StartNovelChapter 455
When the group finally reached the mountaintop, the sky was awash with the colors of dawn.
Looking up, they saw the woods cloaked in a gentle, rosy light, the
morning sun spilling through the trees so beautifully that it looked like a painting.
Unfortunately, none of them had the energy left to appreciate the view. The village chief had been rallying them
with forced optimism since their first meeting, insisting tand again that they were “almost there”-so many
times, in fact, they'd lost count.
This time, though, he was actually telling the truth: they really were almost there.
The narrow path was full of dips and bumps, but not a single person complained. At this point, everyone shared
the sthought: at least there were no more hills to climb. Who cared about a few potholes, as long as they
didn’t have to hike another slope? After that ordeal, they would have done just about anything.
Of course, none of them realized that this was just the beginning. For the next three months of their teaching
fellowship, they'd have to climb that mountain every single day-sometimes more than once.
They followed the winding footpath to its end, flanked on either side by vegetable patches tended by villagers. At
the end of the road stood a large boulder with the words “Hillside Village” carved into it, marking their arrival,
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtBut inside the village, there was none of the bustle they’d imagined. It was quiet, almost deserted, with only the
occasional breeze rustling through the empty lane.
“At this hour, everyone's probably at my house,” the village chief explained, spotting their confusion before
anyone could voice it. “We've set up stables and chairs out on the lawn next door. Folks brought
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them over from their own homes, so I'd bet everyone's gathered there
now.”
He smiled apologetically. “I'm afraid | have to ask you to hang in there just a bit longer. Once we've had some
food, I'll have someone from the village take each of you to your host families.”
There weren't many spare rooms in the village, so after sdiscussion, the families with better conditions had
all agreed to offer up their guest rooms. With so many newcomers, each person would be staying with a different
household, though thankfully the homes were all close together. “Ma'am, | heard from the chief that Ms. Morton
would be staying at my house-you’re Ms. Morton, aren't you?” Susannah asked, her voice full of hope.
She liked Alessia and was eager to have her as a guest.
“If I'm not mistaken, I'm the only Morton here,” Alessia replied, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from
Susannah'’s forehead.
The others joined in, chatting about where they'd be staying. Before long, each child had found the teacher
who'd be sharing their home, while a few whose houses were a little more run-down stood quietly off to the side,
listening but not speaking.
The chief's house was easy to spot at the end of the lane.
Even before they reached the door, they saw smoke curling from the chimney and heard the lively buzz of
conversation from inside, punctuated by the clatter of dishes and silverware.
“Dexter's back! Dexter and the kids have brought the teachers!” someone called out, quick-eyed and sharp,
alerting everyone with a shout.
People set down what they were doing, wiping their hands on their aprons as they hurried outside to greet the
newcomers.
“This is my wife, Abigail Warren. She'll be taking you to the school tomorrow.” The chief gestured to a kind-faced
woman at his side. “The
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older folks here are the village elders. Most of the children’s parents
work in the city, so we all look after each other. You could say we're one big family.”
He offered a brief introduction to the lead mentor, who nodded as he took in the scene-it was just as described in
their briefing materials.
Most of the villagers were seniors, well into their sixties or seventies. A few women and smiddle-aged men
with visible disabilities were scattered among them, but there wasn’t a single young adult in sight.
The children numbered barely more than a dozen-the youngest a baby in swaddling clothes, not yet a year old,
and the oldest a twelve-year-old boy who'd been the first to greet them.
“Good afternoon, ma‘am. Good afternoon, sir.” The handful of young fellows among the newcomers felt like
animals on display at a zoo, self-conscious under so many watchful eyes.
Though a bit awkward, they quickly remembered their manners and greeted the elders politely.
Their clear, sincere faces and gentle voices were an instant hit with the older folks, whose smiles deepened the
wrinkles etched into their
timeworn faces.
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