You fidgeted nervously on the front steps of the orphanage, tugging at a loose thread on your coat sleeve. It seemed like an eternity before you heard the familiar clip-clop sound of horseshoes on cobblestone. You eagerly sprung to your feet, gripping the woven handle of your canvas bag tightly. A plump, red-faced man approached the front steps in a wagon drawn by a stocky, speckled white horse.

"Woah, there." He drew the reins up, stopping the horse. He had a sort of a wholesome, jolly expression and a thick accent, which was Scottish you assumed. "Good morning lad! You're needing a lift to the station, yeah?"

"Yes, sir, if it's no trouble." You cleared your throat, attempting a more boyish tone.

"Why of course, no trouble at all! Peculiar thing, the matron told me I'd be expecting a girl." He laughed heartily, and you managed a nervous, breathy chuckle. "Alright then son, best we'd be going." The man shrugged, to your relief, and extended a hand to help you up into the seat. You grinned, and accepted the arm up.

He talked a lot on the way to the station, which put you at ease, and you were happy to oblige in pleasant chatter. The man told you about his family in Scotland, how he missed his wife and three children, and how he had a loyal dog that he loved. You didn't give away much information about yourself- you were more of a listener. You liked to hear other people's stories, and learn things from their life experiences. No matter who it was, there was always something you could learn.

Eventually, the train station came into view over the horizon, and you hopped off the wagon and bid adieu to your companion. You made sure to wish him the very best, and give the horse a pat on the nose. He wished you good luck, and you waved goodbye.

The train ride was agonizingly long. You heart fluttered with excitement for the entirety of the journey, taking in the lush scenery through the window. Your (E/C) eyes observed the people in the train car. Some slept, some read. You made up life stories for each person in your head to pass the time. The gentlemen in the corner with the handlebar mustache was a French spy, on a life or death mission to save his president. The young woman across the isle was traveling across the country to meet her long lost love. It was quite an effective way to make the ride seem shorter.

Once at the station, it wasn't long before another wagon came into view. You craned your neck to try and see what the driver looked like- a tall man, sort of scruffy, with a gentle expression. You stood from your seat on the bench, making your way over to him, careful to walk confidently but not too eagerly. This was really happening.

"Hello, sir." Your voice came out much more quiet and shy than you intended. He smiled kindly at you, and returned the greeting, helping you up into the wagon seat. He was very quiet, but it was a pleasant sort of silence. Not the uncomfortable kind when both people want to talk but neither knows what to say. He'd ask a question every now and then, and you'd answer, and then you'd both continue to enjoy the quiet. Birds chirping, wagon wheels creaking.

"So what's your name, then?" He inquired, keeping soft gaze on the trail ahead.

Your skin suddenly felt cold and you swallowed. A name. You had forgot to come up with a name. How could you have overlooked such an important detail? Your mind raced, and you suddenly became aware of the amount of time that had passed since he asked you the question. He looked over at you in concern.

"Oh, I'm sorry sir. The landscape is quite beautiful, I was transfixed." You stammered. You thought about the last book you had read; Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens, ironically. "It's Oliver, sir." Your eyes scanned the thick treeline in the distance. "Oliver Wood."

He nodded silently, and looked back to the road ahead. He didn't seem much the type for judgement. You studied his features inquisitively. "Your name is Mr. Cuthbert, right?" You tilted your head to the side.

He nodded again. "You can call me Matthew, if you'd like."

A grin slid across your face. "Thank you, Matthew." There was a warm feeling in your chest that radiated into your stomach, and you felt sure that you were, at last, going to be happy.

The landscape got progressively more beautiful, and you could feel that you were getting closer to home. To your right, was the most beautiful lake you'd ever seen, shimmering in the afternoon sunlight. "I feel like I've gone to heaven." you sighed, almost forgetting that you were in the company of another. Matthew chuckled in response. The path up to the house was serenely beautiful, a canopy of blossoming white flowers that cascaded as far as the eye could see. You picked a blossom off of a low hanging branch, and twirled it in between your thumb and index finger.

The wagon approached a small piece of farmland; a quaint white house, a tall oak barn, pastures with various livestock animals. You felt the need to pinch yourself. A woman stood out front of the house, drying her hands with a dishcloth. Matthew helped you out of the wagon and you straightened out your clothes. The woman, who you presumed was Mrs. Cuthbert, greeted you with a warm smile, but her face grew a bit stoic as she looked you over. She wore very modest attire, and had graying brown hair slicked back into a neat bun at the nape of her neck.

"Hello, Madam. It's wonderful to meet you." To your own surprise, you felt your eyes stinging a bit as they teared up. You straightened yourself, and shook her extended hand.

"Hello, dear. What's your name?"

"Oliver, madam."

"It's lovely to meet you, Oliver. Come on inside dear, I've almost finished preparing supper." She smiled again, and ushered you into the home.

"Look at the poor thing, he's so scrawny. Don't they feed them in Nova Scotia?" You overheard Mrs. Cuthbert whispering to Matthew, and tried to pretend like you didn't. Hopefully they wouldn't pry.

Dinner that night was that same pleasant silence you'd experienced on the ride over, with moments of mild conversation. They asked you normal questions, like where you were born, what kinds of foods you liked, and also filled you in on the daily chores that were to be done around the farm. It seemed pretty simple; feeding the hens, putting down fresh straw in the barn, bringing water to the horses and giving them a brush in the morning, things like that. Nothing you couldn't figure out.

After dinner, you got washed up and Mrs. Cuthbert showed you to your bedroom and provided you some clothes to sleep in. You'd never had your own room before- it was wonderful. Mrs. Cuthbert began to turn down the bed as you unpacked some of your things. You removed a stack of books from the canvas duffel and set them on the vanity table.

"That's quite a collection you've got there," Mrs. Cuthbert stated, tucking in the sheets. "Do you like to read?"

"Yes ma'am, I do." You replied. "I think fine literature is the closest mankind can get to true divinity."

She looked at you inquisitively, seemingly pleasantly surprised. After another moment, she stood and moved to exit the room. "Alright, well, you get some rest. now. You've had a long day." You nodded in response, and she turned out the kerosene lamp.