Cape Cod's Figure in Black

by Bill Russo

  The figure in black even left a bequest to Emily’s beloved Red Sox. He donated $50,000 to the team so that they could leave their battered old ball field and construct a new park in Boston’s Fenway section. He added a note to the team owner, hoping that the new Fenway ball park would be ready in time for the 1912 season.

  After posting the letters in a nearby box, he returned to his room and slept soundly until dawn when he got up and walked to the South Dennis Railroad Station. As he stepped on the platform he saw the plume of smoke from the Provincetown Special’s first run of the day.

  It being early morning as well as off season, the passenger coach was nearly empty. He sat in a seat by himself and thought about the eleven stops remaining before he finally reached the end of the earth. Provincetown: a tiny, bustling fishing village - surrounded by the sea on all sides, but for a sliver of land connecting it to Truro.

  Fishing village. Fishing boat. Cod, Fluke, and Blues. The words kept turning in his mind, seeming to have some importance. They remained like unaligned pieces of a puzzle.

  A fluke. A fluke is a flat, flounder-like fish; though it also is a word that accurately described his itinerant life since his injury. Blues, also a breed of fish and also a word that accurately described the feelings he was having as he got further away from the city where Emily lived and closer to the city where he might die.

  In his mind, he spoke to himself, ‘There are eleven more villages along the route. How many times will I have to get off and help people in distress? Do I dare hope that the blessing/curse has really left me and that now, I can perhaps help myself?’

  His thoughts were interrupted by the conductor striding through the car…”Harwich. Harwich. All off for Harwich.“

  The conductor hopped down the three steps to the platform and continued his hawking, “All aboard for Pleasant Lake, Brewster, Orleans, Truro and Provincetown. All aboard!”

  Half a dozen people got on the still nearly-empty coach as the combination belched its smoke and the six giant drive wheels screeched as they started moving along the track, led by their smaller companions, the four guide wheels.

  Typical 1920s Ten Wheeler, but not one that was actually in use on Cape Cod

  From Harwich Center it was just a short run to the next stop, Pleasant Lake Village. John Deer considered leaving the train and searching out a tiny settlement in the area. It was said to be a very small town by the side of a strange lake, a lake that defies description.

  He had heard that the lake had three separate and distinct sections, one of salt water and another at the opposite shore that was fresh water. In the middle of the lake, which was said to be six miles long and one mile wide, was an eerie section of brackish water.

  The “Brack”, as the locals called it, supposedly gave birth to large catfish that had the habits and teeth of sharks! An outcast, amphibious boy the locals called “Jimmy Catfish” was said to be able to summon the killer catfish and even swim with them.

  As the train arrived at the terminal John’s thoughts returned to his problem at hand, getting to the end of the line. He abandoned his thoughts of getting off the train to possibly help the ‘catfish boy’. He closed his eyes.

  “This stop is Pleasant Lake. All out for Pleasant Lake,” barked the conductor who stepped quickly to the platform as the train ground to a halt. “All aboard for Brewster, Orleans, Eastham, Truro and Provincetown. Board!”

  Eight more stops: two in Brewster - East Brewster and Brewster. After that the train would steam into old Orleans. The town was so named, not for anything to do with ‘new’ Orleans, but after the French Duke of Orleans who assisted the village when it was twice captured by the British during the American Revolution of the 1770s.

  John Deer had no idea how he knew that bit of history. ‘Perhaps I was a history teacher before the brain injury,’ he thought to himself. ‘If I get my memory back, I can possibly become a teacher in Emily’s Huntington School for Girls!’

  While he was thus occupied in drowsy daydreaming, the train chugged on through the Brewsters, Orleans, Eastham and North Eastham.

  “Next stop Truro. All aboard for Truro, Corn Hill, and the city of Provincetown. All Aboard.”

  The towns were further apart now and the train could make more speed. The fireman furiously shoveled the coal on and the engineer got the P-town Special all the way up to forty miles per hour!

  Truro and the village of Corn Hill were quickly passed by and the conductor announced, “All aboard for Provincetown, the end of the line. All aboard for Provincetown.”

  John Deer was both excited and apprehensive as the final terminal neared. Due to the narrowing of the land between Truro and Provincetown the train had to slow down to five miles per hour. It looked as though the waves were going to wash right over the tracks as Cape Cod Bay closed in from one side and Nantucket Sound encroached from the other.

  As the sandy land once again widened, the train got back up near 30 miles per hour and quickly arrived at the last passenger stop. There was one further stop, fisherman’s wharf, where the fishermen’s catch was loaded for delivery to Boston – but John Deer was not bound for there. He got off with the rest of the riders at the downtown station.

  Provincetown Terminal 1910

  As was his usual practice he made straight for a victualer, ordering unsweetened coffee with cream, and bread with no butter. He purchased a newspaper, dated Monday, December 12, 1910.

  It was a very slow news day. The paper had one story speculating that taxes in Provincetown would rise in 1911. There was a short story about President Taft’s three new Supreme Court appointees, and an article about the nearly completed Pilgrim memorial in the center of town.

  Other than that the whole front page was devoted to a report that the Ritz Carlton in New York had broken a long standing tradition by allowing a woman to smoke a cigarette in its dining room! Horrified patrons complained to the manager who said, “I’d rather have her smoking than drinking a cocktail!”

  The other big event of the day was a scandalous report that the actors and actresses in silent movies were using profane and lewd language in their films. A lip reader discovered the transgressions and nearly fainted. When reporters for the New York tabloids wrote down what the ‘ladies’ and ‘gentlemen’ of the Edison flickers were saying, the tabloid editors said with a gasp, “Even we can’t print this stuff!”

  After his spare meal, John Deer walked out onto Commercial Street. He checked into a hotel, thinking he might need to rest for a day or so before beginning his work in the city where he was certain he’d learn his true identity and find out what fate had in store for him.

  After an unusually good sleep, he was so energized he decided to set off immediately in search of his true identity. He reasoned that the best place to start would be the town’s medical facility, located in the John Barclay Pharmaceutical Manufacturing Company.

  He sensed that his injury might have happened in Provincetown and if so, his first treatment might have been in John Barclay’s facility which was the medical home of all three of the local physicians.

  Cape Cod, always warmer than mainland Massachusetts, was experiencing even more moderate weather than usual that season. After a September cold spell, the weather had changed and the area saw mostly sunny skies and temperatures in the 50s and 60s, from October first right up to the present day, the 13th of December.

  After a quick breakfast at the restaurant he walked along Commercial Street past the shoe shop, several restaurants, the toy store, and the A & P; finally arriving at the entrance to the Barclay Company. The town’s main street runs for about two miles alongside Cape Cod Bay, from one end of town to the other. Barclay’s factory was situated almost exactly at the mid-point, alongside Fisherman’s Wharf and the freight station of the Cape Cod Railroad.

  About a dozen park benches, facing the ocean, lined the sidewalk near the area. They were constantly occupied by the loca
ls as well as the visitors, who enjoyed watching the never ending, motion-pictures presented by nature; of sunrises and sun falls, of ships arriving and ships departing, and of the loading into boxcars, the daily catch of hundreds of barrels of salted cod.

  The Cape Cod catch of salt cod was shipped by rail to every one of the 46 states – even the new one, Oklahoma that was brought into the fold three years previously, in 1907.

  The street was unusually busy that morning. Horses still predominated, but more and more of the noisy automobiles were being sold every day. Ford, the most popular of the machines, reportedly had sold more than 10,000 units the previous year and might triple that number by the end of 1911.

  Forgotten for the moment was his mission. John Deer relaxed on one of the benches and watched a fishing boat release its land line and set out under full sail. ‘Sail is doomed, just as horses are doomed,’ he said to himself.

  “No. There will always be boats powered by sail and there will always be strong and beautiful horses pulling buggies and carts – just not as many.”

  Startled, John Deer looked in the direction of the voice. A young girl with long curly hair the color of midnight had sat down next to him. He thought to himself, ‘I didn’t realize that I was actually speaking my thoughts aloud’.

  “You weren’t talking out loud John, you were thinking,” she said.

  “How did you know my name and how do you know what I’m thinking?” said the bewildered John Deer – for it was usually him who knew the thoughts of others. Since the princess had laid her hands on his head, his pains were gone, and so was his ability to know peoples’ thoughts and to know things about the future.

  “I can’t tell you how I know John, because I don’t know myself how I do it,” she replied. “But I know this. Your work is done John Deer. You have repaid all that you were given and now it is time for another to take your place. I think it’s me, Maria Da Silva,” said the pretty raven haired girl.

  “But you’re so young. You can’t be more than 13 or 14. It’s too heavy a burden for….”

  “I am 12, John. I don’t understand why I have been blessed or cursed with this duty, any more than you did. I only know that you’re now free to find out who you are. The answer is not to be learned in the Barclay Company. You need to go to the Rod and Cod Tavern across the street from the toy store you passed a few minutes ago.”

  “What’s going to happen to me Maria?”

  “I’m not sure John. I’ve always had premonitions and such, but I didn’t think much about it, until yesterday. In my mind I saw you get off the train and instantly I knew things. I knew about you and the work that you have done and I knew that it was time for me to fill your shoes so that you can get your life back. My work is just starting and my first job is to help my family. We’ll meet again. But for now, just go. Go to the Rod and Cod.”

  Without another word he took the counsel of the pretty young girl with the dark eyes and long black hair that tumbled in coils and curls to her shoulders and began the mile long walk along Commercial Street to the tavern.

  Commercial Street circa 1900

  Chapter Fifteen:

  Karma and the Little Girl from Provincetown

  As for Maria, her story started in a ramshackle cottage on a dirt path off the West End of Commercial Street near the breakwater at Long Point. She was the daughter of a poor fisherman and his wife. Their shack at the edge of the sea was threatened daily with destruction by the rise and fall of the tides.

  In summer, her father Francisco Da Silva, began fishing every day at sunrise from his small boat. He brought his catch to the wharf just as the sun was setting in the harbor. His profits from the daily sales were enough to buy bread and milk but little more.

  In winter, the family survived off the summer cash until it was gone. Afterwards they existed until spring on little more than love.

  In the middle of December in 1910, the world was preparing for the birthday of the Man from Nazareth. The Da Silva family was doing its best to get ready for that celebration and one more – it was also to be the 13th birthday of Maria. She had been born on December 25 in the drafty cottage, after the family had been turned away from the John Barclay Medical Center, for having no money and no insurance.

  It was a difficult birth, but a kindly neighbor lady helped, and though the baby’s head was injured during the delivery, the child seemed fine and was responsive.

  “Maria came out bloodied far more than you’d expect. It was because of the wound to the head. But when I wiped her face, I was happily surprised to see that she had her eyes wide open and was alert.” said the midwife, Mrs. Pires. “It’s rare, but I have seen it before. It usually means the child will be healthy, vigorous and perhaps a seer.”

  As time went by Maria was that and more. She was one of the smartest students in the entire seventh grade. There were 196 students in the Provincetown school system – grades one through twelve. Maria’s class was the largest with 27 pupils.

  The weather turned cold as the holiday approached. A snow storm just short of a blizzard hit Cape Cod. At the same time, a problem with the heating system in the town’s only school house, forced an early Christmas break.

  Maria helped her mother with holiday preparations. They knitted new mittens, scarves, and hats for presents for each other. They made cheery Christmas cards by coloring in seasonal pictures from the newspaper and pasting them on cardboard.

  As always Maria’s dad Francisco tried to get winter work. He was able to make a few dollars by shoveling snow left by the storm that had helped to over burden the school’s crumbling main chimney.

  He made just enough money to be able to buy a wonderful holiday dinner for his family. The table would overflow with turkey and ham, grapes and apples, wine and eggnog, and chocolates and candy canes.

  There would not however, be enough money for the one thing that Maria had desired for two years – a shiny bicycle like the one in the window of the toy store.

  In desperation Francisco walked to the factory owned by John Barclay, the wealthiest man in town. As Cisco trudged through the snow into the parking lot, he saw Mr. Barclay getting out of his machine, a very expensive ‘Alco’, made by the American Locomotive Company of Providence, Rhode Island. He gave instructions to his chauffer and began walking to the entrance of his building.

  “Mr. Barclay. Hold up a second. Can I speak with you?”

  Barclay turned and looked without slowing his walk.

  “I’m busy Da Silva,” he said brusquely. “Some of us on Cape Cod have to work year round. We can’t all be lucky enough to have a summer job!”

  “Work is what I want to talk to you about Mr. Barclay. If I could just have a few days employment so that I can buy my family a Christmas present; and it’s my daughter’s birthday as well.”

  “You should have saved your summer fishing money instead of begging me for……..”

  “Listen Barclay, I am not begging for anything. I am asking you man to man for a job of work. Rich as you are you cannot disrespect and disregard me.”

  “I’m sorry ‘Cisco’ for being impolite,” said Barclay adopting a patronizing tone, “but I am quite busy with my new acquisition of an automobile dealership in Barnstable and other things. We are not hiring right now. Good day.”

  Barclay stomped off as if offended by the mere presence of the fisherman. He went inside without looking back. Barclay was flush with cash after unloading 500 acres of mostly useless land in a town south Boston. He had successfully spread a rumor that the property was going to be the site of a new Henry Ford automobile manufacturing plant.

  The lie grew a veneer of truth when Henry Ford himself came to Massachusetts and spent more than a month looking at property near the Charles River. Barclay’s land was a swampy tract off the Boston and Providence highway in a town named Foxboro. After Ford selected some acreage in Cambridge for his manufacturing plant – Barclay’s swamp wasn’t even worth a doll
ar an acre. The property that Ford purchased near Cambridge, along with other sites in Framingham and Somerville, would in future, be home to automobile plants that would produce more cars than Detroit, until being closed near the end of the 1900s.

  “The whole thing was a disaster for those of us in the investment group. We paid over a hundred dollars an acre for that Foxboro land which will probably never be used for anything but breeding mosquitoes,” said a young gentleman name Lowe, who also had an interest in vaudeville palaces and motion picture theaters.

  “Caveat Emptor, is what Barclay said to us after we lost a half million dollars on that deal?” reported Mr. Lowe. “Caveat Emptor - Let the Buyer Beware! That’s what the scoundrel said, after we were nearly bankrupted by his lies.”

  After being shunned by Barclay, Cisco Da Silva continued his search for a job of work. The community was home to less than 4500 year round residents, so there were few places to look.

  That night at a meager supper he told his family what had happened when he tried to get work from Barclay.

  “Don’t be sad Daddy,” advised the smiling 12 year old Maria, who was starting to realize that she was a ‘seer’ just as the midwife had long ago predicted. “Barclay will be served a little dish of karma soon enough. And usually once karma starts putting things on a person’s table, bad things happen. Barclay will get his. I just know it.”

  The next day brought sunshine and an unseasonal warm-up to near 70. The sands and shells at Herring Cove Beach shimmered like gemstones in the brilliant rising sun when Maria and her mom arrived for a walk and some beach combing.

  Aside from the pretty shells, they saw little else on the beach until Maria glimpsed a shiny reddish stone shaped like an egg. Picking it up, she waved her arms and cried…

  “Look Mama an egg rock! I never expected to find such a treasure on the beach. It’s a real egg rock. See how round it is. How smooth it is. And notice the gorgeous red hue.”