Virginia Silence Chase-Gates woke up bleary eyed the morning of her sixteenth birthday, sun streaming through the curtained bay window, splashing over her tie-died comforter and the many papers strewn across her Revolutionary-era desk, a gift given to her by her father the moment she was old enough to write. She rolled over to her bedside table (circa early 1900) and found the envelope emblazoned with her name. She smiled and ran to get dressed, old shorts and a ratty orange t-shirt from her stint as a volunteer at the living history museum down the road. Uniform donned, she snatched the envelope and ripped it open, eager for her first clue:
The island lies far beyond the sea, here is where you're meant to be.
Her mother's writing was slim and delicate, nothing like her's. She rushed down the stairs, past her mother's old coin collection, hung next to her dad's favorite painting of the American Revolution, Molly Pitcher, flying the American flag as she charged into war.
"Anyone willing to die for their country should be revered." He said that all the time.
She ran past the fountain in foyer, her favorite place to play as a child, her "ocean" where many a brave ship had fallen victim to violent storms. Through the gigantic double doors and into the kitchen, modernized a bit since her parents first moved in, before they adopted her. On the kitchen island, where her parents used to have their intellectual discussions (or arguments, as her dad called them.), was a large leaf with a blue post-it note stuck to it, scrawled in her dad's characteristically messy writing:
Before the trees were all cut down, Lenape danced on the sacred ground.
Virginia left the kitchen, skittering out straight past the fountain and through the large front door. The day was warm; a pleasant breeze teased her hair. From the front step the driveway stretched in front of her, her great-great-great-great-great grandfather had been given a secret message here, her parents had taught her to ride her bike there, given her driving lessons on the same place carriages had once driven. It kinda blew her mind. She passed tree after tree that lined the walk. Virginia had climbed each one of them at least once in her childhood.
…Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen! She counted in her head, stopping at the thirteenth tree on the right, the one that was the tiniest bit off the road. Here, she and Uncle Riley had climbed this tree only once, and it didn't end very well. They were both on the tippy top branches, but Virginia had insisted she go one more, the branch snapped and she landed on her wrist, a clean break, but a painful one just the same. Uncle Riley didn't let her climb trees when he babysat after that. Tied to one of the thicker branches was a jar, full of little tadpoles wriggling enthusiastically. Attached was a note, written in Uncle Riley's skittish hand:
History says a navy you need, strong enough to plant the seed, of discovery, and hope in people's heads, thank god nowadays we just use GPS instead.
Virginia smiled, sure of her path. Her arms full of clues, she jogged haphazardly through the gate, towards the backyard. Coming over the hill she stopped a second, taking in the beautiful sound of the rushing stream, the smell of fresh grass, the rustle of leaves in the wind. She scanned the expanse of their property before resting her eyes on The Oak Tree, which sat close to the stream, where she could make out the shapes of people, her family. Running up to them, she was met by her father's trademark shout, "You figured it out!" Before being engulfed in a giant hug. Meanwhile, her mother poured her iced tea, while Uncle Riley pulled her birthday e-card up on his laptop. Virginia had barely sat down before her father launched into his prepared spiel,
"Virginia Silence Chase-Gates, you have passed your first test!" A round of enthusiastic claps from her mom and Uncle Riley, Her dad pulled out a pair of ancient looking car keys, "Ready for your next clue?" As always, she was.