Chapter 458
As Alessia chatted with the villagers, she quickly pieced together a clear picture of life here.
Most households were made up of elderly folks living alone and children whose parents had left to work elsewhere. In a few families, the women stayed behind to care for the kids while the men went out to earn a living. The few young men who remained in the village usually had some sort of disability; they spent their days tending small gardens and selling vegetables at the local market.
University students had come before to teach for a month or so, but it was rare for anyone to stay as long as Alessia’s team-almost half a
year.
Apparently, the village mayor had negotiated with the authorities for this arrangement. If things went well, they’d send teachers regularly, invest in new educational resources, and even pave new roads. If the village improved, it would be a blessing for future generations.
That’s why everyone cared so much about this volunteer teaching project. Their hopes were simple: they believed that only by leaving the mountains could their children find a better future.
It was hard to argue with them. Most villagers had little education, no qualifications, and could only find the hardest, lowest-paid jobs.
Susannah Holt’s family was considered one of the better-off ones. They’d even managed to repair their house, though it was still smaller than a single Morton family living room in the city. Even so, there was no way they could afford to raise two children in a big city.
Yet, the little money they did earn was still more than they could ever hope to make if they’d stayed in the mountains their whole lives.
More and more young people were leaving, and the real problem was that once they were gone, they never wanted to come back.
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So the mountains were left to the elderly and the children-grandparents raising grandchildren, with no resources, no future, just waiting for those kids to grow up, become parents themselves, and repeat the cycle all over again.
But if this partnership succeeded, if more teachers came, if the government stepped up and encouraged young people to return, maybe things could change. Maybe, given the chance, these kids would use what they’d learned to make their hometown a better place, instead of running to the city.
Dexter Warren had drilled all these points into the team, making sure everyone understood what was at stake.
Now, everyone was determined to make this project work. They wanted their village to have a future.
It didn’t matter if the older folks didn’t care about new roads or money, but the minute you mentioned something that would help their children or grandchildren, you had their full attention.
“Lessie, this is your room,” Susannah said, leading her inside. “It’s nothing fancy, but the sheets and pillows are brand new. I put them out in the sun, so you can use them without worry.”
The Holt house was small-probably no bigger than the Morton family’s living room back home. Alessia’s room was tiny: a single bed, a wardrobe, and a desk crammed into a space barely big enough for all
three.
Susannah explained that this had been her parents’ room when they carne to visit, but they hadn’t been back in years, so the room had sat empty until now. They’d cleaned it up especially for Alessia’s stay.
Alessia thanked her, but before she could take a good look around, Susannah tugged her away to show off her own room.
It was even smaller: no wardrobe, just a bed and a desk lined up against the wall with barely enough space to walk between them. Still, Susannah was clearly proud of it. She told Alessia the desk had been a present
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from her parents three years ago-a pink “princess” desk that had been all the rage back then.
You could tell how much she treasured it; despite the years, it still looked almost new. A few dog-eared books and two thin picture books lay neatly on top.
Even so, the Holt family’s house was among the best in the village.
Alessia had prepared herself for the conditions, but seeing their lives up close made her feel a wave of emotion she hadn’t quite expected.

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