks, I glanced out the bedroom window to look at the barricaded hole. Thoughts of buried treasure flooded my head again. Calm down. Remember, whatever I find will be a treasure, even if it’s nothing valuable. Walking down the stairs and into the kitchen I still hoped to find money.

  I gave Paul a big kiss. “I had such a terrible dream last night. Did we eat cookies in the kitchen, or did I dream that, too?”

  He laughed, “No, we ate cookies, and then you told me about your dream.”

  “Well, I’m glad the creepy lady wasn’t real.”

  A Carolina wren’s song echoed into the house from the open back porch, I grabbed a cup of coffee to calm my fears. “Is everyone still sleeping? I better go and get them up.”

  After dropping Molly at camp and everyone had left for their summer jobs, I decided to tackle the bills before doing any more digging. As I picked through the letters, I came across a thin envelope from the bank. This was never a good sign; it usually meant an overdraft or some other problem. I ripped it open. It was a notice of overdraft. What?? In small black type, information for four checks was listed and noted that they were not paid due to insufficient funds. I felt irritated as I pulled the checkbook out and reread the notice, comparing the numbers. It can’t be. I read it again. That’s when I saw it. In my checkbook ledger I had recorded a check for $60.36. The bank’s amount read $6036.00. Someone had typed the decimal point in the wrong place!

  I picked up the phone. Thank God this isn’t my fault, I thought. After a few seconds of waiting to be connected to a real person who could help me, I imagined my future life. Living on the edge, with an up and down income, could become tiresome real fast.

  A polite woman on the other end of the phone eventually answered and listened to my explanation; then she put me on hold again. I started to doubt our decision to move. We were doing ok where we were.

  A gentleman answered and quickly resolved the situation by waiving the fees, but I still had to call the four people that didn’t get paid to tell them to resubmit their checks. Such a waste of energy; I could have been outside in that old cellar, looking for treasure. When I explained the whole scenario to Paul he looked relieved. I rounded up my gardening tools, along with a wheelbarrow, and headed straight to the back to the barricaded hole. Paul was back at his drawing table and with a quick wave I yelled, “I’m going digging.”

  I removed the barricades faster than I’d set them up. After repeatedly sinking my shovel into the center of the dirt, lifting it out and heaving it into the waiting wheelbarrow, I could finally stand knee-deep in the center of the hole with dirt walls encircling my legs.

  Paul watched from his studio. Inquisitive, he wandered outside. “How’s it going?”

  Wiping my forehead, I said, “Well, it’s a lot of work but not too bad.”

  “Want some help?” he asked.

  “Sure, do you think we’ll hear a customer pull in from back here?”

  “Maybe. Anyway, the sun is so hot today, it seems like a beach day, not a shopping day.”

  “Could you empty the dirt for me?” I pointed to where the grass met the
woods. “Dump it over there.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  Still determined to find something, I crouched down in the hole and picked at the dirt with my trowel. The point of the shovel hit some wood. “Paul, look here.”

  Clambering out of the hole to get my thermos of water, I let Paul get in for a closer view of the wood. He dug a little harder and wooden splinters began to fall away. All of a sudden, he hit a solid wall of stone. He looked up at me. “I think this wood was part of some shelving.” He chipped away at the narrow piece of wood. “I’m betting this was definitely a root cellar.” It fell to the ground; he picked it up and placed it on the grass by my feet.

  “Is that a square-headed nail in it?” I asked.

  “It sure is.”

  “I want to get back in, Paul. Come on out.”

  Casey, home from her baby-sitting job, came out the back door of the house. “Are you two still digging?”

  We felt like treasure hunters and called out in unison, “Yup!

  I added, “Casey, when Molly comes home, get her to wash up and give her a snack. Your father and I may be out here for a while. And tell me if any customers pull in.”

  “Do I have to?” Casey asked.

  “Yes, you have to.” I turned to Paul. “Let’s do take-out tonight. That way we can work out here till it gets dark, or at least till we get to the bottom of this mystery.”

  We looked at each other and smiled in agreement. With our backs together, the hole continued to widen. Over the next two hours we were able to dig to a depth of three feet. Three steep steps could be seen on one side and were now used to climb in and out of the hole. My fingernails were thick with dirt as more clamshells, broken pottery and wood were found and laid flat on the grass around the opening.

  As the other kids began to arrive home, each one came outside to see what we were doing. We sent Jim to get pizza for supper. When he returned with the food, we took a break and explained to the kids about the root cellar and what we had found so far.