Free The Old Cape Teapot by Barbara Eppich Struna Page A

ran swiftly through the early dawn along a path that followed the sound of the crashing ocean, branches hit his face and stones twisted his feet. He pushed himself forward; all the while sensing someone was following him, searching for a safe hiding place where he could wait during the coming daylight hours.
     
    John Julian bolted upright in his bed. Covered in sweat, he rubbed his eyes with trembling hands then breathed a sigh of relief that it was only another nightmare. He was tired of them.
    Elizabeth stirred in her sleep next to him, but remained quiet. As he left the bed, his shirt clung to his clammy body. Wiping away the salty drops of liquid from his skin with the tail of his nightshirt, he shuffled to the sideboard for a drink of ale.
    After the pungent alcohol soothed his nerves, he walked outside to sit on the bench. As he closed his eyes, his mind drifted back to Cape Cod. He remembered the grey color of the weathered shingles on the old house where he’d taken refuge that morning after burying his fortune by the rock. He had known the house was empty because there was no smoke coming from the chimney. Julian recalled thinking that he would be safe there until night came, but within minutes of his arrival, he’d seen the King’s men at the neighboring property, searching for survivors from the wreck of the Whydah.
    Another swig of ale passed over his tongue as Julian shook his head. Why couldn’t he have gotten away with all of his treasure? He’d only had enough time to bury the extra pouch, filled with a small amount of gold coins, a short distance from the barn where he was hiding. He’d decided that if he were captured and, by chance, found innocent, he’d surely be able to retrieve the pouch later. It would be needed for his passage back to Antigua. The chest would have to remain hidden for a few years, until things calmed down on the Cape, and he could return for the real riches, unnoticed.
    Elizabeth appeared in the doorway. “John, you ill?”
    “No,” he yelled. He was angry. Not with his wife, but at his past.
    She knew her husband well enough to leave him alone to his thoughts.
    Julian leaned back, his bare toes kicking at the dirt. He clenched his teeth and walked over to the side of his house to piss. The smell of urine and dirt evoked another memory; the dank and squalid floor of his prison cell where he’d awaited trial in Boston for piracy five years ago. It was also the day he thought he would be hung alongside Thomas Davis. Both men had sat on the putrid dirt floor that morning, with Davis penitently whimpering his sins aloud. ‘I had wanted all of Bellamy’s treasure,’ he’d tearfully confessed to Julian. ‘I followed Maria Hallett and Sam Bellamy to a house in North Harwich. I knew the wagon held Sam’s treasure chests and had hoped for an opportunity to take it.’ With wide eyes he’d continued, ‘I grew tired of waiting, so I set the house on fire to ensure that no one would prevent me from gaining more gold.’
    Before they were brought to trial that day, Davis had revealed to Julian that within minutes of the deadly flames consuming everything, a wagon had crashed out of the barn, driven by a dark figure. He’d also seen someone running towards the wagon as it drove away, taking the treasure with them. Davis had waited until morning, hoping to search for anything he could salvage.
    Julian grinned as he flicked the last of his piss onto the sandy dirt, pleased that Davis had no chance to steal Bellamy’s cache because he was captured in North Harwich the next morning.
     
     

11
    Present Day
    CAPE COD
    THE SCENT of Murphy’s Oil Soap tickled my nose as it drifted upstairs to my bedroom. My eyes opened in the morning light. The house was quiet. From the open skylight above my head, I heard gentle breezes rustling in the trees and traffic idling behind school busses along Route 6A. I rubbed my eyes clear, then stretched. Counting my blessings I whispered, “Good