"The Road to Silverwood"

It was a bright morning in early June, the year of 1751, when I locked the door of my childhood home for the last time. The sun glimmered on the hilltops as I walked down the winding road. By the time I reached the edge of the village, the blackbirds were chirping cheerily in the lilac bushes, and the dawn mist that had blanketed the valley was beginning to lift and dissolve.

Elder Graham, the village's minister, awaited me at the garden gate. A kind-hearted man, he greeted me with a smile and asked if I had eaten. When I assured him I had, he clasped my hand warmly in both of his.

"Well, Alden, my boy," he said, "I'll walk with you as far as the river crossing, to see you on your way." And so, we began our journey in companionable silence.

"Do you feel sad leaving Willowreach?" he asked after a time.

"Sir," I replied, "if I knew where I was headed or what awaited me, I might answer you more clearly. Willowreach has been good to me, and I've been happy here. But now that my parents are both gone, I don't feel closer to them here than I would in any other part of the world. If there's a chance to better my life, I'll go gladly."

Elder Graham nodded thoughtfully. "Then it's time I told you what I know. Before your father passed, he entrusted me with a letter—your inheritance, he called it. He instructed me to give it to you once his affairs were settled, and to send you to Silverwood Manor, not far from Greystone. 'That is where I came from,' he said, 'and where my boy belongs. Alden is a steadfast lad, and I trust he'll find his way safely and thrive there.'"

"Silverwood Manor?" I exclaimed. "What connection did my father have to such a place?"

The elder shrugged. "Who can say for certain? But your surname, Alden Hartwood, is the same as the family who owns the manor—an old and respected lineage, though their fortunes may have dwindled of late. Your father was a learned man, Alden, far beyond the skill of a humble schoolmaster. He often dined at the manse with gentlemen of standing. And now," he said, pulling out a folded letter, "here is the letter he left for you, addressed to Mr. Elias Hartwood of Silverwood Manor."

The sight of that letter, bearing my father's handwriting, made my heart race. At seventeen, the son of a simple village schoolmaster, the idea of belonging to such a grand heritage was overwhelming.

"Elder Graham," I stammered, "if you were in my position, would you go?"

"Without hesitation," he said firmly. "You can reach Greystone in two days if you walk steadily. Should the worst happen and your kin turn you away, you're no worse off than before, and you can return to Willowreach. But I have faith you'll be well received, as your father hoped. Who knows? You might even rise to great heights. But before you go, I have some parting advice."

We paused beside a large stone shaded by a birch tree. Elder Graham sat, placing his handkerchief over his wide-brimmed hat to block the sunlight. He spoke earnestly of the world's dangers and urged me to pray and stay steadfast in my faith. Then, he described how I should behave at the manor.

"Be respectful, Alden," he said. "Though you may share their blood, you've been raised simply. Hold your tongue, observe closely, and carry yourself with humility. Remember, you're entering their world; conduct yourself accordingly."

"I'll do my best," I promised.

"Good lad," he said, rising to his feet. From his coat pocket, he pulled a small bundle. "Here's something to start your journey: a few coins from selling your father's belongings, a Bible, and a little remedy recipe my wife swears by. Use them wisely."

Elder Graham prayed over me one last time before pulling me into a heartfelt embrace. Without another word, he turned and walked briskly back toward the village, never once looking back. His sorrow at my departure was plain, and my heart ached with guilt for feeling so eager to leave.

I sat on the stone, unwrapped the bundle, and examined my gifts: a Bible, a single silver coin, and a piece of parchment detailing a peculiar remedy involving lilies of the valley. Though the recipe amused me, the gesture moved me deeply.

With a heavy heart and high hopes, I slung my bundle over my shoulder and set off toward the unknown. As I reached the crest of the hill, I looked back one last time at Willowreach—the familiar cottages, the towering oaks, and the churchyard where my parents rested. Then, I turned my face toward the future and began the long road to Silverwood Manor.