The Old Cape Teapot

by Barbara Eppich Struna

  ***

  YARMOUTH, MASSACHUSETTS

  Davis’s employee, Jacob, had recently brought to Constable Maker’s attention some interesting information about the relationships between Tobey, Hephzibah McCleron, and Davis. Seeking closure with the Davis death, he visited the coroner, Dr. Able. He wanted to be sure that the death was truly an accident. After a lengthy discussion between Maker and the good doctor, in addition to several pints of ale, they both decided that there should be an inquiry. Maker thought it best to pay a visit to the McClerons, in Sandwich, and talk to the man and woman involved, specifically the Antiguan.

  ***

  Late November was not the best time to travel on Cape Cod. Constable Maker admitted this fact to himself as he rode along the new road to Sandwich, tightening his scarf against the strong winds that stung his cheeks. The Constable of Sandwich had given him directions, and he watched eagerly for a metal pig turning round and round atop the peak of the McCleron house. He was relieved to turn onto the path that led to the twirling pig.

  Hephzibah looked through the one window in the front parlor. “Father, someone is coming.”

  “Daughter, to the kitchen, I will handle the visitor,” John McCleron looked outside. “Go and fetch Tobey.”

  “Yes, Father,” Hephzibah said as she exited the rear of the house towards the barn.

  The knock on the door was determined. McCleron opened the door with caution. “May I help you?” he asked the stranger.

  “John McCleron?” Constable Maker inquired.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have a daughter by the name of Hephzibah?”

  “Yes. Why would you be asking?”

  The only words from the chilled man were, “Constable John Maker of Yarmouth. May I come in?”

  McCleron opened the door wider and then shut it quickly against the cold air, giving the man only a few seconds to enter.

  Maker shook his hat, stamped his mud-caked shoes and then got straight to the business at hand. “Are you aware of the death of Thomas Davis?”

  “Yes, news of that kind travels fast.”

  “There has been new evidence brought to my attention that your daughter and a certain black Antiguan had disagreements with the deceased.”

  Hephzibah appeared with Tobey in tow. Constable Maker took note of them standing by the hearth and smiled. “I see that my investigation has just become easier.”

  ***

  Bread, chowder, and ale were laid out across the sideboard as Tobey, McCleron, and Constable Maker talked and watched Hephzibah scurry around the kitchen. She spoke very little, trying to listen as her father explained what had happened prior to her returning home.

  Tobey contributed few, if any, details of his last encounter with Davis.

  McCleron asked Tobey, “Do you have papers?”

  Tobey withdrew his identification from his vest pocket. It verified that the Smith family of North Harwich owned him and that he was not a runaway.

  The Constable offered his sympathies to the young woman as he scraped the last of the hot white liquid from his bowl with a piece of bread. “I’m sorry to hear of your unfortunate and shameful experience with your employer.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Hephzibah nodded.

  Tobey sat quietly, wondering if he should speak. Thinking it best to explain things for his own survival, he uttered, “There is more.”

  All eyes focused on him.

  “I want to tell you the reason why I joined Davis on his trip from Antigua.”

  Hephzibah stood next to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “No, Tobey.”

  He looked up to the woman whom he had come to love and said, “Yes, I must.”

  The two older men at the table grew attentive as Tobey relayed the story of John Julian’s request for him to find the treasure that was buried on Cape Cod. Maker interrupted only once with, “Do you know the whereabouts of this so-called cache?”

  “I do.”

  Tobey leaned across the table and begged, “You must understand, I only sought my freedom and a chance to live with dignity.”

  The men looked at each other.

  Maker asked, “May I speak with you, Mr. McCleron, in private?”

  Tobey placed an arm around Hephzibah’s waist as they watched the two men leave the kitchen.

  Maker spoke first, “You are aware that no one needs to know of this new information…I mean about the cache?”

  “I see where your conversation is going,” McCleron replied. “But our options for retrieval must be within the law.”

  Maker added, “As far as the treasure goes, finding it may be advantageous for both of us. And if the Antiguan only seeks his freedom, I probably could arrange a meeting with Mr. Smith concerning his situation.”

  “Mr. Smith is fond of my pigs for special occasion feasts. I might be able to broker a trade of some sort for Tobey’s freedom,” McCleron considered. “Since my sons have gone, he has become invaluable to me on the farm, and I know that my daughter would be agreeable to him remaining here. He is a good man.”

  Maker smiled and added, “Let me think on this. Tomorrow we could go to find the treasure and, if we’re lucky, all may play out in our favor. Contact with Mr. Smith will have to wait.”

  The next morning, Hephzibah watched the three men mount horses to begin their journey to Enoch’s Rock in Eastham. Confident that Tobey would prove himself trustworthy, she returned to the house and her chores for the day.

  ***

  The men traveled from Sandwich to Yarmouth, where they stayed the night within Maker’s house. All three, anxious about what they would find the next day, encountered a restless night. When dawn broke, they left for Eastham, eager to continue their quest. Remembering the tension of his last travel, Tobey felt good to ride a horse instead of walking. By late afternoon, the gray crest of Enoch’s Rock rose above the trees before them. Quickening their pace, they arrived at its bottom within minutes.

  “Show me where it is,” Maker ordered.

  Tobey dismounted his horse with confidence. He went straight to the small pile of stones that lay to the rear of the enormous rock and pointed. “Here’s where I buried it.”

  Hephzibah’s father grabbed a spade from the back of his saddle and instructed Tobey, “Go and get yours and give me some help.”

  As the two men pushed aside the stones and dug into the dirt, their tools did not need to plunge very deep. The wood and leather bound chest showed through the loose soil within a few shovelfuls.

  Once the chest was uncovered, Maker knelt on the stones and examined it with slow and determined actions. In an investigative manner, he scraped away the caked dirt around its edges, then brushed his hands of the loose soil, wiped them on his pants, and reached for the exposed latch. McCleron and Tobey leaned in. The lid opened.

  Tobey gasped, “I don’t understand.” He knelt down next to Maker. His hands dove into the dark box searching for the gold coins that he had seen not more than a month ago. “Where are they?”

  “What are you saying?” Maker asked. “There doesn’t seem to be much of a treasure in here.”

  “Where’s the rest?” Tobey yelled out. He sat back on his haunches, shaking his head in disbelief.

  McCleron knelt to the other side of the constable. “Let me see.” He put his hand into the dark chest. “There are coins at the bottom but not many.”

  Tobey stretched his hand down into the chest again. His forehead grew wet with perspiration and he felt himself spin into a panic. “It must be here! I saw it with my own eyes.” He panted under his breath, “It can’t be. It can’t be.”

  The constable pushed himself upright, taking a position a few steps back. McCleron also stood and both men watched the young Antiguan frantically swirling his hand inside the near empty chest, banging his knuckles against the old wood.

  “Mr. McCleron, it seems that we have a bit of a wild-goose chase on our hands.” The constable stroked his chin trying to decide what to do next.
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  McCleron went over to Tobey and, with a sympathetic touch, tried to hold the black man’s hands still. His voice was gentle. “Stop! You need to stop.” He pulled back on Tobey’s shoulders, forcing him upright. McCleron placed the handle of a spade in Tobey’s palm and coaxed, “Here now, let’s dig it out together.”

  When the chest was pulled from its secret grave, the gold coins were scooped out, filling only a small leather pouch. Tobey sat to the side and hung his head between his knees. Bewildered at the near empty chest, he shook his head back and forth in skepticism. “No one knew of the chest, it was just me, Davis, and Mr. Julian. I don’t understand.”

  McCleron spoke up in Tobey’s defense, “I can attest to the fact that this young man has been on my property since he and Hephzibah arrived weeks ago. He would not have had the resources nor the time to return here.” He walked over to Tobey and placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Besides, why would he lead us to it, if only to prove his innocence? Freedom seems to be the utmost in his mind, not treasure. He’s a man to be trusted.”

  Maker straightened himself and spoke with authority, “Let’s finish here. No need to take the chest with us. Leave it.”

  He dropped the pouch into one of his saddlebags and motioned to the other men. “I know of a tavern not far from this place. We’ll stay the night there and then home to Yarmouth to sort out the situation tomorrow.”

  McCleron and the Constable rode together with Tobey in the rear, out of earshot of the men talking. “Now what of Tobey?” McCleron asked.

  There was no response from Maker.

  After a short time, McCleron spoke again. “I know that the Smiths have just been delivered of a new child. Hephzibah aided in the birth and they have named her Lydia. They may be in for a celebration and interested in my meat.”

  Constable Maker glanced over his shoulder at Tobey. “My job is done here. You may contact the Smiths and arrange for his freedom.”

  23

  Present Day

  CAPE COD

  THOMAS DAVIS CHANDLER tapped his fingers across the computer’s keyboard, tracking an order from a game supplier. As he waited for the information to come up on the screen, he glanced at the business card that lay to his right: Nancy Caldwell, Gallery Director-Antiquities.

  The word ‘antiquities’ caught his attention. He chose a new window and typed in her name. Up popped 50,000 entries, and #1 listed a Nancy Caldwell along with a caption in bold type, ‘Brewster couple uncovers treasure’.

  He scrolled down the list of hits. Her name was highlighted along with other interesting words: Sam Bellamy, pirate ship, Whydah, gold, jewelry and untold riches. On the second page, at the bottom, he saw his own name. His eyes fixated on the bold letters. “What the hell?” A shot of adrenaline rose through his body. “Why is my name linked to pirates and treasure?”

  Tommy called out to his buddy in the backroom. “Hey Silas, come on up front for a while, I gotta go home. I got some business with Sheila. I’ll be back in a few. Keep your eye on things…okay?”

  Driving the back roads to the house he grew up in, Tommy recalled hearing people whispering at his dad’s funeral...‘the last of the Thomas Davis lineage’…‘too bad he’s the last one.’ Tommy mulled the words over in his head as he turned onto the neighborhood street. He was an only child and his father had no siblings, so he would inherit anything valuable. A smile curled across his face as he thought of what might lay ahead for him.

  ***

  Silas Maroni played his last quarter. An old pinball machine known as the Black Knight clicked, binged, and flashed as he racked up points. When the last ball rolled down to the silver paddle, Silas spread his legs apart, determined to finish his game with a flourish. In a matter of minutes it was over. He watched the points tally to 850,000 across the multi-lit backdrop. He was now the top player at the gaming store. Fist pumping his hand in the air, he regained a normal stance then yelled, “Yeah!”

  As he walked towards the front area of the store, all the chains that hung from his black baggy pants made a clanking noise. He eventually settled himself behind the counter to watch some TV.

  ***

  Tommy kept the music turned up in his car as loud as the speakers would handle. He knew Sheila hated it and any chance to irritate her was good for him. It gave him some control over their relationship. He stayed in the car a little longer with the radio blaring.

  Sheila Jenkins was Tommy’s stepmother. He’d been comfortable enough to hang around at his dad’s house but, after his father died, the new wife was meaner than ever to him. Unfortunately, she continued to live in the family house and his visits became fewer and fewer.

  She shrieked from the kitchen as he entered the small ranch house, “How many times have I told you to keep your music down?”

  “Yeah, I heard you,” he said slamming the door behind him.

  “What do you want?” she asked without looking up from her crossword puzzle.

  He ignored the question, grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and sat across from her at the kitchen table.

  After several seconds, she lowered the newspaper a few inches, and in a sarcastic twang asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be working at your little game store?”

  He continued his sullen stare at her.

  She went back to the puzzle. Finally, she took her cigarette out of her mouth and yelled at him, “What? What do you want?’

  “What do you know about my family?”

  “Not much.” She leaned back in her chair.

  “What about my Dad’s grandparents or great grandparents?”

  Sheila stood up, poured a cup of coffee and turned to face him. “Well, look at you. Little Tommy has found some adult words and he’s actually using them in a conversation.”

  He took a drink then banged the bottle on the table. “Look, I just wanna know about the history of my family.”

  She sat down again and sipped her coffee. “All right, I’ll tell you what I know, which isn’t much.”

  Tommy leaned over the table.

  “Remember the boxes of stuff that I gave you after the funeral?”

  “Yeah, the old dishes and crap.”

  “Your father said that whatever was in them belonged only to you.” She grew quiet.

  “Is that it?”

  “Yup, that’s all I know.”

  “Shit.”

  Sheila went back to her crossword.

  Tommy slapped his hand on the table, stood up and leaned his back against the sink.

  Without looking up, Sheila continued, “If you’re so curious, go up in the attic and look for yourself. Don’t bother me with it.”

  ***

  Bored, Silas decided to busy himself with the computer. Sitting on a high stool, he wiggled the mouse to wake up the screen and took out a pocketknife to clean his fingernails while he waited. Whatever Tommy had discovered earlier was now in front of Silas’s eyes and the same words that caught Tommy’s attention piqued Silas’s curiosity.

  He began to move one leg in a nervous bounce as he read deeper and searched more pages. Silas ran his fingers through his curly red hair and scratched at his freckled cheek, trying to figure out how he could benefit from this information. He highlighted Nancy Caldwell’s full name in the search box and added the word ‘address’. Two hits came up from the Find People site. One Nancy Caldwell was from California and one was from Brewster, Massachusetts. He copied her address down and stuffed it in his pocket.

  24

  Present Day

  ANTIGUA

  THE CARIBBEAN AIR was steamy against the railing of the open veranda as the impatient caller waited for the voice on the other end to answer. He’d ordered a cold beer and could see it resting on the bar just under the palm-covered eve. He could almost taste its cool liquid. An elderly but distinguished voice answered, “Damien residence.”

  “Mr. Damien, please.” Sweat dripped from the caller’s forehead to the cell phone.

  “Wh
om may I ask is calling?”

  “I’m calling from Antigua. He’ll talk to me.”

  “Of course, sir. Please hold on.”

  He couldn’t stand it anymore; he hurried in under the shade and quickly grabbed the chilled bottle from the counter, then walked back outside.

  A terse, accented voice asked, “Yes?”

  “Mr. Damien, I’ve some good news for you. I have the earrings.”

  “Well, that is good news. What about the necklace?”

  The sweaty caller hesitated. “Not yet.” He wiped his brow. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to follow it to Cape Cod.”

  “If you must.” An audible sigh could be heard.

  “It’s almost within my grasp. I’ll have it for you soon, sir.”

  “I hope you will. We wouldn’t want anything to go wrong, would we?” Mr. Damien sounded threatening.

  “No, sir.”

  “I’m not paying you a finder’s fee of three million dollars to find only two priceless items. I want all of them. I expect my employees to complete their assignments.”

  The cell phone clicked off, a sea breeze blew, and the nervous caller ordered another beer.

  ***

  Across a continent, Mr. Damien took his afternoon tea in the solarium. He admired the blue flowers on his antique teacup, beautiful against the green of the delicate ferns, English ivy, and oriental lilies that surrounded him.

  25

  1746

  BOSTON

  “IF YOU CHOOSE to live in that house and defy me, you are dead to me,” Felicity Davis screamed at her 24-year-old only son as he turned his back on her. In one last attempt to persuade him to stay, she changed her tone and begged, “Ezekiel, please don’t leave me! I’m your mother!”

  The door slammed shut and he was gone.

  Ezekiel Davis found himself suffocating under his mother’s roof. He could not put up with her whiney and dominating personality anymore. Now a successful lawyer, he was ever grateful for his education, but still felt compelled to leave and start his own life, with his own rules. Today he ventured out on a journey to claim his deceased father’s house. Willed to him at birth, it had sat empty and abandoned for 24 years in the town of Yarmouth on Cape Cod.