That night I lay up in the loft on top of the covers. The warm, thick air closed in around me, and the lingering smoke from Grandma’s nightly oak-bark fire lay against my skin like a hazy blanket, keeping the mosquitoes away. The two rocking chairs that stood next to the mantel downstairs creaked back and forth in rhythm with the crickets outside. Grandma and Grandpa talked in hushed tones so as not to keep me awake.
I tried to listen to their conversation but couldn’t make out enough words to know exactly what they were talking about, so my mind drifted back to our suppertime conversation. My imagination filled with big, heavy ships pushing their way straight through the new wide, canal-size waterways of the swamp. I pictured steam from those ships closing in on Grandma and Grandpa’s front porch as if it were a storm of fog coming in off the sea.
As worried as I was about that ship canal, I was worn out from my day with Huck and all the huckleberry picking. Those huge, heavy ships pulled at me through the gray, steamy fog of my dreamy imagination, steering me toward a big, drowsy island of sleep. But just before I slipped behind the foggy clouds of slumber, I heard Uncle Lone’s voice drifting up toward the front porch.
“If ya say ‘hallelujah’ one more time, Henry James, I’m gonna—”
“That’s jus’ yer hard heart talkin’, Uncle Lone. I think ya probly need more hallelujahs, not less. Fact is, it’s probly why the Lord sent me to ya.”
What was Uncle Lone doing here this late at night? And who in the world was Henry James? That island of sleep I’d been headed for sank to the bottom of my imaginary swamp like a bag of boulders. Suddenly wide awake, I sat up in bed.
“What in tarnation is Lone doin’ here?” Grandpa exclaimed, stopping the creaky rhythm of his rocking chair.
“Lord only knows with that boy,” Grandma answered. “And he’s not alone. Sounds like he said ‘Henry James.’ Ya don’t think he’s got Harry and Rhodie’s son with him, do ya?”
Rhodie was Grandma’s youngest sister, but she didn’t live in the Okefenokee anymore, so I’d never met her or her family. The only time Grandma mentioned Rhodie was when she told stories about her being off on some crazy lark doing something that ended up with her needing help getting out from under a big, huge heap of trouble she’d gotten herself into.
I climbed out of bed and crept to the edge of the loft and peered through the smoky haze hanging in the air. Just then, Uncle Lone pulled the screen door back and walked into the house. A boy, dressed in a black Sunday suit that was about two sizes too small for him, walked in behind Uncle Lone. His scuffed-up, hard-soled black shoes made hollow sounds on the wooden floor of the cabin.
“Well, Ma!” Uncle Lone exclaimed. “Yer sister’s crazy, ex-con, revival-lovin’, Bible-thumpin’, travelin’ preacher husband has really done it this time!”
Uncle Lone turned and pointed to the boy who looked like he might just pop out of that suit it was so small.
“Lone, yer ’bout as ornery as they come,” Grandma said, heading across the room. “Henry James!” she exclaimed as she smothered the boy in one of her warm, welcoming hugs.
“Hi, Aunt Sarah,” I heard him say into her shoulder as Grandma squeezed him.
I worried that Grandma would squeeze so hard that Henry’s suit would explode, and we’d all be blown to bits.
She finally let go of Henry James and pushed her arms out straight, holding him by the shoulders. “Lemme git a good look at ya,” she said. “I bet it’s been more’n two years since I’ve seen ya last.”
“Looks like yer goin’ be tall like yer daddy,” Grandpa said, walking over and putting his arm around Henry’s shoulder to give him a squeeze.
“Hallelujah, Uncle Zeke!” Henry James yelled at the top of his lungs. “I’m prayin’ I’ll be tall cuz I’m plannin’ to be a preacher jus’ like my daddy. It’ll be a blessing to be able to see out over all the lost souls when I’m leadin’ those tent meetin’s.”
A preacher? I thought it was bad enough that my brothers wanted to grow up to work in Daddy’s store and my sisters all wanted to get married as soon as they were old enough. But this boy wanted to be a preacher?
“Humph.” Uncle Lone sighed, plopping down in Grandpa’s rocking chair. “Yer daddy bein’ a preacher makes ’bout as much sense as me conductin’ the church choir.”
“Lone!” Grandma scolded, swatting him on the arm. “Ya better watch yerself!”
She put her face close to Henry’s and said, “Don’t pay him no mind, Henry James. Lone’s so ornery it addles his brain sometimes.”
I felt like my brain was a little addled. Why was this boy here? And how long was he planning to stay?
“So what are ya doin’ here, son?” Grandpa asked.
Finally, someone was asking a question that made some sense!
“That’s what I wanted to know,” Uncle Lone said, leaning forward in the rocking chair. “Earlier t’day, I left my boat at Camp Cornelia while I was runnin’ my sugarcane syrup over to Traders Hill to do some swappin’, and when I got back, I found him sittin’ in the boat waitin’ fer me. Said his daddy and mama’s gone on some travelin’ tent revival trip down in Florida fer the summer.
“Guess they paid some fella from Folkston to git Henry to one of us. The fella planned to bring him all the way over to our place, but while I was down the road a bit takin’ care of a few things, the fella stopped up at the Hill. Well, he got to talkin’ and spoutin’ his mouth off ’bout what he was doin’ with the boy, and someone tol’ ’im I was a relative of Henry’s and that my boat was sittin’ over at Camp Cornelia. So the darn fool jus’ left Henry there, and when I come back down to head home, there he was.”
Grandma tsked, and an uncomfortable silence filled the room.
“Daddy wanted to bring me ’long on the travelin’ tent revival trip with him and Mama. It’s jus’ that, um, that…” Henry stammered. “There wasn’t enough money in the goodwill offerin’ to pay fer all three of us to go,” he finished in a rush.
“Well, that’s jus’ our blessing now, isn’t it?” Grandma said, pulling Henry James close to her again.
Blessing? Henry James here at Grandma and Grandpa’s all summer a blessing? This was my summer!
“Yes, ma’am,” I heard Henry say, but his words were muffled in the folds of Grandma’s dress. Good thing for Henry because it mostly hid the way his voice cracked when he agreed with her. That little crack made me wish I didn’t feel as ornery as Uncle Lone about Henry James horning in on my perfect summer in the swamp.
It was one thing for me to be here for the summer. I wanted to get out of my house, but no matter what Henry James said about his mama and daddy wanting to take him with them on their traveling revival tour, I knew that with every inch of him that was stuffed inside that suit, he didn’t believe it.
“Well now, how long ya figurin’ yer folks’ll be gone?” Grandpa asked.
“Well, they got ’nough money in the offerin’ t’do the whole Florida circuit from Jacksonville to Miami—twenty-five meetin’s in ten weeks. Do ya know how many souls Daddy’s gonna save? Hallelujah!”
“Souls he’s gonna save?” Uncle Lone grumbled. “That low-down oughta start with his own—”
“Lone, if ya don’t stop that jibber-jabber, I’m gonna tan yer hide,” Grandma scolded.
“I imagine you and Elsie Mae will git on well this summer,” Grandpa said, changing the subject.
And that was the first time anyone noticed me kneeling at the edge of the loft and listening to the whole ruckus. By now the smoke, meant to clear the cabin of mosquitoes, had lifted, and as everyone glanced up at me, they could see me clear as day. I smiled, hoping that somehow this was all part of that ship-canal nightmare I had imagined earlier. Maybe somehow it wasn’t really true that some preacher boy named Henry James was about to ruin my summer.
“C’mon down, Elsie Mae, and meet yer cousin,” Grandma said. “I have a feelin’ the two of ya will be fast friends in no time.”
I knew I wasn’t dreaming when I felt the wooden steps of the loft ladder on my bare feet, and I was definitely sure I was wide awake when Henry James stuck out his hand to shake mine and said, “Hallelujah, the Lord jus’ sent me a friend!”
No wonder Uncle Lone had been hollering about all the hallelujahs. I’d only just laid eyes on Henry James, but already he’d managed to squeeze three of his holy hallelujahs into the conversation. If this boy thought we were going to be friends, he was going to have to think again. I couldn’t change the fact that we were relatives and that the both of us would be here all summer, but I sure didn’t have to like it. And I didn’t have to pal around with him either.
I had Huck.
And Huck and I didn’t need Henry James or his hallelujahs.