“Grandfather, we have to turn right at the next road,” Jessie said. She sat in the front of the station wagon with a map unfolded in her lap.
The Aldens had been driving for almost three hours. It was now noon — “time for lunch,” Benny reminded everyone. Watch, who was lying in the very back, thumped his tail.
“See, Watch is hungry, too,” Benny announced.
“We’ll be at the orchard by lunchtime,” Grandfather said as he turned onto a narrow winding road. Acres and acres of fruit trees seemed to stretch for miles, broken only by fields where horses and cows grazed.
“Wow, there are a lot of orchards around here,” Jessie commented. “All apples?”
“All apples,” Grandfather answered.
“There’s nothing on the trees now.” Benny sounded disappointed as he looked at all the bare fruit trees.
“All the apples have been picked by this time,” Grandfather explained. “Now Seymour is probably busy pruning the trees and cleaning up things around the barn.”
“Does he need our help?” Benny asked.
“I’m sure Seymour would appreciate any help,” Grandfather answered. “But this isn’t a working vacation.”
“Except that we have to look for the ghost,” Benny reminded his family.
“And we can help feed the animals,” Jessie suggested.
“Yes, you can probably do that,” said Grandfather as he turned onto a dirt road. “You can see the Curtis farm up ahead,” he informed his grandchildren as he pointed to a big red barn in the distance. Around the barn was a big house and a long, low shed.
“It looks like all the buildings on the farm are connected,” Henry observed. Grandfather was driving slowly now because there were deep ruts in the narrow dirt road.
“They are,” Grandfather answered as he steered the car around a jagged rock in the road. “Farms that were built more than a hundred years ago often had connected buildings. They made for easy passage in the wintertime during those blinding snowstorms.”
“Where is the secret passageway?” Benny wanted to know.
“Ah, that I’ll let you find for yourself,” Grandfather answered, “but I’ll give you a hint. The secret passageway is underground.”
“Underground,” Benny repeated. He looked as if he didn’t really believe it.
“Oh, look, a pumpkin patch,” exclaimed Violet, pointing, “and there’re still pumpkins in it.”
“They’re huge,” Jessie commented.
The Aldens were now passing a pasture where two horses pranced very close to the barn.
“And we’re here,” Grandfather announced as he pulled the station wagon up to the big house — a two-story white building with green shutters and a wide wraparound porch.
Benny was the first one out of the car, with Watch at his heels.
“Well, hello, old friend,” a deep voice boomed behind them.
Grandfather turned around and ran to greet an elderly man with silvery hair, rosy cheeks, and bright blue eyes. “I saw you drive up from the barn,” the man said. “I don’t move as fast as I used to, or I would have been up here to greet you before you got out of the car.”
Grandfather laughed and shook his head. “You certainly haven’t changed, Seymour. It sure is good to see you.”
“And these must be your grandchildren,” Seymour said.
Grandfather nodded and proudly introduced Henry, Jessie, Violet, Benny, and Watch, who all shook the farmer’s hand (including Watch!).
Though frail-looking, Mr. Curtis had a very firm handshake. “Please call me Seymour,” the farmer insisted. “None of that Mr. Curtis nonsense. Your grandfather and I have known each other since we were six years old.”
“We met in first grade,” Grandfather explained as he followed his friend up to the house.
The Aldens entered a small living room with a low ceiling and a worn wooden floor, covered with a small Oriental rug.
“This way,” said Seymour, gesturing toward the big kitchen where his wife, Rose, was at the stove stirring a big pot of stew.
Already seated at the long wooden table in front of the stove were two middle-aged men.
“These are my farmhands,” Seymour said as he introduced them to the Aldens. “Mike Johnson and Jeff Wilson have been working for me ever since they were in high school.” They were both tall, big-boned men with dark curly hair and blue eyes. Henry noticed Mike had especially large feet, and he wore thick hiking boots. Jeff wore a pair of worn red sneakers. The two men looked a lot alike. The Aldens were not surprised to learn they were cousins.
“Will you be here long?” Jeff asked. Jeff had a wide smile and large white teeth.
“The Aldens are welcome to stay as long as they like,” Seymour said. “Goodness knows, I’ve been trying to get my old friend up here for years now, but he’s always been too busy.”
Grandfather laughed. “We’ll probably stay a week or two,” he answered.
“Well, we’ll have to put you to work,” Jeff said, addressing Henry as he spoke. “We could show you around the farm, and you could help us bale some hay, if you feel like working.”
“I could help, too,” said Benny.
“Nah, you’d just be in the way,” Mike muttered. Benny just stared at the farmhand, too hurt and surprised to say anything more. The others didn’t seem to have heard Mike’s comment.
“Lunch is ready,” Rose announced as she pulled a big tray of warm biscuits out of the oven.
“Oh, homemade buttermilk biscuits. My favorite,” said Grandfather, rubbing his hands together. “Did I ever tell you that Rose makes the best biscuits in New England?” he asked his grandchildren.
“Now, James,” Rose protested, laughing, “that’s an exaggeration.” But she looked pleased.
“Everything smells wonderful,” said Jessie.
“Food’s always good here,” Jeff agreed as he heaped stew on his plate. “It keeps Mike and me working here.”
“We had a mighty good harvest this year,” Mike was telling Grandfather. “Especially with the Baldwins.”
“The Northern Spy did well, too,” Seymour added.
Benny perked up. “There’s an apple called Northern Spy?”
“There sure is, son. You’ll have to taste one before you leave,” Seymour answered.
“Sure, I’ll taste almost anything,” Benny said.
“So the orchard is doing very well, Seymour,” Grandfather remarked.
“Yes, the orchard is,” Seymour said slowly, “but we’ve been having some other troubles.” At this point he exchanged a look with his wife, who was frowning.
“I have to tell them, Rose,” Seymour said. “James is one of my best friends.”
“But they only just arrived,” Rose protested.
“What is this all about?” asked Jeff. By now, everyone at the table was looking at Seymour, who was shaking his head sadly.
“Well, the truth is,” Seymour began, choosing his words carefully, “we’re being robbed.”
“No!” Jeff exclaimed, while Mike whistled under his breath. |