The summer of 1760 dawned with golden brilliance, the sun high in the sky, casting its warmth over the rolling fields of the Pennsylvania countryside. Beneath the shade of a tall, ancient oak tree, John Carpenter sat cross-legged on the soft grass, his back resting against the rugged bark. He tilted his head back slightly and inhaled deeply, letting the clean country air fill his lungs. It was a sensation that never failed to center him. In this moment of peace, the ghost of his past life seemed to whisper faintly, a shadow behind the bright canvas of his second chance.
Just thinking about it gives me chills, he thought.
He exhaled slowly and spoke aloud, the words breaking the quiet serenity of the countryside. "Now is the time I can start taking a bit more control of my life."
The declaration felt solid, final, like planting a flag in the earth of his own future. It hadn't been an easy decision. For the past ten years, John had reveled in the simple joys of childhood—running across the fields, playing elaborate games with his best friend Eli, helping his mother in the kitchen, listening to his grandfather's stories in the study. But now, at ten years old, he stood at the threshold between boyhood and something more. In this world, boys his age were already learning trades, farming, apprenticing, preparing for the harsh realities of life. It was time.
Everyone thought he was precocious. Sharp. Gifted beyond his years. But John knew the truth. Most of his so-called brilliance came not from any talent born in this life, but from the memories and knowledge carried over from the 21st century. Memories he still didn't fully understand, but ones he used to his advantage.
He reached into his satchel and pulled out a notebook—his third one so far. The cover was worn and smudged from use, a large, faded "3" written in charcoal across the front. He opened it, flipping through pages filled with a patchwork of his young mind—drawings of flowers and animals, pressed leaves and petals, sketches of makeshift inventions, and notes about ideas that might one day change the world, if only he could bring them to life.
Finding a blank page, he retrieved a pencil from his bag—an invention he'd recreated using clay-graphite and thin shaved wood nearly a year ago. He twirled the pencil in his fingers and smiled. "I should show this to Grandpa," he mused aloud. "We could probably sell these for a small profit."
The idea danced in his mind for a while, pencils in every classroom, every church, every study across the colonies. Many people either used crude approximation of a pencil or some form of ink pen or quill, rather unwieldy things. He imagined ships hauling crates of them to Europe and the colonies, imagined ledger books filled with orders. But he pulled himself back to the present with a small laugh. Unlikely dreams could wait for after success. Right now, he needed a plan.
John reached again into his bag and pulled out a small knife, his grandfather's birthday gift the year prior. The blade was modest, more symbolic than practical, but well-crafted. The hickory handle had been polished smooth, and the initials "JC" were carved into the side in careful, deliberate strokes. His mother had protested the gift at the time, calling it too dangerous, too soon, but Grandpa William had simply said, "A boy must learn to carry a tool before he carries or becomes a burden."
John used the blade to sharpen the pencil's tip, then tucked the knife away and leaned over his notebook.
At the top of the page, he wrote in clear block letters:
My Plan
Beneath it, he carefully numbered a list:
Step One: Get Strong
I'm old enough now that exercise won't harm me. I need to build a healthy, capable body if I want to live a good life, especially in a world without modern medicine.
Step Two: Get Smart
I've read a lot for fun. But I need to start reading for knowledge,science, mathematics, engineering, languages. Grandpa might be able to get me a tutor, im sure he would go overboard like always.
Step Three: Get Skilled
Book smarts aren't enough. I need practical skills, swordsmanship, marksmanship, oratory, horseback riding, and the ability to debate. Things that matter in a world ane time period like this.
Step Four: Get Richer
Grandpa is wealthy, but I want my own wealth. Not for pride, but for comfort and independence. Indoor plumbing and heating shouldn't just be dreams. I want to build up my family and bring us to new heights.
He stared at the list for a long while, letting the weight of it settle over him like a mantle. This was his beginning, not just of the day, or the year, but of something larger. This may be short and rather bare bones but it would serve as a foundation. The first deliberate steps on the road to shaping his destiny.
John closed the notebook, marked the page with a crease, and stood up. As he walked back toward the farmhouse, the golden grass swayed around his legs, and the tall wheat whispered in the breeze. The Carpenter estate sprawled across the valley, a blend of cultivated land, orchards, and forest. The house itself stood tall and proud, its whitewashed stone walls gleaming in the sun. It was built on a solid foundation of limestone, rising two stories with a square design that enclosed a small courtyard in the center—an architectural nod to Roman villas.
To the right stood the servants' quarters, well-built with brick and timber, not the shacks so common on other plantations. His family's Quaker roots ran deep, and their abhorrence of slavery had shaped the household. His grandfather believed in dignity, not just charity. The live-in staff, cooks, maids, groundskeepers, lived in comfort and earned fair wages.
Stepping inside, John veered left and found himself in the familiar organized chaos of his grandfather's study. Stacks of papers formed precarious towers on tables and chairs. Books lay open across the floor, some bookmarked with leaves or quills. Maps and ink-washed diagrams lined the walls. The air smelled of parchment and tobacco.
William Carpenter sat at his desk, scribbling notes into a ledger. His features remained youthful despite his age, with only a touch of white at his temples betraying the years. He looked up at the sound of John's approach and smiled warmly.
"John, my boy," he greeted, setting his quill aside. "Come to disrupt my fortress of thought again, have you? I can always spare time for you."
John grinned and stepped carefully through the maze of books. "Grandpa, I wanted to ask you something."
"Of course. Speak your mind."
"I was hoping… you could get me a tutor. Someone who can teach me more than what I can get from the books here."
William leaned back, his expression shifting from amusement to curiosity. "A tutor? Certainly. What subjects are you interested in?"
John hesitated for a moment, then pressed forward. "Reading, writing, mathematics. Science too, if possible. But I'd also like someone to teach me swordsmanship… and maybe marksmanship."
The old man raised his eyebrows, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Swordsmanship and shooting? Planning to run off and become a highwayman?"
John laughed. "No, sir. Just… I want to be prepared. For whatever comes."
William regarded him for a moment longer, then nodded. "It's a wise thing to say, even if it's spoken from the mouth of a ten-year-old." He leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I can teach you to shoot. I promised your mother I'd wait until you turned ten, well, here we are. As for swordplay, I might know someone. An old friend who spent some time in the Caribbean… let's say his resume includes a few exciting entries."
John's eyes lit up. "A pirate?"
William laughed, a full, hearty sound. "He'd insist he was a privateer, thank you very much. He served a Crown… when it suited him. But he's an honorable man. And deadly with a blade."
"Can Eli learn with me too?" John asked quickly, emboldened by the good news. "I think it'd be more fun to have someone to train with."
William smiled again, shaking his head. "You and that boy… thick as thieves. Very well, but you'll need his mother's permission. She's got a spine of steel, that one. Come, we'll ask her together."
"But don't you have work to do?"
William waved a hand dismissively. "It'll still be here when I return."
They crossed through the main hall to the kitchen annex. The scent of roasting meat and herbs greeted them—lamb, perhaps, with rosemary and root vegetables. Despite the house's size, the kitchen wasn't extravagant. William believed in simplicity and thrift. The maids cooked most meals, and they did so with care and skill.
"Susan!" William called, his voice commanding but not unkind.
A moment later, a tall woman with raven-black hair and sharp hazel eyes emerged from the pantry. Her expression was calm, but the resemblance to her son Eli was unmistakable.
"Yes, sir?"
"My grandson here is going to begin his tutoring soon. We'd like Eli to join him, for both academic and martial training."
For a moment, her stoic expression held. Then it softened into a smile, eyes brightening. "That would be wonderful. Eli could use the structure, and I'm sure he'd enjoy learning with Master John."
"Excellent. We'll inform you once everything is arranged."
As they left the kitchen, John's excitement buzzed through his limbs. This was it. His new life was taking shape.
Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and bathed the farm in warm golds and purples, John sat at his desk by candlelight. He opened his notebook to the page from earlier, reread his goals, and nodded.
"Education, check," he murmured. "Now… strength."
Turning the page, he began drafting a training regimen. Simple exercises—running, squats, push-ups, core work. Things a ten-year-old could handle. Things that would build the foundation for the man he intended to become.
By the time the candles burned low, his eyes were heavy. He closed the notebook, placed it beside his bed, and climbed under the quilt. The room was quiet except for the chirping of crickets outside and the faint rustle of leaves in the trees.
As sleep crept in, John smiled to himself.
A strong body.
A sharp mind.
A new beginning.
Tomorrow, the real work would begin.