Chapter 3: A True Childhood (1758)

The next four years passed rather simply. The small family of three enjoyed every day they had together, savoring the moments with a joy that made even the mundane feel extraordinary. Jonathan, still young in body but ancient in mind, cherished every second of this second chance at life. Over time, he learned many important facts about his lineage. One of the most astonishing facts was that his grandfather was not merely wealthy but astoundingly so. William Carpenter stood among the richest men not only in the colony of Pennsylvania but across the entirety of British North America.

His fortune was rooted in an old legacy, with just over 40,000 acres of verdant land sprawled to the north of Philadelphia along with some other farms across the middle colonies. This immense estate was a patchwork assembled through colonial grants from William Penn to his grandfather's grandfather, strategic land purchases, and a few advantageous marriages that consolidated holdings and wealth. Rolling meadows, deep forests, productive farmland, and bustling hamlets dotted the Carpenter estate, making it an empire in its own right. The family had other financial pursuits mostly begun by his great grandfather when he began an interest in non agricultural industries, and continued under grandpa who had a flare for mercantilism, having a successful shipping business. 

John's days often began with sunlight streaming through his bedroom window, casting a golden hue across the wooden floorboards. In the summer, he would tear across the fields barefoot, feeling the dewy grass between his toes and the warm earth beneath his heels. The air was rich with the scent of wildflowers and fresh hay. Autumn brought crisp winds and vibrant leaves, and John would spend hours climbing the gnarled apple trees in the orchard, the branches like old friends that bent to greet him. But winter was perhaps his most formative season.

When snow blanketed the land in a soft silence, John would retreat to his great-grandfather's library. The room smelled of old parchment, leather bindings, and a hint of pipe smoke long since faded into the woodwork. It was a sanctuary lined with shelves upon shelves of books, around 2,500 volumes in total, collected from across the globe in multiple languages. There were works on philosophy, alchemy, natural sciences, history, and ancient cultures. In his past life, Steven had never been a voracious reader, but now, with the mind of a man and the freedom of a child, John consumed these works hungrily, reading more than two dozen books each winter month.

Despite his intellectual pursuits, John's favorite times came with the arrival of spring. As the snow melted and life returned to the hills, he and his mother would journey to the highlands just beyond their estate. There, surrounded by the songs of birds and the whisper of the wind through blooming trees, they would sit in the tall grass as wildflowers erupted in a riot of color around them. Sometimes they had a picnic with fresh bread, butter, and preserves. Other times, they would read or play games or simply sit and watch the clouds drift by. These springtime excursions were peaceful, sacred, and perfect in their simplicity.

On one particularly clear day, John was sprawled across the hillside, staring up at the sky, when his mother let out an excited gasp. Her auburn hair shimmered in the sunlight as she bent over the flowers.

"John, John, come quick. You need to see this."

He sauntered over, curious, and looked over her shoulder. Nestled among the bluebells and daisies was a clover. Not just any clover, but a rare four-leaf clover. The green petals were small and perfect, a symbol of fortune.

She turned to him, eyes wide with delight. "Look, a four-leaf clover. It's a good sign of the year to come."

Smiling, he took out his small leather-bound notebook, carefully plucked the clover, and flipped past pages of other pressed plants until he found a blank one. He tucked it inside with a sense of reverence.

"Now I will forever have good luck, Mother."

Days like this, though not everyday occurrences, were common enough to become cherished traditions. But while the hills were peaceful, the world beyond them was not. Every week or so, John's grandfather returned home with troubling news about the escalating war. William Carpenter's wealth insulated the family from hardship, but not from the looming sense of danger.

One evening, John overheard his grandfather and mother talking in hushed but heated tones in the study, the firelight flickering across their worried faces.

"The French have destroyed a quarter of my shipping business. The empire is doing little to safeguard the interests of the colonies."

"Then what will you do, grandpa? There aren't enough guns to fully equip your ships. This is losing you a fortune every month."

"I don't know. I am doing my best, but I truly don't know how to keep my people safe. Around thirty of my sailors have died in recent privateer attacks. I can't in good conscience continue these shipments if it means more deaths."

John, seated on the floor with his toy soldiers, perked up at the conversation. Despite his mature mind, he still enjoyed playing pretend battles. But something about his grandfather's tone stirred him. He stood and walked over.

"Grandpa, someone is attacking your ships?"

His grandfather looked down with surprise. "Yes, they are, but this is business for Grandpa. You don't have to worry about it. This is for the adults."

With wide, pleading eyes, John pressed on. "But Grandpa, I have an idea. I want to help."

William sighed but smiled indulgently. "Alright then. What's your idea for protecting my merchant ships?"

John took a deep breath. "Have all your ships travel together, like the Spanish treasure fleets. Then put all your big guns on two ships. One in the front and one in the back. If pirates attack, one can fight them while the other protects the rest."

Exhausted by his speech, he sat back down, chest heaving. William Carpenter blinked in astonishment, then looked into the distance, as if seeing a vision.

"That is genius," he declared. "I don't know why we didn't do that before. Now we can properly defend our ships."

John smiled. "And you can charge other merchants to join your fleet. They'll pay to be protected."

William's grin grew wider. "I need to ride to Philadelphia immediately. But John, if you want anything, just ask."

John thought for a moment. "I want a treehouse near the house."

His grandfather chuckled. "Of course. Anything for you, my dear grandson."

Months passed and the new convoy system worked better than anyone had hoped. French privateers were deterred, and a second convoy was soon established to run between New York City and England. Meanwhile, John's treehouse was completed. It nestled in a sturdy old oak, with thick rope ladders, shuttered windows, and even a small desk and bookshelf. He spent hours there reading and imagining grand adventures.

One Friday afternoon, as the sun dipped behind the trees, John climbed up to his refuge. But today, it was not empty.

A boy about his size was already inside, seated cross-legged and deeply engrossed in a book John had left behind. He had a head of dark, curly hair and chestnut eyes that were wide with guilt when he noticed John.

"I'm sorry," the boy said quickly. "I didn't know you were coming. I'll leave."

John stepped fully inside and held up a hand. "It's alright. What were you trying to do?"

The boy sat back down, looking ashamed. "I'm trying to learn to read. None of my family can. I want to be the first."

John was silent for a moment, touched by the boy's determination. "Then I'll teach you."

The boy looked at him in shock. "You'd teach me? For what?"

"For free. I've been wanting a friend, and you seem nice. I'm John Carpenter." He extended his hand.

The boy hesitated, then shook it. "I'm Eli Thompson."

"Oh, you're Sarah's son. She's a good woman. It's nice to meet you."

Eli smiled at the mention of his mother.

They spent the rest of the afternoon together, reading, laughing, and sharing stories until Eli had to head home. As he climbed down the ladder, he turned back and promised to return soon.

As spring rolled into summer, John and Eli's bond deepened quickly. They played every day the weather allowed, filling their time with wild adventures and imaginative games. One day they were explorers mapping unknown lands with twigs for swords and tree bark for treasure maps. Next, they were knights defending a noble fortress, the treehouse, against invisible invaders. They built tiny forts on the forest floor, caught frogs near the creek, and even tried to make a catapult using spare wood and old rope. Their laughter echoed through the trees, mingling with the songs of birds and the rustling leaves, a pure and joyful sound that made the oak grove feel like its own little world. In those moments, the burdens of John's two lifetimes vanished, and he was simply a boy, playing in the sun with his best friend

And so began a new chapter in John's life, one of friendship, learning, and quiet revolution beneath the leaves of a towering oak.