“Penncroft Farm isn’t really haunted, is it? You told me there are no such things as ghosts,” I spluttered.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Lars, I swear that I never saw anything supernatural there,” my mother replied. “It was George who swore the place was loaded with ghosts. But then, my brother always did love to tell tall tales.”
Mom was sitting in the front seat of our car and I was stuck in the back as usual, so I couldn’t see her face. But I could guess her expression from the sound of her voice. It had the sad tone she always used to talk about Uncle George.
“I wish you wouldn’t mention ghosts, Sandra,” Dad protested. “Penncroft can be a very spooky spot when the wind moans through that old orchard at night. And you know the house was built before the American Revolution. I’ll bet a lot’s happened there.”
“No, I’m afraid not, honey,” Mom said, “much to Aunt Cass’s eternal regret. Of course, he did spend a winter at Valley Forge, which is only a stone’s throw away.”
I leaned forward eagerly. “Valley Forge? Is that an amusement park like Valley Fair back home?”
“Lars! Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Valley Forge! Didn’t you study the Revolutionary War in school?” Mom exclaimed.
“Give me a break! We’ve been doing Minnesota history—you know, explorers like Zebulon Pike. Geez, I hope I don’t have to learn a bunch of stuff about Pennsylvania. It’s not fair having to learn two state histories just because I have to move.”
Dad humphed. “You’ll change your mind when we get into Philadelphia and see the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall. Too bad we don’t have time today.”
“Don’t care if I ever see ’em,” I muttered.
“He’s still upset about moving, Erik,” said Mom.
Dad’s voice deepened. “I know it’s tough, but he’ll get over it once he makes some new friends and meets your aunt Cass.”
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