The Old Cape House

by Barbara Eppich Struna

  It was dusk and on the verge of total blackness when Matthew drove close to the McKeon house. He stopped the wagon a short distance away and sat to contemplate what he was about to do. He repeated in his head: I love her; I’m certain of that. Does she love me enough to come with me now?

  The soft glow of candlelight flickered in the window of the small house. He could see the outline of a woman by the hearth. After the horse and wagon were tied to a tree, he walked towards the door.

  Matthew straightened his waistcoat and stood tall with his hand poised to knock.

  ***

  Maria and Minda sat at the table eating their evening meal of rabbit stew, courtesy of Mr. Jackson’s constant bouts of indigestion. A knock at the door stopped their spoons in mid-air.

  “Another visitor from Eastham?” Minda asked.

  “I don’t know who that could be.” Maria beckoned her friend. “Please take a safe position in the shed out back so you aren’t found with me.” Minda obliged her request but held the back door ajar so that she could see who was visiting. She stood quietly in the darkness and waited.

  Maria placed her hand on the latch. “Who’s at my door?”

  The voice spoke, “Maria? It’s Matthew.”

  The sound of Matthew’s name startled her at first, and then her heart leapt with joy. She threw open the door, put her arms around his neck and would not let go. He twirled her body across the threshold and into the house.

  “Matthew, Matthew, it’s so good to see you,” she said, looking into his wide eyes and laughing. A wellspring of youth surged within her, and she felt as if they were children again.

  Matthew gently let Maria go, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

  “What brings you here tonight, Matthew?”

  “Something I have thought about for a long time.” He gazed at how her brown hair fell loose around her shoulders. His heart raced; his body surged with passion at the sight of her, and he remembered why he loved her so deeply. “I can’t hold my tongue any longer; I’m bursting with love for you, Maria.”

  Maria stood still. Matthew’s touch surprised her and pleased her all at once. She looked at him with a great affection in her heart. He stood before her now: a strong, handsome man with whom she could live with and love for the rest of her life.

  He reached out, held her close to his body and stroked her cheek. With tears in his eyes he asked, “Maria will you be my wife?”

  “Yes.”

  Matthew needed no more words. He pulled her even closer and kissed her over and over, sealing their pact.

  Minda opened the back door and entered the room singing a loud ‘whoop’ signifying her joy.

  But Matthew and Maria paid no attention, lost in the beginning of their new world.

  ***

  That night, as Matthew loaded Maria’s things into the wagon, she sat at the table in the kitchen and placed the last of the blue china into the small chest on the floor. She closed its lid and remembered back to her once passionate love for Sam. Although it was now a distant memory, she still kept a piece of him in the corner of her heart, not for love, but for compassion and sympathy for the man who’d loved her and had simply wanted a life better than the one he’d been dealt.

  Sam Bellamy was her first love but not her last. He was a good and true prince of pirates. He gave his life trying to save Abigail.

  The spinner took precedence over all and stood tallest in the wagon. Matthew made sure it was secure. It was surrounded by Maria’s special keepsake box, yarns, threads, weaving supplies, the small chest filled with the blue dishes and whatever coins were left from Sam, and of course the herbs and medicines that Maria was so adept at dispensing.

  Minda felt proud as she watched the two lovers work as partners readying for their journey together. She beamed as if she were Maria’s mother, pleased to see a daughter who had found love and security at last.

  The supplies were covered with a large blanket. There was just enough room for Matthew and his new bride-to-be to sit on the bench.

  By early dawn, they were prepared to leave.

  “Maria, we must go now.”

  “Coming, my love.”

  The old McKeon house sat empty in the early pre-dawn hours except for the table, chair, and bed that were there when she first met Sam. One final hug and words of goodbye were exchanged between the two old friends. Maria knew she would never see Minda again. The only thing that she would miss of her past life was the Old PowWah.

  Minda held the nanny goat that would return with her to the Nausets as she watched Maria begin a journey to the next stage of her life. She sang a blessing for them as they made their way through the first cluster of houses near the village, then to its center and finally onto the open road. No one would notice them in the early morning light, and if someone did, it did not matter; Maria Hallett was leaving Eastham.

  Maria held Matthew’s knee as the wagon rumbled along the cart-way. “I cannot remember a time when I was not watching or waiting for someone or something. My life has been like the tides, forever washing away parts of my life while also cleansing it for something new to begin.”

  She kissed him on the cheek and looked straight ahead, comforted by Minda’s sweet goodbye song.

  59

  Present Day

  BREWSTER – CAPE COD

  LITTLE DANIEL, A HEALTHY BABY BOY, was born in February. By the time he was five months old, I was still carrying most of my extra weight from his pregnancy, but remained steadfast at getting those last pounds off.

  It was June, and I felt hopeful for the coming season. Tourists once again filled the grocery stores, and there was the hustle and bustle of businesses opening their doors across the main streets of Cape Cod. It was music to my ears. I could hardly wait for potential buyers to walk into our little gallery. Money was tight. Danny’s birth was only partially covered by our insurance, so we were still paying off the debt. But my family was happy.

  Paul had been productive through early winter and had helped me in the first three months of the year with baby Daniel. He’d painted every day, creating art pieces that rivaled anything else he had ever done. The natural light of the Cape glistened across his new paintings with masterful brushstrokes. It looked like it was going to be a good season.

  Jim was in the West Indies for his first year in the Peace Corps and was already accomplishing great things. Brian had been elected president of his junior class and was finally happy about our move to the Cape. Casey had made a lot of friends and was enjoying her new school. Molly was her usual precocious self, making us all laugh.

  In between taking care of Daniel, I explored our two acres of land and promised myself that I’d make paths throughout the woods as soon as the ground was a little drier. Such a simple thing to do, but the wooded trails would provide adventure for the whole family, and all the friends and family who would visit in the coming summer days.

  Half of our land was a tangle of wild roses, grapevines, blackberries, and hardwoods mixed in with a lot of scrub. Clearing the pathways could be fun and would provide no-cost exercise for me.

  One crisp morning, my strategy was planned as I enjoyed a warm cup of coffee. I bounced baby Daniel in his baby seat near me on the kitchen floor.

  “Paul, as soon as I put Daniel down for his morning nap, I’m going to start my paths.”

  Paul poured his last cup of coffee from the thermos. “No problem, I’ll take the baby monitor into the studio.”

  I picked Daniel up. “Okay. I figure I have a couple of hours before Molly comes home on the bus from kindergarten.”

  By 10 am Daniel was asleep. I went into the barn to gather some tools and grabbed a garden rake or ‘whacker’ for prickly vines, some hand clippers, and the heavy artillery; a big shovel for pushing away the really big thorns and vines.

  As I walked around the perimeter of the woods, I tried to find a natural entrance. On the ground, near the edge of the woods, I noticed some deer droppings. Looking up
ahead I could see a subtle path. I hit the brambles a few times with my shovel and stepped into the thicket. I’m in, I thought to myself. Out came the hand clippers from my pocket to cut away the wild rose vines that were sticking to my clothes and arms as I ventured deeper in.

  After five minutes of cutting, I looked up and spotted another opening between two trees. An hour passed before I reached the straight trunks of my targets. When I turned around, I saw a twenty-foot path behind me. Tired but happy, a strong sense of accomplishment came over me.

  I heard the sound of traffic stopping in front of the house and stood taller above the brambles to hear it clearer. It was the school bus dropping Molly off from kindergarten. I held the shovel up to mark my position for her and called out, “Molly, I’m in the woods, over here.”

  “Mommy, Mommy,” she yelled out as she ran down the driveway.

  It didn’t take her long to find the rustic entrance I’d made so she could enter the woods. She kept her eye on me as she ran down the new path. My gray hair bobbed up and down as I continued to whack and cut my way deeper into the prickly scrub. When she finally reached me, Molly dropped her little backpack and asked, “Whatcha doing?” and gave me a big hug and kiss.

  “Whacking!” I said as I brought the rake down hard onto the unruly brambles.

  “Can I try?”

  “Sure, but be careful.”

  Molly took hold of the big rake and smacked the ground, almost falling forward with its force.

  “Whoa. Be careful.” I caught her by the shoulders before she fell over. “Go and change your clothes if you want to help me.”

  “That’s okay. I’m hungry and my show is on soon. I’m gonna go in.”

  “Daddy’s in the studio. I’ll be right in. I have to put away my tools.”

  I bent over to pick up the rake and shovel. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” Molly’s tiny voice trailed off singing a little tune from Sesame Street.

  ***

  The following two days were filled with rain, which gave me no opportunity to continue my paths. Disappointed, I sat at the kitchen table and opened the mail. “Nothing but bills,” I said to Paul.

  “So what else is new?”

  I unfolded the local paper. “Hey, look at this. It says here in the court records that Jack Hennessey was convicted of assault and battery with attempted robbery. They gave him six years.”

  Paul sat next to me. “What about Neil Hallett?”

  Running my finger down the column, I spotted his name. “Neil Hallett was convicted of breaking and entering with attempted robbery. They gave him two years and fined him $1,000.00.”

  The thought of someone breaking into our house made me upset again. Neil Hallett should not have been so greedy and sneaky. “God, I’m glad that’s over,” I whispered.

  Paul began filling the dishwasher with the dirty dishes.

  I tapped my finger on the newspaper’s words and rehashed the whole scenario in my head. I’d always felt there was a thread that intertwined Maria Hallett, Sam Bellamy, and our property even though my theory was never officially recognized by the Whydah Museum in Provincetown. I glanced at the two pieces of vellum from the old cellar that Paul had framed in a shadow box in the kitchen. “I was thinking, if you don’t mind, I’m going to work on my paths. It looks like it stopped raining.”

  Paul smiled at me. “Sure, go ahead. I’ll listen for Daniel. Pretend all those prickers are Hallett and Hennessey and whack ‘em good!”

  “Will do!”

  Paul gave me a big hug. “Nancy? Please don’t go finding anymore root cellars.”

  I kissed him on his bearded cheek. “Thanks for filling it in and planting grass over it.”

  “Anything for you.”

  The grass wet my hiking boots after only a few steps, but they were waterproof, so I didn’t care. Following my new path into the woods, I saw a large ivy-covered mound up ahead, ten feet beyond where I had stopped whacking the other day. I zeroed in on it as a marker, representing the goal for the day’s clearing. I smiled to myself and thought that when I finish, these paths will be so neat for the kids to play on. I could hardly wait to take everyone on a tour.

  Deep in the woods, I continued cutting and trimming everything that stood in my way. Leaves and clippings were thrown off the path with my raking.

  I finally stood next to the huge mound that was my goal. It was almost as tall as I was. I noticed a tick crawling up my pants, so I quickly leaned one hand against the thick ivy that covered the mound to pick off the tick.

  The damp ivy felt unusually sturdy under my palm. Curious, I pulled some of the green vines away and exposed the gray coloring of a huge rock underneath. I grabbed the clippers and started cutting into the dense ivy. As I pulled the long spindly strands of the invasive plant up and out of the ground, dirt sprinkled across my boots. The more I pulled and cut, the larger the exposed surface of the boulder grew. I stood back to see exactly how big this behemoth was. My eyes followed the curve of the huge stone, tracing its outline from top to bottom. Then something shiny caught my attention at its base.

  I ripped off my garden gloves and hurried over to it. I pulled out a round yellow disc from the freshly scattered, loose dirt and recognized it immediately. It was just like the three gold coins that had been found in the old root cellar. My stomach did flip-flops. I knelt down and frantically started to dig with my bare hands on the hope that there were more coins. I only had to go down a few inches to see the remnants of a rotted wooden lid.

  I felt a little dizzy as my fingers scratched at the black dirt around its outside, exposing a rectangular shape. I sat against the back of my calves, staring at what I had uncovered. I couldn’t believe my eyes and pushed my hair back so I could see it better. I brushed as much dirt as I could away from what lay before me. My hands were filthy–I wiped them on my pants–then reached deeper into the rotting lid and down into layers of gold coins, red rubies, and gold necklaces.

  I picked up a pendant with an emerald green stone embedded within its center and then dropped it back into the jumbled mess. It was happening again–only this time it really was the answer to my prayers. I felt a euphoria rise into my neck and face. A fortune like this was something beyond my wildest dreams! I thought discovering the old cellar and the three small gold coins was the closest thing that I would ever get to real treasure. I thought of Neil Hallett and laughed out loud. He was right after all; he was just in the wrong spot. My heart raced. I felt vindicated.

  I looked down at the gold pieces and for a second, thought of Maria Hallett. I didn’t know why she and Sam were in Brewster and not Eastham, but I did know that I’d just found the missing treasure of the pirate Sam Bellamy, the legendary booty that everyone had been after for almost 300 years.

  I wiped my face and streaked my cheeks with dirt, just the way Molly did when she played outside in the gardens; only I wasn’t playing. A handful of gold coins sifted through my fingertips. The next ones were cradled in the front of my shirt close to my waist. I could hardly get off my knees, but managed to push my way up to a standing position with my free hand.

  Fearful of stumbling over exposed roots because my legs were shaking, I forced myself to slow down and walk the new path with care. I started to yell as loud as I could, “Paul! Paul!”

  As I came closer to the edge of the woods I couldn’t contain myself anymore. I screamed Paul’s name and ran towards the house while clutching the treasure in a rolled up ball against my stomach. “Paul! Paul! You’re not going to believe this. Look what I found!”

  The End

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  On my 11th birthday, I received my first diary. Recording my daily activities and thoughts became a labor of love for me and still continues to this day. Throughout those many decades, my passion for writing and telling a good story grew stronger along with enjoying the process. But bringing a novel into a published book was a task that took me by surprise. It was a lot of work.

&
nbsp; So, I would like to thank first and foremost my patient, attentive, and loving husband Tim, who encouraged me to never give up and provided one of his beautiful watercolors to grace the cover of my book. To my children and their spouses: Scott, Carly, Tim, Jen, Heather, Annie, Eric, and Michael, who hovered behind me when it was close to dinner or humored me on the phone as I worked through my plots and premises.

  Of course, I could not forget my two writing groups who were there when no one else wanted to listen to the same words that I had written over and over but only slightly different in arrangement or meaning.

  The Monday, Tuesday Group That Meets On Friday: Anita, Joan, Barbara#1, Yvonne, Jeri, Pat, Nicole, Marie, Iris, and Carol.

  Writers In Common: Dona, Marsha, Katrina, Jason, Debbie, Susan, and Barbara K.

  Thank you to my early readers who caught the little details that I missed, like giving the same name to two of my minor characters. They are: Heather, Sara, Charlotte, Barbara#1, Pat M., Ezra H. and Maryanne.

  Last but not least, Nicola Burnell, who was my first mentor in writing and became my editor for The Old Cape House and the wonderful people at Booktrope.

  Thank you all for being there when I needed you.

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