Tom’s bed-and-breakfast, which also happened to be the house in which he lived, was very large and very old. It sat on a sunny, tree-lined street a few blocks from the beach. A painted sign near the sidewalk said, THE SEA BREEZE MANOR, ESTABLISHED 1919. ALL ARE WELCOME.
The children went up the walk with Benny still in the lead. Then they went into the lobby and shut the door quietly behind them. Henry tapped the little silver bell on the counter. A moment later a man appeared from behind a curtain. He was small and roundish, and he had a full head of white hair. The children’s grandfather was right behind him.
“Hello, kids!” Tom said. He had a wonderful smile, and it matched his sweet and jolly personality. He was everybody’s friend, and he loved people. He told the children that this was the main reason he had bought the bed-and-breakfast. He got to meet new and interesting people all the time.
“Did you all have a good time at the beach?” he asked.
“We sure did,” Henry replied.
“Did you find enough shells for your necklaces, Violet?” Grandfather asked.
Violet held up the bag. “I might be a few short, but I can always go back.”
“Shells weren’t the only thing we found,” Henry added.
“Oh?” said Grandfather.
“Benny found something, too. Show them, Benny.”
“Look at this!” he said proudly, holding up the bottle.
The two men leaned over the counter to have a look. Tom pushed his glasses up. “Wow, that’s a really old one!” he said.
“Where did you find it, Benny?” Grandfather asked.
“It was between two big rocks. Only the top of it was sticking out. And look at this!” Benny said. He turned the bottle so Tom and Grandfather could see the little piece of paper curled up inside.
“What’s that?” Tom asked.
“It’s a small piece of paper,” Jessie answered, “but we have to get the bottle open to see what’s written on it.”
Grandfather took the bottle from Benny and looked at it. “The cork is so old that it would probably break if I tried to pull it. But I’ll bet I could grind it out with a screwdriver.”
“I’ll go get one,” Tom told him.
After Tom brought back the screwdriver, Grandfather pulled a lamp over to a nearby table and sat down. The others gathered around him. He stuck the head of the screwdriver into the neck of the bottle and began grinding out the cork. It was so old and dry that it broke apart easily. Once the neck tube was clear, Tom brought over a long pair of tweezers from his desk.
“I used to use these when I built ship models inside bottles,” he told everyone.
“Oh, so that’s how that’s done,” Violet said. She thought someday she’d like to try that.
Slowly and carefully Grandfather brought out the old piece of paper. Once it was on the table, he turned on the reading lamp, which was very bright. The children moved in closer. Then Grandfather gently unrolled the paper, and everyone gasped.
The paper had turned dark brown over the years, but the drawings on it were still clear. There were some trees, a few rocks, and some squiggly lines that seemed to imply water.
But it was the dotted line that grabbed everyone’s attention. It started at the top of the paper and curved off to the left until it reached the trees. And that’s where the X was. A very large, very dark X.
“Oh, my goodness!” Violet said.
“This looks like . . . well, like a treasure map, or at least part of one,” Grandfather said. “And what’s this here?”
In the bottom right-hand corner, written in letters so tiny that it almost couldn’t be seen, was the name “J. Finney.” Next to it was the number “4.”
“J. Finney. Who’s that?”
All eyes turned to Tom. “You know, it does sound a little bit familiar, but I can’t really—Hey! I wonder if it could be . . .”
His voice trailed off as he hurried out of the room. The others followed him into a little sitting area at the front of the house. On the coffee table were several books about the history of the town.
Tom plopped onto one of the couches and picked up a large black book with the title Cherrystone Harbor, Yesterday and Today on the cover.
“If I remember right, there was a little story in here about—yes! Here it is!”
He put the book flat on his knees so everyone could see. On the left-hand page was the heading “John Finney.” Underneath were a few paragraphs of text. On the other page was a painting of Finney. He was standing on the deck of his ship with his hands on his hips. His long hair was as black as night, as was his tangled mustache. His eyes looked mean, but his mouth was curved in a smile.
Tom handed the book over to Violet and said, “Why don’t you read it for us, young lady?”
Taking the book onto her own lap, Violet smiled and swept her hair back behind her ears. “‘John Alexander Finney was one of the most colorful and eccentric pirates who ever sailed the high seas,’” she began.
Benny’s eyes widened. “Wow! A real pirate!”
Violet continued, “‘He was the captain of his very first ship when he was only nineteen years old, and by the time he was twenty-five he had sailed halfway around the world. He was best known for his wild behavior. He and his men would dock at any port that caught their fancy and go inland for days, causing all sorts of trouble. Like all pirates, John was not only a sailor but also a thief. During his lifetime he stole hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions, of dollars’ worth of gold, silver, and jewelry.
“‘When he got older, he decided to hide all the treasure he’d stolen over the years. Then he drew a map that showed its exact location. But he didn’t want anyone to find it too easily, so, during his last sailing journey, he cut the map into four pieces and hid each piece in a different part of the world. Over the years, three of the four pieces have been recovered, but the fourth has yet to turn up. It is known that John Finney stopped in Cherrystone on his famous final voyage, so it is possible that he hid the fourth and final piece here during that visit. But so far no one has found it. And this piece is by far the most interesting, because . . .’”
“What’s it say, Violet?” Jessie squealed. “Don’t keep us in suspense!”
Violet looked up. “‘. . . because very near the last piece of the map, so says the legend, lies the treasure.’” |