Another two years slipped quietly into the past, and by the summer of 1760 John found himself sitting beneath the shade of a great oak tree, watching the fields shimmer beneath the midday sun. The wheat swayed like a golden tide, and the air was thick with the scent of grass and earth after a morning's dew.
He drew in a slow breath, letting the clean air fill his lungs. I'll never stop appreciating that feeling, he thought. The memory of his rebirth still haunted him at times, its cold, impossible shock forever contrasting with the warmth of days like this.
Resting his notebook on his knees, he spoke softly to himself. "Now's the time I start taking a bit more control of my life."
It wasn't an easy decision. He loved his days spent running through fields with Eli, reading with his mother in the shade of the orchard, or listening to his grandfather's stories by the fire. But he was nearly ten now, and the child's haze of carefree living was giving way to something sharper, a mind aware of its own potential.
People called him gifted. In truth, most of what they admired were skills borrowed from another lifetime, the kind of determination that only comes from experiencing an adult life. His true task was to grow into those gifts, to build a body and mind that could carry the weight of both lives.
He opened his notebook, his third by now, and thumbed through pages filled with pressed flowers, pencil sketches, and little observations of nature. On the first empty page, he drew a line and began to write.
But first, he sharpened his homemade pencil with the small hunting knife his grandfather had given him for his seventh birthday. His mother had protested, but William Carpenter had simply laughed and said, "A boy must learn to use a tool before he's afraid of it." The knife's hickory handle bore his initials, J.C., carved neatly by his grandfather's own hand.
As he shaved the pencil's tip, he muttered, "I really should show this to Grandpa. If we made these in number, we could sell them for a fine price."
The thought lingered for a while with visions of ledgers, workshops, and small but tidy profits, before he shook it off and set the pencil to paper.
Step One: Get Strong.
I'm old enough now that exercise won't do me harm. To live long and happy, I need to be healthy and strong.
Step Two: Get Smart.
Reading for pleasure is fine, but I've never studied with purpose. Perhaps Grandpa can find me a proper tutor.
Step Three: Get Skilled.
Numbers and words aren't everything. I should learn swordplay, marksmanship, swimming, cooking and anything useful in a world like this.
Step Four: Get Richer.
Grandfather's fortune is great, but I'll need my own someday. I want comfort, proper plumbing, heating, maybe I will have to invent these myself.
He studied the list for a long moment, then closed the volume and tucked the notebook beneath his arm.
The house loomed before him as he crossed the pastures, its whitewashed walls gleaming beneath the afternoon light. Even after years of living there, he never lost the quiet awe he felt for it. The structure stood two stories tall, its limestone foundation giving it a stately and enduring air. A small interior courtyard lent the building a faint Roman grace.
To one side of the estate stood the servants' quarters, sturdy brick-and-timber cottages arranged neatly along a shaded path, each with its own small garden bursting with herbs and wildflowers. Long ago, the family had owned slaves living in much worse conditions, but that changed when John's great-grandfather inherited the property. He freed every enslaved person, granting some parcels of land to work as tenant farmers while others chose to remain as paid laborers on the estate.
From that moment, the Carpenters' Quaker convictions took firm root, shaping the family's sense of justice for generations. William, especially, held an unshakable disdain for slavery, believing no man should live by another's chains. In its place, he offered fair wages, sound lodgings, and respect, principles that John had grown up admiring deeply, seeing in his grandfather's conduct a quiet and steadfast belief that every person deserved dignity and held some worth. It was an opinion that John found appealing
He stepped through the main hall and turned left into the familiar chaos of his grandfather's office. Papers, books, and ledgers lay in uneven piles across every surface.
"I put things where I'll always find them, " William would often say, and somehow, he did.
At the large oak desk sat the man himself, quill in hand, spectacles perched low on his nose. His hair had begun to silver at the temples, though his face retained the youth and confidence of a man half his age.
John cleared his throat politely.
William looked up and broke into a wide grin. "John, my boy! Come in. I'm buried under correspondence, but for you, there's always time. What brings you here?"
John hesitated a moment before speaking. "Grandpa, I wanted to ask if I could have a few tutors, for different subjects and… skills."
"Tutors, you say?" William leaned back, curiosity lighting his eyes. "Of course. I've friends at the College of Philadelphia who sometimes take on pupils. What studies interest you?"
"Well, not just studies, " John said. "I'd also like someone to teach me things outside the classroom, like swordsmanship and marksmanship."
William raised an eyebrow, folding his hands together in thought. "Swordsmanship and marksmanship? Hah. Well, I can teach you to shoot, though your mother made me swear I'd wait till you were ten." His expression softened into a sly smile. "As for the sword, hmm. I once knew a man, a sea-dog of sorts, who might take the task. A rough fellow, but skilled. Spent some years in the Caribbean doing… partially legal maritime work."
John's eyes widened. "You mean, he was a pirate?"
William chuckled. "Best not to call him that. In his mind, he was an honorable privateer. But yes, something close enough to thrill a boy, I suppose."
"That's amazing!" John said, nearly bouncing with excitement.
His grandfather laughed at his enthusiasm. "Then it's settled. I'll send for him. But tell me, why the sudden urge for tutors and training?"
"I want to be ready for the world, " John replied simply. "And I'd like Eli to learn with me, if that's all right. It'd be nice to have someone to study beside."
William's smile turned fond. "A good thought. Friendship makes learning easier. But you'll need his mother's approval. And that woman, God bless her, is as strong-willed as they come. Come, let's ask her together."
John blinked. "But don't you have work to do?"
"Eh, " William said, waving a dismissive hand. "The work will wait. Curiosity won't."
They crossed into the kitchen annex, where the smell of roasting meat filled the air. The kitchen was large but simply staffed; William preferred a practical household and refused to hire a private chef. He often said he trusted the maids' cooking far more than "some fancy Frenchman with sauce for blood."
"Susan!" William called out, his voice booming against the brick walls.
A woman turned from the hearth, tall, dark-haired, and composed, her features softened by a kind but steady gaze. Her resemblance to Eli was unmistakable, especially in the deep hazel of her eyes.
"Yes, sir?" she said respectfully, wiping her hands on her apron.
William smiled. "My grandson is about to begin tutoring in a few subjects, and since your boy is his companion in nearly everything, we thought he might join him."
For the briefest moment, her composed expression broke into radiant joy. "Oh, that would be wonderful! Of course, Eli will join the young master. He'll be overjoyed to learn."
"Splendid, " William said warmly. "I'll let you know when the first lessons are set."
Later that evening, John sat at the small desk in his room beneath the slanted light of a single candle. He opened his notebook once more to the page he had marked that morning.
"Well, " he murmured to himself, "that's one step done. Now to make myself stronger."
He flipped to a blank page and began to outline a modest regimen: morning runs through the fields, climbing the orchard trees, pushups, stretches, and exercises to build balance and coordination. Nothing too heavy, just enough to build endurance.
By the time he finished writing, the candle's flame had begun to waver low. He yawned, set the quill aside, and extinguished the light.
As he settled beneath the quilt, the sounds of the countryside drifted in through the open window, the chirp of crickets, the distant hoot of an owl, the whisper of wind through the orchard. His last thought before sleep was simple but resolute:
A strong body, a strong mind. With both, I'll make something of this second life.
And with that, John Carpenter drifted into dreams of the world that waited beyond the farm's quiet borders.