The Old Cape House (11 page)

Carefully I pulled them out of the dirt and rested them on my thigh. They looked like parchment or vellum. I picked one piece up. “I see some letters.” Reading out loud, I said, “…here’s an M, and there are two t’s. Look, right above the two t’s there,” I pointed at the
paper, “there’s another letter that looks like an S…and there’s an m-
y.”

Paul reached for the other piece. The second vellum was smaller and had numbers written on it. He brought it closer to his face. “I can make out a 1, a 7, and another 1, but not the last number. Wait, I think the last number could be a 5!”

“Oh my God, this is so exciting!” I leaned closer to inspect the piece that Paul was holding. “The numbers look like they could be a year. Like 1715 or 1775? Is it possible? Do you think this box has been down here that long?”

“I don’t know. Let’s see what else we can find,” Paul said.

Molly was quiet and had stopped digging to see what we were looking at. She crawled closer to the hole. “Mommy, what’s that over there?” she asked, pointing to the side of the chest nearest her view.

“Where?” I asked.

She leaned farther into the root cellar; her outstretched finger
pointed to a dirty beige object. “There.”

We stopped and scanned the dirt. I spotted what Molly had found and picked it up. “I wonder what it is?” I sifted through the area that it came from. “There are a few other white fragments, but that’s all. They could be bones, but I really doubt it.”

Paul said, “If the chest and its contents were buried hundreds of years ago, it would be safe to presume that whatever was buried here, would not have survived.” He reached over and took the piece from my hand. “You know, maybe it is a bone, it looks like the top of a skull.”

“Mommy, what’s a skull?” Molly asked.

Unsure of how to explain to our five year old that we might have found the remains of a body, we looked at each other for answers.

Paul tried to find the right words. “Uhhh, a skull is what’s under your skin on your head….” Before he got the next word out, Molly took off, running towards the back of the house.

“Oh, crap!” I climbed out of the hole to try and comfort her. “Molly, don’t be afraid, it’s all right. Come on back.” She shook her head in a no. I picked her up and started to open the back door. “Come on honey. We can go inside if you want to.”

Paul put the bone fragment back in the dirt, picked up the two pieces of parchment and followed us inside. Before sitting down next to Molly at the kitchen table, he put the small pieces of vellum on top of a newspaper by the counter, washed his hands, and asked her, “You okay honey? It’s just some old bones. Remember when we lost
Bernie? We buried the old pooch in the back of our barn in Ohio.
You helped me bury him, remember?”

Molly nodded her head up and down.

“Don’t be afraid. It surprised your Mom and me too.” He
humored her as he tried to steal a bite of her cookie.

She wiped her eyes, smiled and sipped her milk.

“Molly, you want to watch some Sesame Street for a while?” I asked.

“Sure.”

“Okay, finish up and I’ll turn it on for you.”

I could see Molly calming down as she settled herself into a big chair to watch her favorite show. I whispered to Paul, “Should we call the police?”

“I guess we could.”

Grabbing an old towel from the counter, I told Paul, “Why don’t you cover up the area where we found the bone for now and I’ll give them a call.”

“Okay, make sure you tell them that we don’t know what it is,” Paul said as he went out the back door.

With my back to Molly, I picked up the phone and dialed the non-emergency number of the Brewster Police station.

“Brewster Police,” the lady dispatcher answered.

“Hello, this is Nancy Caldwell, and I have a non-emergency. We just moved to Brewster a few months ago and we were digging in the back of our house and discovered an old root cellar. As we dug down into it, we found a chest containing, we think, a small skull. We weren’t sure if we should call you or not.”

The dispatcher took the address and put me on hold. While I waited for a response from the other end, I kept studying the old parchment fragments on the counter.

August 1715

EASTHAM – CAPE COD

THE WARM SUMMER MONTHS WERE FILLED
with hard work
for Maria. The everyday chores that had to be done, along with
gardens that needed tending, and her father who became more demanding, all plagued her daily. By mid-August, Maria had begun to grow
fuller under her skirts. To her relief, no one noticed her changing
body as she observed the Sabbath on Sundays, or on the rare occasion she needed to enter the village for supplies.

She tried to maintain a good diet and rested as much as she could, knowing that she needed most of her strength to harvest not only her vegetables and fruits, but the flax that she had planted for spinning and weaving. The flax beds were the most difficult to care
for, but very important because her weaving had become the only
source of income which was hers alone.

One morning, while standing among the flax plants, Maria
looked down at her bare feet and smiled at how fortunate she was that her feet were small enough to walk and weed between the rows of flax. She knew to be careful among the delicate plants. Stroking her round belly, she thought, I have no children to help me now, but soon enough...there will be.

Bending over to weed, she recalled Minda’s words to her when she was small, “Dig the plant, do not pull it out...as you weed, step carefully down the rows of flax.”

Maria learned everything about weaving from Minda: how to soak the harvested plants in streams or ponds to loosen the flax fiber from the woody core of the plant; how to dry and break it apart by skutching or hitting the hard stalks with a wooden skutching knife
to scrape off the hard pieces and reveal the fibers. Maria became
skilled at hackling and combing the strands into coarse, short, and long fibers. She needed more of the long fibers to spin into fine twisted threads,
carding the short for coarser, everyday woven cloths. As the
morning sun warmed her back, she felt good, and the memory of Minda’s
encouraging words stayed in her heart, “Maria, you are a smart
child, and you learn fast. You will make a fine weaver. Your mother would have been proud of you.”

As September neared its end, Maria had grown too large under her skirts to hide her secret from those around her so she was forced to stop working at the inn and attending church services. Almost
daily, her lack of energy became a burden for her; she took to
napping.
One afternoon, a knock on the door of the Hallett house roused
Maria from her rest. She cracked open the door and pulled her shawl close, hoping to hide her protruding stomach from whoever was outside. It was a woman from church. Maria’s voice trembled with fear, “Good afternoon... Widow Baker.”

“Miss Hallett, I have come to call on you... on behalf of Reverend Treat.”

The thin elder widow, dressed in a black dress and hat, cocked her head to look past the young girl to see what was inside. Maria stood large, blocking the widow’s view into the house.

The inquisitive woman stretched her neck high above Maria’s head but saw nothing unusual. She stepped back and focused her attention onto Maria. “I am here to inquire as to why you have not been honoring the Sabbath.”

“I have not been feeling well,” Maria replied. “I’m tired from the harvesting.”

“I see.” She pushed on the door and stepped a little closer into
the house to take a better look at Maria’s body. “You don’t look
tired. In
fact, you look very healthy indeed.” Then she noticed the bulge
under Maria’s shawl. “Very healthy!”

Eager for the woman to leave, Maria spoke quickly, “My father will be home soon, I must get back to my work. Thank you for your
concern.” Frightened of this mean and meddlesome old woman,
Maria wanted her to go. In a panic, she pushed her outside and slammed the door shut behind her.

The Widow Baker quickly turned on her heels, only to stand face
to face with the weathered and splintered door. “Well, of all the
rudeness.
I never....” She left in a rage. “The ladies and the Reverend will be
very interested in this little encounter.”

September 1715

EASTHAM – CAPE COD

AS MARIA CLOSED THE DOOR
she knew her life would never be the same; the Widow Baker would see to that. She leaned her back against the wooden door and let her head fall forward, her emotions exploding in cries and fits of piercing screams. Her distended body
slid to the floor. “Sam, where are you?” Her shawl caught on the
rough edges of the old door and trailed in a pattern of grotesque shapes above her head. With her legs outstretched on the dirt floor before
her, and her face wet from tears, she called out to her mother for
help, and then she screamed, “SAM! WHERE ARE YOU?”

With her energy depleted, both physically and emotionally, she remained motionless on the dirt floor–quiet, desperate and alone.

 The Sunday Social

The social gathering after Sunday meeting was held at the house
of Widow Baker, a tragedy for Maria but a social coup for the
widow. Of modest means, the Widow’s house was simple, yet large enough to accommodate the men and women who wanted to meet socially and hear about the activities of their neighbors. As some of the ladies gathered in the corner by the sideboard, the Widow Baker came over to them and spoke, “I am so glad to see all of you here at my house.” She sat down and folded her hands against her black skirts. Smugly she smiled. “I have some interesting news, but I am not sure I should be telling you.”

Mrs. Eldridge leaned closer. “What is it?”

Mrs. Paine urged her on, “Yes dear, you must tell us.” She took a large bite from her sweet bread.

 Reaching for her teacup, Widow Baker took a sip, clinked her cup back onto its saucer and continued with pursed lips, “Well, if
you insist. I was passing by the Hallett house the other day and
thought I would stop in to see how the girl, Maria, was doing.”

With her mouth full, Mrs. Paine sputtered, “Go on. Go on.”

The widow paused in mid sip. “When she opened the door to
me, I knew immediately something was wrong.”

Mrs. Eldridge leaned in so close that she almost fell from her
seat.

The Widow Baker continued, “After a few impolite words from the young girl, I could see that there was something different about her.”

The women stopped eating and grew quiet.

 She whispered to them, “I do believe she is with child!”

A collective gasp echoed from the small group of women.

“What?” Mrs. Eldridge yelped.

“I said, ‘I think she is with child!’ ”

The women all leaned back in their chairs, resumed their
nibbling, and shook their heads back and forth in disapproval.

Reverend Treat noticed the commotion coming from the corner and walked over to them. “Well, how are we today, good women?”

Mrs. Eldridge spoke, “Fine.... Thank You Reverend.” She
snatched up her piece of the bread.

Mrs. Stone set down her teacup and braced herself to share the
news. “You see, my dear Reverend, the Widow Baker was telling us
that she thinks the girl, Maria Hallett, might be…” she empathized her words with a bravado, “…with child.”

Reverend Treat responded slowly, “I see….” He furrowed his
brow. The Widow Baker was quick to finish her news. “I saw her, months
back, walking with a stranger. And my hired hand said he saw the
same man at the tavern, talking of finding treasure. Well, what would you expect? The poor girl has no mother and her father is, you know....”

Reverend Treat interrupted her. He was not going to tolerate the sin of gossip. “Ladies, please let us not pass judgment on the girl. Until evidence is brought before the church, we must not make assumptions. Should such evidence of sin become apparent, then the proper punishment will be administered. Now, let us continue with our repast and enjoy our afternoon.”

The ladies were silent as the reverend walked away to join the other men. Whispers of ‘whore’ and ‘shun’ were soon floating into the air from the women’s little circle amidst the clanging of teacups against saucers.

October 1715

EASTHAM – CAPE COD

MARIA WAS TOO AFRAID TO LEAVE THE HOUSE
after the Widow Baker’s visit. The prying eyes and judgmental behavior of the church’s good ladies were unbearable for her. Over the past month of Maria’s self-inflicted seclusion, she was miserable. She did her chores as well as her swollen body would allow her to do but it
was never enough for her father. Oblivious to her physical
limitations of carrying a child, he demanded food and labor from her with no relenting. On one exceptionally cold morning, gentle puffs of steam billowed from Maria’s mouth into the chilly bedroom air as she lay
under the coarse, prickly blankets, not wanting to get up.
Approaching her seventh month with child, her body temperature usually kept her warm during the frosty mornings of late October, but not today. She finally rose from her nest, dragging her bedcover like a large cape behind her.

Grabbing the long iron stick from its hook in the kitchen hearth, she poked at the fire’s embers and waited until a spark ignited, then fed it some kinder and a log. Maria walked back to bed and lay
down. Her eyes closed, she stroked her large belly, moving her
hands
in circles over her bloated stomach. She felt the need to relieve
herself
and groaned in irritation. This bothersome task plagued her
morning, noon and night and usually she accepted it. Today she felt annoyed.
Pulling herself from her bed once more, she squatted on the
necessary
jar. As she reached for a clean shift, she heard her father stir.
Worried that he would notice her condition, she dressed quickly, then went into the kitchen to begin her day.