Free The Old Cape Teapot by Barbara Eppich Struna Page B

Morning, Lord. Thank you for Paul, Jim, Brian, Casey, Molly, and Danny. And thanks for getting me home safely to my own bed.”
    With feet planted on the carpeted floor, I stood to reach for my robe. Within a few minutes, I was padding down the steps and into the kitchen. Outside the window, leaves were falling across the driveway as autumn began to make its appearance on the Cape. The smell of coffee was satisfying; it was good to be home.
    Paul appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “Did you sleep well?”
    “Wonderful. I forgot how great our bed is.” Pouring some coffee I sat at the table.
    He gave a gentle rub to my shoulders and sat opposite me.
    I held his hand. “Did the kids get off to school ok? I missed saying goodbye to them.”
    “No problem. Martha was here bright and early.”
    I noticed Martha moving stealthily from room to room downstairs, trying to be quiet as she cleaned. “Have you given any more thought to my news about John Julian?”
    “Yeah, you might be on to something there.”
    I perked up, pleased that Paul was agreeing with me. “I know I am. Of course, I still can’t believe Brian never connected his buddy John to the Bellamy legend and the pirates who survived the wreck of the Whydah .”
    Paul stroked my hand. “So, what’s on your agenda for the day, my lovely wife?”
    “Not much, maybe a walk on the beach.”
    My caffeine jolt was already kicking in. I stood up with wide eyes. “Oh my God, Paul, I was so tired last night that I never showed you the map.” I started for the door. “Hold on, let me go get it.”
    Paul grinned as he finished his morning coffee. “I have to get back to work. Show me later?”
    My heart fell. Here we go again, I thought, no time for me. “Okay.” I really wanted to share the map, but I knew he had some commissioned work that needed to be finished.
    As he left for his studio he said, “I love you. I’m glad you’re home.”
    I echoed back, “I love you, too.”
    I reminded myself that Paul’s lack of interest in the map shouldn’t bother me. He’s the one earning the living for the family. I examined the calendar of appointments and events on the fridge and the reality of being home and being responsible grounded me. Rinsing my cup I went to find Martha.
    As I walked through the front parlor’s doorway, I found her leaning over, dusting the light green bookshelves. With red ringlets of dyed hair that fell alongside her face and partially concealing her wrinkles, she was not your typical housekeeper.
    “Hi, Martha.”
    “Oh, hello.” She straightened up, adjusted her top and wiped her brow with the palm of her hand. “Did you have a nice trip?”
    “Yes, I did. Thank you.”
    The Murphy’s smell emanated from her every move. The use of the old soap was one of Paul’s weaknesses and requests. His mother had used it every day, so to him the smell meant a spotless home. I always thought I could fool him just by setting out a bowl of water with the oil soap in it, hoping he’d think I’d been scrubbing all day instead of shopping.
    “Everything smells so clean. I’ll be upstairs getting dressed.”
    “Okay,” Martha said and turned her back to continue dusting the bookcases.
     

12
    September 1722
    YARMOUTH - CAPE COD
    FELICITY DAVIS, six months with child, waited for her mother, Bethia Gibbs, to join her for tea. Outside, the clouds had thickened and grew dark. The few trees surrounding the Davis home bent over backward in the nor’easter that raged its fury across the Cape. Rain pelted its heavy drops against the paned window of the parlor where the ladies took their daily indulgence. Felicity looked uncomfortable in her skin and hated living in the Yarmouth house.
    The new servant, Hephzibah, knocked before she entered the parlor; her tiny voice greeting her employer with, “Pardon me, your tea is ready.” She carried a large shiny silver tray that held a blue flowered teapot, two matching cups with saucers, and a few