The Riddle of Penncroft Farm by Dorothea Jensen

Author:Dorothea Jensen [Jensen, Dorothea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

9

Battlefield Field Trip

When my alarm went off the next morning, I realized I hadn’t filled in my Brandywine study sheet. Geordie and I had been interrupted by Dad, who thumped on the wall and told me to stop muttering and get to sleep. His orders couldn’t have come at a worse time. After Geordie had finished telling me of his Brandywine ventures, I had asked him about the secret room in the barn, where they had hidden Will.

“I haven’t seen anything like that—what did you call it?—Grampa’s Folly,” I’d said. “I guess it must have been in the part that burned. Right?”

Geordie had looked at me intently before replying, “What a nimble wit you have, Lars. However did you figure that out?”

“Oh, it was easy enough. There’s obviously no secret room in the part that’s left,” I’d answered.

“Obviously not . . .” Geordie had started to say, but the rest of his reply was forestalled by my father’s pounding.

Now, as I hastily filled in the blanks on the Brandywine paper, I thought the questions were so easy that a sapskull could have answered them. That, and a couple of other interesting things, was what Geordie had called me when I’d asked why the British hadn’t used the bridge across the Brandywine instead of marching way up to the forks. I’d showed him Route 1 on my wall map.

“Lars, you sapskull, you witling, you great booby! Nary a bridge was built for a score or more years!”

I chuckled at the memory of Geordie’s scolding as I scribbled my answers in the blanks. Then I stuffed the sheet into my backpack and clattered downstairs. As I reached the kitchen, the knocker sounded on the front door.

“Who could that be at this hour?” Dad said from behind his newspaper. “Get it, will you, Lars?”

Obediently I went to the door. A balding, pudgy stranger who looked oddly familiar stood there.

“I’m Edward Owens the Ninth,” he announced in a pompous way. “Are your parents at home?”

I returned to the kitchen and told my folks who it was, adding, “I think he’s the father of a kid in my class.”

After Dad went to see what Mr. Owens wanted, Mom made a face. “I used to know a guy named Owens who lived around here. He was really a pest,” she whispered to me.

“If he’s anything like his son, I think it’s the same guy.”

Dad and Mr. Owens came into the kitchen.

My mother stared at the man. “Edward?” she asked.

“Sandra—haven’t seen you in years,” Mr. Owens said. “I heard you were staying with Cass. Unfortunately, I didn’t know about her passing away until too late to get to the funeral. I just came by to offer my condolences.”

Mom looked away. “Thank you, Edward,” she said softly.

“And . . . to inquire when we might take possession.”

Dad said sharply, “Take possession of what?”

“Penncroft Farm. Surely you knew Cass intended to leave it for a museum? She promised it to me . . . oh, a good ten years ago.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.