Colonial Madness Read Online Free PDF Page B

bulldoggish appearance.
    â€œGreetings, contestants. I see you’ve chosen money over self-respect.” She narrowed her eyes in what was probably meant to be a disapproving manner but made her appear comical instead.
    â€œNevertheless,” she said, “I applaud your intrepid spirit. Very few people would willingly give up everything to start over with nothing. I should know.”
    I turned to Mom. “What did she mean by that?”
    Uncle Deke paused the video. “Remember how I said she was successful during World War II? After the country started to recover, she suddenly wasn’t necessary anymore.”
    â€œBecause she was a woman,” said Aunt Zoe with a disapproving tone. “And they didn’t belong in the boardroom unless they were secretaries taking memos.”
    Dylan laughed. I leaned over and punched him in the leg.
    â€œAnyway,” said Uncle Deke, “the only way she would be allowed to stay in business was if she gave up control and became a silent partner. Of course she refused, so the others in her company ruined her and drove her into bankruptcy. She had to sell everything.”
    â€œThat’s so sad,” said Angel.
    â€œShe survived worse, from what I hear,” said Mom. “She grew up during the Great Depression, and her family lived in a Hooverville.”
    At the confused look on my face, Mom added, “A poor area of town where all the houses are just shacks of scrap wood.”
    â€œReally?” I couldn’t see Great-Aunt Muriel living in a shack. I could see her maybe bulldozing one to build a stable for her pony, but never living in one.
    Uncle Deke restarted the video.
    â€œMy groundskeeper and his family await you at the manor. They will be your instructors and judges. Even if you don’t win the contest, I hope you leave this experience with more than Lyme disease,” said Great-Aunt Muriel. “History has a great deal to teach us if we are willing to learn from it. That being said, I bring you a brief film on colonial life that may come in handy during the contest. Best of luck, and please don’t die in my koi pond.”
    Her image faded and was replaced by a documentary on colonial living. It ended just as the shuttle driver turned onto a dirt road and stopped the van.
    â€œThis is as far as I go,” he said. “The dirt road will lead you all the way to the manor, and you can either continue on foot or take the wagon . . . once you assemble it.”
    He pointed to a stack of wheels and tools leaning against a wheelless wagon bed. We all thanked him and climbed out of the van.
    â€œSo where do we start?” I asked.
    Uncle Max chuckled. “By deciding who’s going to pull this thing once it’s built!”
    As if on cue, there was a whinnying sound from a nearby grove of trees. Dylan walked over to investigate and returned holding the reins of two horses.
    â€œThey’re not fast, but they’ll do,” he said, pulling them alongside the wagon bed.
    â€œActually, they’re perfect,” said Uncle Max. “We need work horses, not racing ones.”
    â€œNot if we want to win!” said Dylan. “Let’s go, Dad!”
    He jumped atop the wagon bed, and from there leapt onto the back of one of the horses, digging his heels into its sides.
    â€œDylan!” we all shouted, but he was already galloping toward the manor.
    And proving that he was smarter than I thought.

Chapter Four
    B ut he wasn’t the only one full of surprises.
    Mom swung onto the other horse, shouting, “No you don’t!”
    The horse reared and gave a terrified whinny, but Mom gripped the reins and took off. A second trail of dust appeared next to Dylan’s.
    The rest of us stood there, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
    â€œDid that really just happen?” asked Aunt Zoe. She turned to me. “Your mother, who I’ve seen fall off a yoga ball ,