ElsBeth and the Pirate's Treasure, Book I in the Cape Cod Witch Series. J Bean Palmer

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      ELSBETH

      AND THE

      PIRATE’S TREASURE

      Cape Cod Witch Series

      Book I

      Written by

      J Bean Palmer

      Illustrated by

      Melanie Therrien

      Originally published as

      The Cape Cod Witch and the Pirate’s Treasure

      Library of Congress 2007908286

      Holly Hill Press

      Post Office Box 662

      Farmington, Maine 04938

      Copyright 2015 by J Bean Palmer

      Artwork Copyright 2015 by Melanie Therrien

      All Rights Reserved

      ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-2078-3

      No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

      The Story of ElsBeth Amelia Thistle,

      Cape Cod’s Youngest Witch

      In their sleepy Cape Cod town, a never-quite-forgotten pirate’s treasure awakens some serious trouble. ElsBeth and her friends, magical and not, must face off against dangerous outsiders — and the notorious pirate Billy Bowlegs — to restore the balance of past and present, good and evil.

      Chapter 1

      Cape Cod, Near the Elbow

      Cape Cod, Massachusetts is one of those places in the Western World that has a history, a long history. Not all of it can be explained.

      Perhaps, just perhaps, we’ll find out that is a good thing.

      Right now, all seems ideal here. It’s another lovely fall day in this postcard-perfect Cape Cod town. Everything is in harmony, nothing out of place.

      But is some sort of trouble brewing just beneath this calm surface?

      Let’s visit the local schoolroom and see what’s happening with Cape Cod’s youngest witch, her school friends and the local inhabitants. Those who are magical, and those who are not.

      Chapter 2

      The Little Red Schoolhouse

      ElsBeth Amelia Thistle was, at this moment, feeling more than a little upset.

      Now that she was in second grade, she was discovering several things not exactly to her liking.

      First of all, her teacher Ms. Finch was a mean old fogy.

      Last year ElsBeth had the cotton-candy-sweet Mrs. Bottomley, and that had worked out just fine. But Ms. Finch was a horror.

      This teacher was like something out of those scary movies ElsBeth’s grandmother would never let her watch.

      And to make matters worse there was this annoying boy Robert Hillman-Jones, who was absolutely driving her crazy.

      The worst part of it was that ElsBeth was a witch — granted a small one — but nevertheless a broom-toting, card-carrying, bona fide witch.

      ElsBeth, though only seven years old, knew several excellent spells, and if anyone ever deserved to be made into a frog, Robert Hillman-Jones was it.

      But she was not allowed to do anything about it. Spells were only to be used for good. And she wasn’t supposed to use any magic without supervision.

      It was so frustrating.

      “Ouch!” squealed ElsBeth, as Hillman-Jones poked her in the ribs for about the tenth time during arithmetic, the one class where Ms. Finch tolerated not the least bit of inattention.

      Ms. Finch went to great pains to ensure the students took arithmetic very SERIOUSLY and were ABSOLUTELY SILENT throughout.

      At this unheard-of outburst, Ms. Finch turned slowly away from the blackboard, screeching the chalk for what seemed like ages.

      The class held their breath as one.

      The teacher’s beady eyes looked up behind her thick glasses, black and horn-rimmed, and chained to her head with multi-colored plastic beads.

      Ms. Finch was what some people unkindly referred to as “tough on the eyes.”

      “What was that, Miss Thistle? Did you have something to add to today’s lesson in multiplication, perhaps?” Ms. Finch hissed this question sarcastically through tight, thin lips.

      All heads turned to ElsBeth.

      “No, Ms. Finch,” replied ElsBeth.

      But before she could stop herself she let slip, “Robert Hillman-Jones jabbed me in the ribs.”

      At this forbidden backtalk, Ms. Finch leapt forward at an alarming speed and swept down the row of shocked students, mouths open like train-wreck observers. She stopped short at ElsBeth’s seat.

      “I heard that. Apologize at once,” she said.

      “I will not have children in my class telling tales. And trying to get perfectly innocent, dear, young boys into trouble.”

      ElsBeth pressed her lips firmly together and sat hard on her hands — so she didn’t say anything that would inflame Ms. Finch further. Or worse yet, cast a spell in the middle of arithmetic class.

      ENTER THE CAT

      Fortunately, at just that moment, her grandmother’s unnaturally large, inky-black cat Sylvanas chose to make an appearance on the windowsill.

      The impressive feline sent a sharp, taunting hiss of his own in Ms. Finch’s direction.

      The schoolteacher, thoroughly distracted by this newest interruption to the seven’s multiplication table, forgot about ElsBeth for the moment.

      Ms. Finch stepped cautiously toward the window, nervously flapping her fingers and calling out, “Scat!”

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