The Old Cape House

by Barbara Eppich Struna

  He knelt down in front of me to check that I was all right. My whole body was shaking; my knees bouncing up and down. He looked me straight in the face. “Somebody’s in the backyard with big lights on that old cellar.”

  He stood up and stepped back to give me room to stand. I just sat there and started to cry again, but I stopped myself, looked up to Jim and asked, “How did you know I was in trouble?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. I stood up and flung my arms around him, still holding the crumpled duct tape and wadded cloth. “I’m so glad you’re my son.” He hugged me back.

  Our roles of parent and child had become reversed as he was protecting me now. Then common sense returned, and I blurted out, “Oh my God, whoever it is must think that there’s still treasure down in the cellar. That’s got to be it!” I pulled back from our hug. “There’s no other reason somebody would be digging in our backyard.” I grabbed his arm. “Your father was right. He had his suspicions about all the publicity in the paper from that stupid reporter.”

  Jim breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m just glad you’re okay Mom.”

  I rubbed my wrists, trying to get the circulation back into them. “I can’t believe this is really happening to us.”

  “Mom, Dad’s been trying to call you. He got worried when you didn’t answer your phone, so he called me.”

  “I knew it was him. I’ve been watching my phone light up since I opened my eyes.”

  “It’s a good thing I got here.”

  “Thank you, honey. You came just in time.” Jim still looked worried and so was I. “Now what do we do?”

  Jim showed me the bat. He reached into his pocket and took out the gun. “Don’t laugh, I needed another weapon, so I grabbed that old toy gun Molly found. What do you think?”

  I almost did laugh but caught myself because it did look real. “It looks real enough for me.”

  I grabbed the gun from him and held it as if I could do some real damage with it. I moved it up and down in the air to feel its weight. “It feels like a real gun.” I turned to leave. “Okay. We should go through the studio and into the garage for something else, maybe a shovel?”

  Jim nodded.

  “First I’m calling 911 and then your Dad!

  “Let’s go,” he said, “but we gotta’ be quiet.”

  I grabbed my cell phone and turned off the ringtone so it wouldn’t make a sound if Paul called back. I punched 911 into the keypad as we walked through the dark house. I clutched the gun in a tight squeeze. By the time we passed the porch door, on our way to the garage, I was whispering into the phone, “Hello, this is Nancy Caldwell. There’s a burglar in my house.....”

  Once in the garage, the rain began to come down harder. I saw a man in a rain slicker standing with his back to us; he was watching someone else shoveling dirt out of the old cellar.

  Jim handed the bat to me and grabbed a big shovel. We started for the outhouse door that led out of the gallery and into the backyard.

  “Jim!” I handed him the gun. “Here…show it…but only if necessary.” He took the toy gun and stuffed in his back pocket.

  “Okay. Stay here Mom, and wait for the police. I’ll be fine.”

  “Jim,” I whispered again and reached for his arm to hold him back. I couldn’t bear the thought of my son getting hurt, or worse.

  “Mom, I’ll be all right. Stay put!”

  He was right. I stood my ground and held the bat ready, just in case I was needed.

  Jim was no weakling. He’d won a gold medal for shot put in his last year at high school. I wondered if he’d ever been in a fight. I watched him walk out the tiny door and step closer to the dark form in front of him. The downpour covered any noise from his movements. He raised the shovel up in the air and crept closer and closer to the edge of the cellar.

  Jim brought the shovel down with a loud whack against the rain soaked back of his target. I got caught up in the moment and cheered him on in a whisper. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Good for you!”

  The shadowy figure arched his back, lost his balance and fell into the hole on top of the other intruder. Jim stood above them, clutching the shovel.

  I could see the second guy in the cellar was scrambling to get his buddy off of him. Jim ran over to the other side by the steps. Hurry up, I prayed. As the other man started to climb out of the cellar, I screamed into the dark. “Look out, Jim!”

  Jim saw him and lifted the shovel once more. He walloped the second guy on the head and knocked him back into the cellar, on top of the first casualty.

  I finally got up enough courage to approach the cellar with the bat in a firm grip, ready to spring into action if needed.

  I was relieved to see the two men lying on top of each other at the bottom of the cellar. I looked over to Jim, who caught my stare. We both knew what the other was thinking. It was over.

  Seconds later, two police officers ran from the back of the garage with flashlights and guns drawn. Both officers pointed their revolvers down into the root cellar. “This is the police. Put your hands up and slowly get out of the hole.”

  No one moved, including Jim and I.

  The first officer repeated the command, only louder.

  It was Officer Gomes. Boy, was I happy to see a friendly face.

  When the police were sure there would be no resistance from the intruders Officer Gomes went down the steps while his partner held a gun pointed toward the two men in the cellar.

  I walked over to Jim, who still held the shovel in his hands. “Are you okay?”

  He looked at me and lowered the shovel but maintained his grip around its handle. He looked visibly shaken but said, “Yeah, I’m fine. Can’t believe I did that.”

  “You did a great job. I love you.”

  He saw me clutching my wooden weapon. “Mom, I think you can let go of the bat now.”

  I looked at the bat and loosened my grip.

  Officer Gomes roused one of the men and pushed him up the steps as his partner’s gun followed from above.

  “It’s Kennedy,” I whispered to Jim. “The guy from the Whydah Museum.”

  “What guy?” Jim asked.

  “Never mind. I’ll explain later.”

  Before Gomes went back for the second man, he handcuffed the first intruder and sat him on the ground. When I saw the other man’s face as he came out of the cellar, I yelled out in surprise, “It’s Neil Hallett!”

  “You know him?” Gomes asked.

  “Yes, I do. He was over here earlier when we first discovered this whole thing. He must have thought there was more treasure in the cellar. It’s hard to believe he was so certain about the legend that he would risk jail time.”

  “Crime never pays,” Officer Gomes said in a serious tone as he handcuffed Neil Hallett.

  Officer Gomes’s partner pushed Hennessey towards the front of the house. “You at it again, Hennessey? You never learn, do you?”

  Another police car approached with its siren echoing through the foggy night. Lights flashed blue, white, and yellow in the driveway as Hennessey, alias Kennedy, and Hallett were loaded into the back of the cruisers. Jim and I walked around the garage, behind the police, but ducked into the house as rain began to pour again.

  Collapsing into one of the kitchen chairs I noticed it was almost 10 pm. “I’d better call Dad and tell him what’s going on.”

  Jim kept watching outside through the kitchen windows until the police cruiser holding Hallett and Hennessey left.

  “Paul?”

  “Nancy!” he yelled. “What’s happening?”

  “Everything’s fine. The police are here and….” I couldn’t talk. I started to tear up.

  “The police? What’s going on?” Paul sounded frantic.

  “It’s okay…here…talk to Jim. He’s my hero. Officer Gomes is coming in to ask me some questions.” Before I released my grip from the phone I added, “Paul, I love you. I can’t wait to feel your arms around me again.”

  “I love you, t
oo. We’re on Interstate 95. We’ll be home soon. Now where’s Jim?”

  I handed the phone to our son with a sigh of relief.

  58

  Spring 1718

  BARNSTABLE – CAPE COD

  THE SUN’S DAPPLED LIGHT crossed the wood-planked floor of the print shop. It looked like it would be a pleasant day ahead, but Matthew’s left calf ached. Over a year had passed since Sam Bellamy had hit his shin with the handle of a pitchfork, leaving him with a throbbing leg each time a storm was approaching. He rubbed his leg and thought of Maria’s sweet face and smile. It always eased his pain.

  His apprenticeship with Mr. Johnson had proved a success, and he had learned the skills of printing and bookbinding well. He took to his craft in earnest and quickly became proficient–competent enough that, when the health of Mr. Johnson began to fail, Matthew offered to buy the little shop with the money he’d saved from the sale of his family property. This agreement had brought the best result to both men.

  Today was the day he’d been planning since he’d left Eastham and moved to Barnstable. It was the second of June, and he was returning for his Maria with hope in his heart that she would accept his proposal of marriage.

  This morning, Matthew’s young apprentice would take over the shop while he was gone. Feeling a sense of personal pride for his new stature as a businessman, Matthew looked sternly at his new hire as he was about to leave. “James, I trust you will be able to handle things in my absence?”

  “Yes, sir.” James wiped his hands across his ink-stained apron.

  Matthew tried to hide his excitement but as he hurried out the door of the print shop he fell on the hard packed dirt road and dropped his baggage and ticket for the packet ship. Embarrassed, he pulled himself up, brushed the dirt off his waistcoat and looked up the road to see if anyone had seen him fall.

  “Don’t forget to finish the handbills for the court,” he barked at James.

  “Yes, sir.” James looked up from the letter cabinet and dashed over to the doorway to help Matthew gather his papers.

  Matthew softened his tone. “Take care of yourself, James.” A broad smile brightened his face as he spoke his parting words. “See you in a few weeks.”

  “Yes, sir.” Matthew’s new apprentice grinned as he thought of what his employer was about to do. He whispered under his breath, “Good luck.”

  It would take Matthew several days to reach Eastham. His plan was to stop at Paine’s Creek Landing after sailing on the packet Marie from Barnstable. Once there, he’d see about purchasing a wagon and horse so that he could accommodate Maria’s belongings on the long ride home.

  He hoped she would say yes.

  That night a strong nor’easter pummeled Cape Cod. Matthew sat in the local tavern, cursing the unfortunate weather. His anticipation for his beautiful Maria grew stronger with each passing hour.

  EASTHAM 1718

  Maria stood close to the hearth and reached into its warmth for the blackened kettle of steaming water. As she turned away from its heat, her eyes glanced upon the delicate blue flowered cup and saucer that rested on a small table. The beautiful china drew a sharp contrast to her dreary surroundings. She brewed herself a cup of tea, her only comfort through the stormy night. She could barely bring herself to think about him without crying. Bowing her head, she covered her eyes and tried to hide the images of so many lonely nights that she had waited for his return. Always hopeful, she kept her daily watch no matter the weather, or how she felt. Ever faithful to her task, like the tides of the sea, her duty of watching never wavered.

  Maria stood to straighten her back, then returned the kettle to its hook above the fire. A chill slid down her spine. She shivered and pulled her woolen shawl closer around her shoulders. She hated the musty smell of damp wool. A strong gust of wind rattled the broken shingles on the old McKeon house. Maria slumped into her chair beside the table while wind continued to howl and blow heavy rain against the door.

  She tried to reassure herself that no harm would come to her from the storm that swirled outside. She sat taller in her chair but could not dismiss the memories of so many other frightful nights. She prayed in the candle-lit room: “Please, Lord, if you are there, stop this eternal wind.”

  Maria rubbed her arms and shook her body like a stray animal against the cold. Returning to the table, she caressed the dainty teacup for its warmth but it was already chilled. She found her gloves in a basket hanging by the side of the hearth. They slowly soothed her numb fingers. There would be no more work at her spinning wheel tonight; the air was too cold, and her hands ached. The wind blew harder and shook the door. Her thoughts turned to the safety of her bed, and she persuaded herself to retire early.

  Making sure the door was latched tight, Maria added the last logs for the night to the fire and pushed them to the back of the hearth. She blew the candles out but one, which she carried to her bed. Crawling under her bedcovers, she closed her eyes and could see his handsome face. He was not like other men; he was kind and he possessed a strength that protected and comforted her. She knew he loved her, and once more she felt a small flicker of desire for Matthew deep inside her. It warmed her and made her smile as she drifted into sweet sleep.

  ***

  Maria woke to the aftermath of the same untimely storm that had delayed Matthew. Remnants of sea grass that had been blown up onto the bluffs lay scattered over the scrub by her house. Her broom and other tools were strewn across the dirt. Several pieces of linen, which had been drying on a tree, lay atop the marsh grasses. Large tree limbs blocked the path leading to her house. She took her time to fetch water from the well as she began her day, not sensing any urgency to clear away the debris. No one ever visited her. She thought Minda might come, but surely the storm’s fury would have made it difficult for the old woman to travel. There was time to clean up and move the large branches later.

  Maria stoked the hearth embers from the previous day’s fire to heat the kettle for her morning drink. After such a cold and frightening night it would taste good. Sam’s gift of china had become a pleasant habit for Maria to use with her daily meals and today was no different.

  She sipped her tea outside, where the air was cool but smelled fresh and clean. Glancing toward the grasses and wild flowers that grew across the dunes, she knew winter would soon be over.

  On the horizon Maria saw her friend, the old PohWah, climbing over the fallen branches on the path ahead. As she approached, Maria called out, “Minda, you’re an early riser. You surprise me today.”

  Minda took her seat next to Maria on the bench. “Just anxious to visit you,” the old PohWah told her young friend. “I hope you fare well?”

  “Yes, I do,” Maria answered. “May I interest you in some tea?”

  Observing Sam’s fine china in Maria’s hand, Minda replied, “Yes, but a simple cup if you please.”

  Minda had made a habit of visiting Maria throughout the past year. On this occasion, it was to be a quick visit. She was needed among her people. With the death of Reverend Treat, last March, the Nauset Indians had been worried about his replacement and how his passing would affect their relationship with a new reverend and the people of Eastham. Her counsel was important to the Nausets.

  Minda felt the warmth of the sun as she sat on the bench and let her thoughts ramble. Maria had survived well. The settlers now came to her for help in the dark of night, hiding their clandestine visits from the elders, seeking relief from their aching bones, or other mysterious illnesses that no one but Maria could understand. Minda was pleased that they wanted Maria’s herbs and medicines. In return, the villagers left Maria food or extra supplies in payment. Minda grinned. The whispers from old Widow Baker about the banished girl and her supposed witchcraft practices only brought success to Maria and never scorn upon her reputation. Minda had taught the girl well.

  Maria was pleased that there was enough honey to sweeten their peppermint tea. Mr. Leach, who’d been worried about his wife when she was with chi
ld, had come to Maria for a loadstone amulet to strengthen the infant within her and to prevent a miscarriage. He’d looked very happy when Maria had wrapped the small stone in linen and laced it with a piece of thin leather for his wife to hang above her navel. Satisfied with his child’s healthy birth, he had left two jars of honey on Maria’s stoop in exchange for payment.

  The two friends drank their sweet tea and looked out over the newly grown green marshes.

  Minda asked, “Do you still hurt in your heart for Sam?”

  Maria shook her head. “No, the hurt grows smaller each day.”

  Minda reached over and held her hand. “That is good. When your sorrow is small, the hole in your heart is easier to mend.”

  Maria sipped her tea.

  “Do you think of Matthew?”

  “Yes, almost every day,” Maria sighed. “I watch for him now as I watched for Sam.”

  Silence fell between them except for a bird’s serenading song.

  Minda looked up at the swaying trees and listened to the pines whispering in the spring breeze. “I have heard that some people call you a witch.”

  “I’m aware of that gossip but I pay it no mind.” Maria traced the delicate lines of the flowers on the china cup with her finger. “As long as they treat me with respect, even if it’s only for my strange ways, I can benefit from it.”

  Minda’s heart was content at the thought that this young girl had grown into a smart and resourceful woman. Maria’s mother would have been proud.

  ***

  Matthew was able to leave near high noon. It was going to be a warmer ride than expected, leaving so late in the day, but it didn’t matter because he was happy.

  The narrow rutted cart-way, soon to be dedicated as the King’s Highway, took him away from Stoneybrook Village toward the Doane homestead, where the memory of that fateful night and horrible fire reminded him even more that he needed to take his Maria away to a safer place.

  Matthew stopped the wagon and noted traces of charred grasses where the Doane house once stood. The large oak tree had survived the intense heat of the fire, but the side closest to Abigail’s house was blackened and bare, while the other side grew green. It was as if it was telling Matthew to travel that way to Maria. She was all he cared about, all he thought about. He rubbed the pain in his leg, flicked the reins and drove the wagon toward the direction of the growing leaves.