Jeffrey's Favorite 13 Ghost Stories. Kathryn Tucker Windham
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Sometimes Stephen expected too much of his little son. The summer he was almost four, Stephen took Walter to the creek to teach him to swim. The dark brown water frightened the child, and he cried.
“I’m scared, Papa,” he sobbed.
“That’s all right, Walter,” Stephen soothed him. “Don’t ever be ashamed of being afraid. You may be afraid, but you are not a coward. There’s a difference. Come here and let me hold you in the water.”
Before the afternoon was over, Walter was dog-paddling in the creek, no longer afraid. And very proud.
It was that same summer, the summer of 1860, that Eliza and Stephen’s house was being completed. Stephen had brought out his plans, had purchased the required material, and he spent much of the summer supervising the skilled artisans who did the work. The site he chose for the house was on land his wife inherited at her father’s death.
The house was, indeed, unusual. It was a one-story, L-shaped building only one room deep. Each of the rooms opened onto the front porch and the back porch, giving each room the cross-ventilation so welcome during Southern summers.
The porches were wide with cypress balusters, and the front porch had two sets of steps, one on the north side and one on the east. Those porches were perfect places for children to play.
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