Present Day – July 2 & 3
BREWSTER – CAPE COD
IT WAS GETTING DARK BUT PAUL KEPT DIGGING. I went to find a flashlight.
He called over his shoulder. “Bring one of my old paintbrushes?”
I was too excited to walk and found myself running to get the brushes from Paul’s studio and grabbing a lantern off a shelf in the barn. By the time I returned, Paul was down on both knees inside the cellar, digging around the wooden box.
I scrambled in next to him. “What is it?”
He brushed the dirt from his hands and leaned back. “It’s a box, all right, a wooden box with writing carved on top.” Without looking up, he asked, “Did you bring the brushes?” He held his hand out like a surgeon in the operating room.
With light from the lantern, I quickly picked the biggest brush to hand to him, then coaxed him on with, “Do the top first.”
Gently sweeping away the black dirt Paul whispered, “It looks like a letter D.”
I looked closer. “You’re right. I think I see something else.”
Careful not to damage the rotted wood, Paul’s gentle movements revealed two iron strap hinges across the wooden lid. “This is awesome,” he said.
In less than a millisecond, the top caved in. “Damn it!” he shouted.
“Crap,” I whispered. A cloud of crumbling wood and dirt descended down upon the contents. Whatever was inside the chest remained hidden once again. I leaned in to touch the sides of the box. “It must have been beautiful at one time. I wonder how old it is?”
Paul ran his hands over the exposed sides. “I’m not sure–maybe a hundred years.”
The chest measured about 16 x 20 inches. “How far does it go down into the dirt?” I bent my head over trying to get a better idea of its depth. Neither one of us said anything for a few seconds, lost in our own curious thoughts. Standing up, I rubbed my hands clean. “Paul it’s really getting dark. Maybe we better go in…should we cover it with something?”
He looked down at the find. “Go get a piece of plastic and a couple of bricks to hold it down for the night.”
I left in search of what was needed.
After covering the chest and pushing the sawhorses close together to guard the hole, we walked towards the garage. Paul carried the lantern, and I held the brushes. I could sense the restlessness between us as we hurried across the yard. I knew we both wanted to keep digging, but it just wasn’t going to happen anymore tonight. Anxious to tell the kids what we’d discovered, I wasted no time in getting to the house.
I dropped the brushes on the worktable in the garage, kicked off my muddy shoes then ran up the steps and into the living room. Paul stayed behind to clean up, as usual. I called out to the kids, “Guess what we found?”
They were all sitting in a line on the couch watching TV. I recited in one breath, “We found an old chest at the bottom of the cellar, but it’s so dark we had to stop digging. It even had a big letter D on it and it was about this big,” I showed its size with my hands. Then I took another breath and continued, “It could be over a hundred years old, but the lid broke, so we’re not sure what else we’ll find, if anything. We’re going to try to dig it out tomorrow.”
“Cool Mom,” Brian said, keeping his eyes on the screen.
Jim chimed in. “Maybe you’ll find treasure!” He tickled Molly, who was sitting next to him. “And then we’ll be rich!” She laughed and flung her legs up into the air, hitting Jim in the mouth with her tennis shoes.
“Molly, be careful,” I yelled out. “And don’t forget,” pointing at Molly, “it’s almost time for your bed.”
July 3
When morning came, Paul was up first. I stayed a little longer sleeping. As I stretched my arms above my head to wake up, Molly came running in next to the bed, “Mommy, come on. Let’s go! Let’s dig up treasure.”
“Okay. Okay. I’m coming!” I sat up on the edge of the bed, dangling my feet. “Did you already eat your breakfast?”
Molly looked at me with wide eyes. “Yup, Daddy said I could watch and MAYBE dig a little.” She leaned close to the bed and fidgeted with her foot, then pulled it up against her back in a stretch, “…IF I was careful.”
Within the hour, the three of us were marching to the backyard armed with brushes, trowels and garden shovels, intent on resuming our dig in the old cellar.
“Molly! Until your brothers get home from work you’ll have to stay with us,” said Paul.
That was just fine with her.
After removing the sawhorse barricade, Paul pulled the tarp away to reveal the top of the chest and stepped down into the cellar. He began slowly to cut away at one side of the box. Molly sat on the edge of the hole with a pile of dirt, a pail and a shovel. I jumped in next to Paul.
We first worked at trying to clear away some of the wood and dirt that had caved in on top of the box but before long, it was evident that the contents inside the chest had disintegrated. Disappointed, I pulled my finger back and forth through the dust, trying to find anything. As I took one last swirl through the dirt, my fingertips brushed against two tiny pieces of paper. “Paul! I found something.”
Carefully I pulled them out of the dirt and rested them on my thigh. They looked like parchment or vellum. I picked one piece up. “I see some letters.” Reading out loud, I said, “…here’s an M, and there are two t’s. Look, right above the two t’s there,” I pointed at the paper, “there’s another letter that looks like an S…and there’s an m-y.”
Paul reached for the other piece. The second vellum was smaller and had numbers written on it. He brought it closer to his face. “I can make out a 1, a 7, and another 1, but not the last number. Wait, I think the last number could be a 5!”
“Oh my God, this is so exciting!” I leaned closer to inspect the piece that Paul was holding. “The numbers look like they could be a year. Like 1715 or 1775? Is it possible? Do you think this box has been down here that long?”
“I don’t know. Let’s see what else we can find,” Paul said.
Molly was quiet and had stopped digging to see what we were looking at. She crawled closer to the hole. “Mommy, what’s that over there?” she asked, pointing to the side of the chest nearest her view.
“Where?” I asked.
She leaned farther into the root cellar; her outstretched finger pointed to a dirty beige object. “There.”
We stopped and scanned the dirt. I spotted what Molly had found and picked it up. “I wonder what it is?” I sifted through the area that it came from. “There are a few other white fragments, but that’s all. They could be bones, but I really doubt it.”
Paul said, “If the chest and its contents were buried hundreds of years ago, it would be safe to presume that whatever was buried here, would not have survived.” He reached over and took the piece from my hand. “You know, maybe it is a bone, it looks like the top of a skull.”
“Mommy, what’s a skull?” Molly asked.
Unsure of how to explain to our five year old that we might have found the remains of a body, we looked at each other for answers.
Paul tried to find the right words. “Uhhh, a skull is what’s under your skin on your head….” Before he got the next word out, Molly took off, running towards the back of the house.
“Oh, crap!” I climbed out of the hole to try and comfort her. “Molly, don’t be afraid, it’s all right. Come on back.” She shook her head in a no. I picked her up and started to open the back door. “Come on honey. We can go inside if you want to.”
Paul put the bone fragment back in the dirt, picked up the two pieces of parchment and followed us inside. Before sitting down next to Molly at the kitchen table, he put the small pieces of vellum on top of a newspaper by the counter, washed his hands, and asked her, “You okay honey? It’s just some old bones. Remember when we lost Bernie? We buried the old pooch in the back of our barn in Ohio. You helped me bury him, remember?”
Molly nodded her head up and down.
> “Don’t be afraid. It surprised your Mom and me too.” He humored her as he tried to steal a bite of her cookie.
She wiped her eyes, smiled and sipped her milk.
“Molly, you want to watch some Sesame Street for a while?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“Okay, finish up and I’ll turn it on for you.”
I could see Molly calming down as she settled herself into a big chair to watch her favorite show. I whispered to Paul, “Should we call the police?”
“I guess we could.”
Grabbing an old towel from the counter, I told Paul, “Why don’t you cover up the area where we found the bone for now and I’ll give them a call.”
“Okay, make sure you tell them that we don’t know what it is,” Paul said as he went out the back door.
With my back to Molly, I picked up the phone and dialed the non-emergency number of the Brewster Police station.
“Brewster Police,” the lady dispatcher answered.
“Hello, this is Nancy Caldwell, and I have a non-emergency. We just moved to Brewster a few months ago and we were digging in the back of our house and discovered an old root cellar. As we dug down into it, we found a chest containing, we think, a small skull. We weren’t sure if we should call you or not.”
The dispatcher took the address and put me on hold. While I waited for a response from the other end, I kept studying the old parchment fragments on the counter.
17
August 1715
EASTHAM – CAPE COD
THE WARM SUMMER MONTHS WERE FILLED with hard work for Maria. The everyday chores that had to be done, along with gardens that needed tending, and her father who became more demanding, all plagued her daily. By mid-August, Maria had begun to grow fuller under her skirts. To her relief, no one noticed her changing body as she observed the Sabbath on Sundays, or on the rare occasion she needed to enter the village for supplies.
She tried to maintain a good diet and rested as much as she could, knowing that she needed most of her strength to harvest not only her vegetables and fruits, but the flax that she had planted for spinning and weaving. The flax beds were the most difficult to care for, but very important because her weaving had become the only source of income which was hers alone.
One morning, while standing among the flax plants, Maria looked down at her bare feet and smiled at how fortunate she was that her feet were small enough to walk and weed between the rows of flax. She knew to be careful among the delicate plants. Stroking her round belly, she thought, I have no children to help me now, but soon enough...there will be.
Bending over to weed, she recalled Minda’s words to her when she was small, “Dig the plant, do not pull it out...as you weed, step carefully down the rows of flax.”
Maria learned everything about weaving from Minda: how to soak the harvested plants in streams or ponds to loosen the flax fiber from the woody core of the plant; how to dry and break it apart by skutching or hitting the hard stalks with a wooden skutching knife to scrape off the hard pieces and reveal the fibers. Maria became skilled at hackling and combing the strands into coarse, short, and long fibers. She needed more of the long fibers to spin into fine twisted threads, carding the short for coarser, everyday woven cloths. As the morning sun warmed her back, she felt good, and the memory of Minda’s encouraging words stayed in her heart, “Maria, you are a smart child, and you learn fast. You will make a fine weaver. Your mother would have been proud of you.”
As September neared its end, Maria had grown too large under her skirts to hide her secret from those around her so she was forced to stop working at the inn and attending church services. Almost daily, her lack of energy became a burden for her; she took to napping. One afternoon, a knock on the door of the Hallett house roused Maria from her rest. She cracked open the door and pulled her shawl close, hoping to hide her protruding stomach from whoever was outside. It was a woman from church. Maria’s voice trembled with fear, “Good afternoon... Widow Baker.”
“Miss Hallett, I have come to call on you... on behalf of Reverend Treat.”
The thin elder widow, dressed in a black dress and hat, cocked her head to look past the young girl to see what was inside. Maria stood large, blocking the widow’s view into the house.
The inquisitive woman stretched her neck high above Maria’s head but saw nothing unusual. She stepped back and focused her attention onto Maria. “I am here to inquire as to why you have not been honoring the Sabbath.”
“I have not been feeling well,” Maria replied. “I’m tired from the harvesting.”
“I see.” She pushed on the door and stepped a little closer into the house to take a better look at Maria’s body. “You don’t look tired. In fact, you look very healthy indeed.” Then she noticed the bulge under Maria’s shawl. “Very healthy!”
Eager for the woman to leave, Maria spoke quickly, “My father will be home soon, I must get back to my work. Thank you for your concern.” Frightened of this mean and meddlesome old woman, Maria wanted her to go. In a panic, she pushed her outside and slammed the door shut behind her.
The Widow Baker quickly turned on her heels, only to stand face to face with the weathered and splintered door. “Well, of all the rudeness. I never....” She left in a rage. “The ladies and the Reverend will be very interested in this little encounter.”
18
September 1715
EASTHAM – CAPE COD
AS MARIA CLOSED THE DOOR she knew her life would never be the same; the Widow Baker would see to that. She leaned her back against the wooden door and let her head fall forward, her emotions exploding in cries and fits of piercing screams. Her distended body slid to the floor. “Sam, where are you?” Her shawl caught on the rough edges of the old door and trailed in a pattern of grotesque shapes above her head. With her legs outstretched on the dirt floor before her, and her face wet from tears, she called out to her mother for help, and then she screamed, “SAM! WHERE ARE YOU?”
With her energy depleted, both physically and emotionally, she remained motionless on the dirt floor–quiet, desperate and alone.
The Sunday Social
The social gathering after Sunday meeting was held at the house of Widow Baker, a tragedy for Maria but a social coup for the widow. Of modest means, the Widow’s house was simple, yet large enough to accommodate the men and women who wanted to meet socially and hear about the activities of their neighbors. As some of the ladies gathered in the corner by the sideboard, the Widow Baker came over to them and spoke, “I am so glad to see all of you here at my house.” She sat down and folded her hands against her black skirts. Smugly she smiled. “I have some interesting news, but I am not sure I should be telling you.”
Mrs. Eldridge leaned closer. “What is it?”
Mrs. Paine urged her on, “Yes dear, you must tell us.” She took a large bite from her sweet bread.
Reaching for her teacup, Widow Baker took a sip, clinked her cup back onto its saucer and continued with pursed lips, “Well, if you insist. I was passing by the Hallett house the other day and thought I would stop in to see how the girl, Maria, was doing.”
With her mouth full, Mrs. Paine sputtered, “Go on. Go on.”
The widow paused in mid sip. “When she opened the door to me, I knew immediately something was wrong.”
Mrs. Eldridge leaned in so close that she almost fell from her seat.
The Widow Baker continued, “After a few impolite words from the young girl, I could see that there was something different about her.”
The women stopped eating and grew quiet.
She whispered to them, “I do believe she is with child!”
A collective gasp echoed from the small group of women.
“What?” Mrs. Eldridge yelped.
“I said, ‘I think she is with child!’ ”
The women all leaned back in their chairs, resumed their nibbling, and shook their heads back and forth in disapproval.
Reverend Treat notic
ed the commotion coming from the corner and walked over to them. “Well, how are we today, good women?”
Mrs. Eldridge spoke, “Fine.... Thank You Reverend.” She snatched up her piece of the bread.
Mrs. Stone set down her teacup and braced herself to share the news. “You see, my dear Reverend, the Widow Baker was telling us that she thinks the girl, Maria Hallett, might be…” she empathized her words with a bravado, “…with child.”
Reverend Treat responded slowly, “I see….” He furrowed his brow. The Widow Baker was quick to finish her news. “I saw her, months back, walking with a stranger. And my hired hand said he saw the same man at the tavern, talking of finding treasure. Well, what would you expect? The poor girl has no mother and her father is, you know....”
Reverend Treat interrupted her. He was not going to tolerate the sin of gossip. “Ladies, please let us not pass judgment on the girl. Until evidence is brought before the church, we must not make assumptions. Should such evidence of sin become apparent, then the proper punishment will be administered. Now, let us continue with our repast and enjoy our afternoon.”
The ladies were silent as the reverend walked away to join the other men. Whispers of ‘whore’ and ‘shun’ were soon floating into the air from the women’s little circle amidst the clanging of teacups against saucers.
19
October 1715
EASTHAM – CAPE COD
MARIA WAS TOO AFRAID TO LEAVE THE HOUSE after the Widow Baker’s visit. The prying eyes and judgmental behavior of the church’s good ladies were unbearable for her. Over the past month of Maria’s self-inflicted seclusion, she was miserable. She did her chores as well as her swollen body would allow her to do but it was never enough for her father. Oblivious to her physical limitations of carrying a child, he demanded food and labor from her with no relenting. On one exceptionally cold morning, gentle puffs of steam billowed from Maria’s mouth into the chilly bedroom air as she lay under the coarse, prickly blankets, not wanting to get up. Approaching her seventh month with child, her body temperature usually kept her warm during the frosty mornings of late October, but not today. She finally rose from her nest, dragging her bedcover like a large cape behind her.
The Old Cape House Page 8