The Old Cape House

by Barbara Eppich Struna

  Nathanial had captained his Voyager for over twenty years, transporting goods from Cape Cod to the West Indies and back. He was happiest when at sea, and his trip from Barnstable to his home in the North Parish of Harwich had been pleasant. Coming closer to land he looked for his hired hand, Jacob. As the packet boat, Osprey, approached the landing he could finally see his employee. He was curious also to see his old friend Constable Ezra standing next to Jacob.

  Once on land, the Captain greeted him. “How are you, my friend?”

  With a serious tone, Ezra answered, “Fine Nathanial, but I have news for you. May I ride with you and explain?”

  As he listened to Ezra’s words, Nathanial fidgeted with his waistcoat and chewed on the stem of his clay pipe. He knew the young Hallett girl had sought help from Abigail for her unfortunate circumstances. While he’d never been pleased with the fact that she was staying in his house, Nathaniel had accepted Abigail’s kind intentions towards her as being part of his wife’s nature. The idea that now his house might be host to witchery, according to Ezra, strained his affection for Abigail and her so-called friends.

  “Thank you for your information,” Nathanial politely said. “I’ll be sure to take it to heart and decide what must be done.”

  Ezra warned him, “I must caution you that there will be a trial, as soon as the girl is of sound mind, which may also involve the missus’.”

  Nathanial drew deep puffs on his pipe as silence between the two men ensued for the final mile. After the Constable was delivered to his own residence, the wagon finally reached the Doane’s. Nathaniel seemed irritated, even more so, because now his pipe was empty. He yelled his orders. “Jacob! Take care of the horse. Then you may leave.”

  The hearth was ablaze as he entered his home; the borning room door was ajar. He placed his bag on the floor and walked closer to see for himself who was in his house. Minda had already settled into the downstairs room next to Maria. She had brought her healing medicines and enough supplies so that she could stay as long as was needed. Nathaniel noticed Minda and Abigail sitting in separate chairs close to the bed where Maria lay. Abigail looked up. She quickly rose and pushed him back out of the room and into the kitchen.

  “Nathanial, I know this does not look well for your eyes. Please understand it’s all under control,” she whispered. “Minda will help me in the care of Maria. It’s all a horrible state of affairs. We’re trying to persuade the girl to talk to us about what happened but she has not even acknowledged our presence.”

  Nathaniel was quiet. He turned away from his wife and retired to the bedroom.

  Abigail watched him show his back to her. At that moment her compassion and motherly love for the young girl surpassed the love for her husband, convincing her even more that her duties were with Maria.

  This had not been a normal homecoming. When Nathaniel was at home, he liked the order of the house to run smoothly, just like his ship. He was stern, but there was always a kiss and a smile for her. Abigail tried her best to please him during those few times a year when he was on land and was always quite successful in making him happy. Her efforts toward his comfort were a small price to pay in her older years, and along with a small income from her family, she lived the lifestyle she desired. In fact, Abigail believed that Nathaniel truly loved her.

  Suddenly, Abigail felt dizzy as her heart accelerated. The tension in her body, which had passed between her and her husband minutes earlier, was bothersome but tolerable. She returned to her bedside vigil near the pale girl.

  Minda leaned over and touched Abigail’s arm. “Nathaniel is angry?”

  Abigail nodded.

  “I will not stay long if my presence is not welcomed.”

  Abigail looked to her friend. “Please stay at least a fortnight. Maria’s color seems to be coming back with your medicines.”

  “Let us see what Nathaniel wants.”

  ***

  Nathaniel was in the middle of removing his waistcoat when he spotted Jacob by the carriage house through the bedroom window. He had an idea. He thought it would be far better if he didn’t stay home at this time, and Jacob might be the answer to his problem of the Indian living in his house. He buttoned up his coat and hurried outside.

  ***

  Meanwhile, Abigail thought it wise to have something to eat. She stirred a soup on the hearth that had been cooking since early morning. As she prepared three bowls, she glanced through the window and noticed Nathaniel talking to Jacob. What’s he doing now? she wondered. Ignoring her thoughts, she turned away and asked Minda, “Would you like to join Nathaniel and I for a small repast?”

  “I think not; I will wait till you are both finished.”

  Abigail smiled a grateful thank you, knowing that her husband would prefer not to share a meal with an Indian. When Nathaniel came back into the house, Abigail implored him to eat something after his long trip home.

  He accepted her invitation and sat down at the sideboard in front of a steaming bowl of chowder. “I can’t refuse you, my good wife. You’ve always had a special touch when it comes to cooking.”

  His compliment relieved Abigail, and she hoped it was the end of their tension. Closing the borning room door, she sat opposite him at the table. “I want to apologize again for my actions. The young girl means so much to me.”

  Swallowing a mouthful of clam, he replied, “I have come to a decision.”

  Abigail looked up from her bowl.

  While wagging his spoon at her, he said, “It would be far better if I went back to Barnstable Harbor and stayed on the Voyager. There’s nothing I can do here and it seems that you would not be very much company for me, seeing that you’ll be occupied with the girl.” Another spoonful found its way into his mouth, and he continued, “I’ve spoken with Jacob, and everything is arranged. His daughter Hopeful, being terminated at her last employer, is looking for work; she’ll come here and live with you in my absence.”

  Aggravated with the dominant tone of her husband, Abigail tried to remain calm and hold her feelings in.

  Dunking his bread into the creamy broth, he gave his last word to her, “That way you have no need of the Indian PowWah anymore. I want her to leave my house.”

  At long last Abigail was ready to speak her mind; she opened her mouth but stopped when she saw the borning room door open.

  Minda called out, “Abigail, come quickly. Maria is asking for you.”

  She pushed aside her bowl and rushed into the room. Nathaniel smiled, pleased that this perplexing situation was ended, according to him.

  ***

  The sight of Maria sitting on the edge of the bed filled Abigail with hope, only to be disappointed when the young woman asked, “Where’s my child?”

  Pain was evident across Maria’s face. She held her forehead as she asked again, “Abigail, where is my child?”

  Abigail sat down beside her. In her calmest voice, she spoke, “Maria, you’re finally awake. We’ve been worried about you.”

  Agitated about her unanswered questions, Maria began to rub the pain that wrinkled her face. “What do you mean?”

  Abigail responded with another question, “Do you remember anything of what happened when you were in your travail?”

  Maria looked to her friend and then searched her own thoughts, trying to make sense of it all. She whispered, “It’s hard…it all seems like a blur…like a nightmare.”

  Maria looked to Minda sitting opposite her. “I took some of your medicine when the pain came. I felt so alone and frightened. I saw my child. Where is he?”

  Minda quickly asked, “How much did you drink of my medicine?”

  “I’m not sure. I poured it into a small bottle and kept it by my bed.”

  “We found no such bottle,” Abigail added.

  She began to coax the girl into lying back down again.

  Maria was determined to stand and tried to shove Abigail away. “I don’t want to lie down.” She threw off her covers. ”I want my child!” she
screamed.

  “Now, dear, put your head down; you’re safe now. We’ll stay with you.” She gently pushed the girl back by her shoulders. “Please, you need to get better.”

  Maria accepted her friend’s pleas and settled back on the small feather pillow. While she rested, the two women talked in the corner.

  Minda cautioned Abigail, “We must find the bottle, so no one will connect me to what occurred here.” Fears of being branded a witch ran through her head.

  “The amount of herbs in her body would explain many of the strange things that have happened,” said Abigail. “Tomorrow, when Maria is awake and she leaves her room, I’ll look for the bottle.”

  ***

  The last meal of the day was quiet between Abigail and Nathaniel. Minda ate alongside Maria as the girl dozed in and out of consciousness throughout the evening.

  Minda retired on a mat in the corner of the borning room with a small Betty Lamp on the floor beside her. Its glow reflected something shiny under Maria’s bed. Minda reached her arm far under the bed’s roping until her fingertips felt the smooth shape of a bottle. When placed near her face, she immediately recognized the odors that came from within. Thankful that she’d found the medicine she’d given to Maria, she wrapped it in one of her winter leggings and pushed it to the bottom of her leather bag.

  As Nathaniel retired to bed, Abigail was still making things right in the kitchen. She peeked into the borning room and whispered to Minda, “Thank you for your stay with me and for all your understanding. You’re a good friend.”

  Minda smiled and motioned at her to come closer. “I found the bottle and will take it with me when I leave.”

  “Good,” said Abigail.

  They exchanged a quiet embrace and whispered good night to each other.

  ***

  A late November chill remained in the night air as Abigail climbed into bed next to her husband. She had not seen this unattractive side of him in all of their three years together. Nathaniel had spoken very little of his past to her during their married life, except for one tragic event that had occurred when he was young. He’d witnessed the murder of his older brother, in 1676, by an Indian during a vicious attack on their homestead as King Phillip’s War waged across the new land. Feelings of prejudice had stayed with him and sullied his complete acceptance of her dearest friend, Minda. Now mixed feelings stirred in her heart about Nathaniel. Feeling his warmth next to her, she reached for his hand under the blankets, thinking that, if they held each other, their disagreements and her doubts might be smoothed over.

  Nathaniel moved his hand away from her grasp and quietly spoke, “My dear wife, I’m not comfortable accepting your advances while certain people are within my house. I’ll be leaving early tomorrow morning.”

  He turned over on his side to face the wall and placed his right hand on a pistol, which, for this night only, lay under his pillow.

  ***

  The morning came with a light dusting of icy snow that covered the ground. Nathaniel had been gone since daybreak. Abigail, waking later than usual, had slept well. The assurance that Maria was beginning her road to recovery had eased her thoughts throughout the nighttime hours, despite the disagreement between her and Nathaniel.

  Minda was attending to Maria’s needs when Abigail saw Jacob’s daughter, Hopeful, kneading the flour for the daily bread on the sideboard. Somewhat surprised by the 14-year-old girl’s presence, Abigail greeted her. “Good morrow!”

  “Mum,” Hopeful replied, not missing a step in her working of the dough.

  Abigail asked, “Will you join me in some tea so we may talk?”

  “No thank you, I have my work.” Hopeful continued pounding the dough with her hands.

  Not comfortable with a stranger in her house, Abigail kept an eye on the newly hired girl as she fixed her morning drink.

  The serious faced Hopeful did not favor chit-chat. Unable to bond with her, Abigail finally said, “I best be hurrying along soon. The pots should be emptied, and I know there is mending to be done.”

  “It’s done, Mum.”

  Taken aback, Abigail asked, “How long have you been here, Hopeful?”

  “Daybreak. I have me orders from the Captain.”

  The girl’s smugness annoyed Abigail. “Excuse me. What did you say?”

  Hopeful stopped in mid pound of the dough and tersely repeated, “I have me orders from the Captain.”

  Abigail slammed her cup down on the table. “We’ll see about that!”

  33

  1715

  CAPE COD

  MINDA LEFT NORTH HARWICH as soon as Abigail felt secure enough in her caring for Maria. Abigail hugged her friend goodbye and couldn’t wait to dismiss the arrogant Hopeful. That night, Abigail felt truly confident and breathed a sigh of relief as she closed the door for good on the rude girl. Now she and Maria could look forward to sitting by the fire each evening, wherein Abigail could gently coax Maria into remembering.

  To Abigail’s disappointment, several weeks passed without any new information from Maria. It seemed that as the young girl regained her natural color and increased her stamina, the ordeal that she had experienced still clouded her memory and prevented her from answering the questions that were asked.

  One evening, Abigail sat watching Maria stir their dinner. “Maria, we need to have some answers.”

  “I’m aware of that; I’ve tried. But it pains me so to remember. Sometimes when I dream at night, I see images of dripping blood and dirt all over my hands. I wake up crying, trying to clean myself. I don’t understand and it frightens me.” Maria’s eyes began to tear. “I know my child is dead.” She looked away from Abigail. “I just don’t want to think about it.”

  Abigail gently reminded her, “Constable Ezra will be coming soon and he’ll want answers…there will be a trial.”

  Maria grew silent.

  Abigail shook her head in despair.

  ***

  The next day Maria rose before Abigail. She felt better, her eyes brighter, her head clearer. She managed to bring forth a smile upon seeing a bright red cardinal in a snow-covered tree. Abigail was so good to her; she thought a surprise of fresh biscuits would surely please her friend this morning.

  As the dough began its rise on the hearth Maria reached for a jar of apple butter; finding it empty, she headed to the root cellar to fetch another. Folding back the small braided rug that covered the trapdoor, she lifted the wooden cover with one hand. With a lamp for light, she descended the stone stairs.

  As her foot reached the bottom, Maria noticed dark stains across the dirt floor. A chill slid down her back that truly frightened her. Was it the cold of the cellar or something else? She continued her quest, being careful where she stepped. The dirt crunched and the cellar’s dank odor made her uncomfortable. An ominous feeling spread over her; she did not want to stay in this underground room.

  She spied a row of filled fruit jars on a shelf. As she reached for one, her eye caught a glimpse of rotten black apples in a basket on the floor in the corner. The sight of the moldy fruit sparked Maria’s memory. She dropped the jar of butter; it broke and spilled its contents over the dirt floor. Her heart began to race as frightening images of a dead child wrapped in white linen flooded her head with a now believable clarity. She remembered kneeling in dirt, covered in blood, her forearms and fingers blackened with the residue of soil. She remembered the chest with a D carved onto its lid.

  Maria dropped to her knees and dragged the basket away from the corner. Her fingers scratched frantically at the dirt. Just under inches of loose, cold soil, she could see the wooden top of a chest. Brushing away the soil she uncovered the carved letter D.

  Maria leaned back onto her heels and felt nauseous. She closed her eyes and rubbed them as hard as she could before she opened them to make sure her mind had not played a cruel trick on her. The chest was real. Her child was buried here. Maria’s fears rushed over her. “I can’t tell anyone,” she whispered.

&nbs
p; Drops of perspiration dripped from under her breasts and from her forehead. Anxiety clouded her thoughts. Telling no one was the only answer. No one must know, no one must find her child. She would carry this burden alone.

  Maria knew she must protect herself from the hatred and punishment of those who wished her harm. Before the townspeople would have a chance to bring their evil upon her, she would run away from the safe haven of her friend’s house and find Sam.

  She covered the box with dirt and patted it flat. Pushing the basket back to its original place, she hoped it would stand guard and protect the secret that lay beneath it. Maria brushed her hands clean, wiped her face of the dirt and sweat, then climbed the steps back into the kitchen.

  A knock at the door startled her as she covered the trapdoor with the rug. Maria wondered who would be calling so early in the morning.

  The rap grew more intense. Frightened, she ran into the borning room and shut the door behind her. She held her breath, fearful of making any sound, hoping the visitor would go away.

  A gruff voice yelled out, “Open up, Abigail, it’s Constable Ezra!”

  Maria’s back stiffened against the door.

  She heard Abigail’s voice.

  “Coming…. Coming…my word, what is the matter?” Dressed only in her nightclothes and a loose shawl, Abigail opened the door. “Ezra! Lower your voice.”

  Ezra was not alone. A stout man with a constable’s patch on his arm stood behind him.

  “May I come in?” Not waiting for a reply, Ezra pushed his way past Abigail and strode into the kitchen, followed by Constable Bayer, from Eastham. “We need to speak with the Hallett girl.”

  “Of course.” Realizing that this was not a social visit, Abigail walked in measured steps to the borning room, stalling for time, trying to collect her thoughts.

  Once at the door she asked, “Maria, are you awake?”

  Afraid to answer, Maria stayed quiet.