The Old Cape House (36 page)

Jim stood for a few seconds watching me. I looked up at him. He spoke in a whisper, “Are you okay, Mom?”

I rubbed my face, as if I wanted to erase the memory of how I
got
into this predicament. “I think so, but I don’t know what’s going
on.”

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, too. 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.

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.