Elsie Mae Has Something to Say

Also by Nancy J. Cavanaugh

This Journal Belongs to Ratchet

Always, Abigail

Just Like Me

Thank you for purchasing this eBook.

At Sourcebooks we believe one thing:

BOOKS CHANGE LIVES.

We would love to invite you to receive exclusive rewards. Sign up now for VIP savings, bonus content, early access to new ideas we're developing, and sneak peeks at our hottest titles!

Happy reading!

SIGN UP NOW!

Copyright © 2017 by Nancy J. Cavanaugh

Cover and internal design © 2017, 2018 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

Cover design and illustration by Sarah J. Coleman

Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Apart from well-known historical figures, any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Published by Sourcebooks Jabberwocky, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

(630) 961-3900

Fax: (630) 961-2168

sourcebooks.com

The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:

Names: Cavanaugh, Nancy J., author.

Title: Elsie Mae has something to say / Nancy J. Cavanaugh.

Description: Naperville, Illinois : Sourcebooks Jabberwocky, [2017] | Summary: With a letter to President Franklin Roosevelt and unexpected help from her Hallelujah-spouting cousin, Henry James, Elsie Mae tries to prevent a company from building a canal through the Okefenokee Swamp.

Identifiers: LCCN 2017002457 |

Subjects: | CYAC: Environmental protection--Fiction. | Cousins--Fiction. | Grandparents--Fiction. | Best friends--Fiction. | Friendship--Fiction. | Robbers and outlaws--Fiction. | Okefenokee Swamp (Ga. and Fla.)--Fiction.

Classification: LCC PZ7.C285 Els 2017 | DDC [Fic]--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017002457

Contents

Front Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

A Note from the Author

An Additional Note Regarding the Time Frame of Events

Glossary

Bibliography

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Back Cover

For Ron, because an adventure is always better when you have it with your best friend.

The summer I got Huck was my best summer and my worst summer, all wrapped into one.

It all started with the letter I wrote to President Roosevelt.

Chapter 1

Elsie Mae, Mama scolded, where’ve ya been? Uncle Owen’s been waiting on ya almost an hour now.

Mama stood in the yard with her hands on her hips, watching me hurry up toward the house. Uncle Owen sat on the porch swing with a jar full of tea.

Sorry, Mama, I said. I had somethin’ I had t’do.

Sounds mighty important, Uncle Owen said, licking his lips and grinning.

I gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

I’ll jus’ be a minute, I said over my shoulder as the screen door clapped behind me.

I knew Uncle Owen didn’t mind waiting on me. He always said he was the slow-moving, savoring sort.

Sounds like a girl who don’t mind her elders, I heard Mama say as I headed down the hallway toward the back of the house.

She held a clothespin between her teeth, so she sounded even madder than I knew she was.

I heard Uncle Owen’s voice again, and though I couldn’t make out what he was saying, I knew he was probably defending me. Even so, I knew Mama wasn’t paying any mind to whatever he said because before I made it to the bedroom, she hollered through the yard, past the screen door, and down the hall, I tol’ ya to be ready right after yer chores, didn’t I?

She must have clipped that clothespin back on the line by now because she couldn’t have yelled that loud if it was still in her mouth.

Mama was the opposite of Uncle Owen. She was the fast-moving, getting-things-done sort. She probably got more done before breakfast than most folks got done all day. That wasn’t the problem though. The problem was her expecting all of us kids to be the getting-things-done sort too.

With Mama, no school in the summer just meant she thought up more stuff for us to do. And Daddy was just as bad. He owned the store in town, and he expected all three of my older brothers to waste their entire summer separating nuts and bolts into different bins, dusting the shelves, and carrying packages for customers.

The only worse way to waste the summer was in our house with my three older sisters arguing over whose turn it was to do which chore, and then having Mama remind us all day long that we’d never find husbands if we kept on being so ornery.

Husbands! Who said anything about wanting a husband? My heart was set on getting a dog. Dogs were the best companions in the world. Grandpa Zeke had told me so.

He said, Can’t always trus’ a man, but ya can pretty darn near always trus’ yer dog.

As soon as I was old enough to be on my own, I planned to have a whole slew of dogs.

Once I got to the crowded bedroom I shared with my three sisters, I grabbed the flour sack I used to carry my things. It had been packed since last week.

Somehow, the gods of summer had shined down on me because for the last five years, I had spent the entire summer at Grandma Sarah’s and Grandpa Zeke’s house. It was the absolute best place to be in the summer—or any time of year, for that matter. They lived on Honey Island in the Okefenokee Swamp.

The whole arrangement had started the summer Mama broke her leg. She had fallen off the kitchen table while she was stretching to get a cobweb off the ceiling. I was only six that year, but Mama’s broken leg turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. Since I was the youngest in our family and, according to Mama, the busy-getting-into-trouble sort, Mama decided to send me to Grandma and Grandpa’s for the summer.

I may not have been the smartest in our family, but I was smart enough to figure out real quick that being the only kid at Grandma and Grandpa’s house was about a thousand times better than being the youngest kid at my own house.

My brothers and sisters thought I was crazy.

What do ya do all day? my brothers asked.

And, Aren’t ya ’fraid the gators ’ill eat ya up? my sisters wanted to know.

But even though the gators truly were one of the only things I was afraid of in the Okefenokee, I would just shrug and try not to smile too much because I didn’t want them to ever find out how much they were missing. I liked things the way they were—me in the swamp and my brothers and sisters in town. After all, I wouldn’t want any gators to get them.

So, every year, right after school let out, Uncle Owen showed up to take me to Honey Island. And usually on the day he came to pick me up, I was ready and waiting. But today was different. Today mailing that letter had been really important.

I reached into the pocket of my overalls and took out a copy of the letter I had just mailed. I unfolded it and smoothed it out.

Elsie Mae! Mama hollered. What in tarnation is takin’ ya so long in there?

Comin’! I yelled, stuffing the piece of paper back into my pocket without even folding it.

I headed down the hall with my flour-sack bag in my hand and hope in my heart. Hope that my letter might just make the difference I wanted it to.

Chapter 2

After I said my good-byes, Uncle Owen and I jumped into the wagon he’d borrowed from Josiah and headed down the dirt road. Josiah’s old ox pulled us along toward Cowhouse Landing, the place where Uncle Owen always left his boat when he came up to our place for a visit.

Josiah was an old friend of Grandpa’s. He lived in a clapboard shack a ways back from the edge of the swamp. He used his porch as a store and sold things to folks who lived in the Okefenokee. That way the swampers didn’t have to come all the way in to town to buy coffee and flour and salt to bring back to their kitchens.

When Uncle Owen came to visit us, he always stayed with Josiah since there wasn’t an inch of extra space in our crowded house for even one more person.

Hard to believe I been comin’ to pick ya up every summer since you was a li’l bitty thing, Uncle Owen said as we bounced along toward Josiah’s.

I looked over at him. Grandma called us two peas in a pod, which was fine by me. Saying I was like Uncle Owen was like saying I was the smartest, nicest person in all of Charlton County.

And look at ya now, practically all growed up, he said. Sometime soon ya probly won’t want to have anythin’ t’do with yer ol’ Uncle Owen cuz you’ll have the boys followin’ ya ’round. He elbowed me in the side.

Boys? I exclaimed. Not me! Ya know I’m aimin’ to git myself a dog as soon as I can.

Oh, that’s right, Uncle Owen said, smiling. I do r’member ya mentionin’ a time or two ’bout wantin’ yer own dog.

I elbowed him right back. I knew he was teasing me. I hadn’t just mentioned wanting a dog. I talked about it all the time.

Yeah, but ya know Mama and Daddy’ll never agree to it, I said. So I’ll probly have to wait till I actually am all growed up.

As we got farther and farther from home, the trees got thicker and thicker. And as the road got smaller and smaller, the branches brushed up against us as Josiah’s ox, Selly, pulled us along. I thought about telling Uncle Owen about the letter I’d just mailed, but the thing was, I didn’t want to get his hopes up. I wasn’t really sure if the letter would work. And even if it did, I kind of wanted it to be a surprise.

A week earlier, I had made the mistake of telling Mama about the letter. I was helping her with supper, and for some reason, my sisters weren’t around with all their usual squawking.

It was the perfect time to tell Mama about my plan, but when I told her what I aimed to do, the first thing she had said was, Now, Elsie Mae, why in tarnation would ya send a letter to the White House?

And when I explained the whole story, instead of being proud of me for wanting to do something really important, she had said, Elsie Mae, what makes ya think the president is goin’ to listen to some eleven-year-old girl? Then she said what she always says. Instead of worryin’ ’bout savin’ the world, why don’t ya worry more ’bout savin’ yerself from gittin’ in trouble by mindin’ yer elders?

With all her getting-things-done ways, Mama just couldn’t see how minding my elders and doing my chores on time could never be the same as doing something big and important in the world.

With three older brothers and three older sisters, someone other than me was always getting noticed for doing something good. Davis with his best-in-the-class grades always made Mama and Daddy smile. Catherine was already a perfect seamstress, and Mama wasn’t shy about bragging on her to the ladies in the Women’s Missionary Society at church. Jack was on his way to becoming Daddy’s best clerk at the store, and that made Daddy about as proud as a peacock. And the list went on and on. The problem was that I never even made the list.

But the thing was, I didn’t want to get noticed for good grades or straight stitches or selling things in Daddy’s store. I wanted to do something bigger than that. Something better. Something that would make people say, "Now that Elsie Mae is really somethin’!"

But I didn’t want them to say I was really something because I dropped Mama’s three-layer coconut cake on the way to the church fund-raiser or because I split open a fifty-pound bag of flour in Daddy’s store the day I was in such a big hurry to go fishing. I wanted Mama and Daddy and everyone to say, That Elsie Mae is somethin’ awful darn special, but mean it in a good way. I was keeping my fingers crossed that the letter I had just mailed to the president of the United States was finally my chance to do that.

After traveling for an hour or so, Uncle Owen and I came around the bend and saw the mismatched boards of Josiah’s shack in the small clearing. Just past the shack sat Uncle Owen’s boat, surrounded by wispy cypress saplings on the log mooring down by the water. At the swamp’s edge stood the wall of trees that we would wind our way through to get into the Okefenokee.

Uncle Owen pulled the wagon alongside the shack, and we both jumped down. While he tied up Selly, I moved my toes around in the dusty dirt, glad that my school shoes were back at home under my bed.

Elsie Mae, why don’t ya head down to the boat, Uncle Owen said, while I go inside to git what’s on Grandma’s list. I won’t be more’n a minute. Bear’s down there waitin’ for ya.

Ya brought Bear?

Uncle Owen winked at me and headed toward the porch steps. I grabbed my flour sack with my packed belongings and walked toward the landing.

Hey there, Bear, I called, and Bear sleepily lifted his head. But as soon as I dropped my flour sack and patted my knees, Bear stood up and shook himself awake.

He barked hello and climbed out of the boat. He got more excited as he trotted toward me, and by the time he was close enough for me to pet him, he barked and danced around like I was his favorite person in the world. I couldn’t wait to have a dog just like him.

I kneeled and rubbed his ears and buried my face in his neck. I loved all of Uncle Owen’s dogs, but Bear was my favorite.

C’mon, Bear, I said as I picked up my bag.

We walked toward the swamp’s edge and stepped into Uncle Owen’s boat. It wobbled a bit and sank some in the shallow water of the swamp’s edge.

Bear settled himself into a comfortable spot to sleep again, and I sat down next to my bag and crossed my legs. I knew Uncle Owen would be more than just a minute. He and Josiah would most likely get to talking, and it might be a whole bunch of minutes before he was ready to leave.

How ’bout pretendin’ to be the president? I asked, looking at Bear.

Bear didn’t pick up his head, but he looked at me with his eyes. He was the only audience I had, so he’d have to do.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the letter, smoothing out the wrinkles.

May 29, 1933

Dear Mr. President Roosevelt,

My name’s Elsie Mae, and I live in Waycross, Georgia.

Other night when my uncle Owen was over for supper, he told us about a ship company that wants to build a canal right through the Okefenokee Swamp. Uncle Owen says something like that could just about ruin the swamp.

And then he said, About the only person I can think of that could stop it’d be the president himself.

That’s when I decided to write you this letter.

I wish you could come to the swamp, Mr. President. If you did, I’d take you out in Uncle Owen’s boat, and we’d pole between the tall, skinny trees that grow right up out of the water and paddle across lakes full of lily pads. Then I’d make you lie down in the boat and look straight up at the sky and just listen. If you did that, Mr. President, you’d know that what my uncle Owen says is true. The Okefenokee is just a little piece of heaven on earth.

That’s why someone has to stop that ship company from building that canal.

I hope that someone is you!

Sincerely,

Elsie Mae Marshall

When my teacher wrote an