Adam Rasmusson did not know why he was here.

All of these other people, dressed in mourning black, were just like him- burning in the July sun, and mourning. 

The difference was that they had all met Mrs. Mildred Preston, nee Osbourne. Adam had received a letter from her lawyer that she had granted her ancestral estate to Adam. Barely eighteen, hardly five foot six- why had she chosen him? And for heaven's sakes, he was an American. 

Yet her he was, standing at the gravesite, with fresh black earth over the casket. He had a letter in his pocket, written in spidery yet elegant penmanship. He read it now, again.

Dear Mr. Adam Rasmusson, 

My name is Mildred Osbourne Preston. I have never met you, nor did I know of your existence, but we are cousins. I know it is odd- let me explain. This letter is rather important.

We are both descended from a man named Frederick Osbourne. I am the great- great- great- great granddaughter of his elder son Miles; you are the great- great- great- great- great- great grandson of his younger son John. I do not know what that makes us, but what does it matter?

I am writing because I am very old- 85, nearly 86. I know I am dying, and I have no beneficiaries of my will (I have no children, nor nephews or nieces). All of the relatives eligible I either do not like or they have died. I was led to do a little searching in the family trees on the internet, with the help of my lawyer. 

I still do not know why I was led to choose you. Perhaps it is because of your grandmother, Ella Ross, who was born on the Isle of Skye in Scotland. It is a beautiful place- I hold Scotland very dear to my heart, and perhaps this struck a bell. Perhaps it is the picture I found of you on the family tree your great-grandmother compiled- you looked so bright and alive. Or perhaps it is just fate and perhaps the hand of God- He works in mysterious ways. 

The contents of my will include my estate and everything in it. It is a country manor in Yorkshire, England, and was built by our ancestors in the 1540s. Your elder sister Mairead seems to be making her way as a historian- do tell her that I've read her papers on the internet and they are quite good- and I wondered if such a love for histories was shared in you. You're also only barely eighteen. You're full of hope and opportunity, Adam, and I feel that I have made the right choice.

I hope no future plans have been disturbed by this notice. If in case they have, beyond repair, this will pass to Mairead. There will be more than enough money from the estate to pay for your college either here or in America- but spend the money wisely. The manor needs repairs, as I'm afraid I've neglected it terribly...

There is a museum on the grounds that pays its dues, and nearby farmers pay for use of land, which sustains the estate. Be inventive and come up with new ways to earn revenue, would you? It won't need a fortune once the manor is repaired- just keep it up nicely, I beg you.

The only room I have made sure to keep in good order is the library. You'll find it as the first door on the ground level of the house, coming from the east entrance, rather than the main northern one. I have all of my journals there from the Second World War, my Victorian great-grandmother's books are there as well as her journals. There's a great number of books, some dating to the seventeenth century- remember to use gloves when handling them, but read them all you would like- and even some records and a diary from the time the house was built.

The walls are full of stories, Adam. I trust you will learn them, and treat them well. I despair that I will never meet you, but I delight in the young people of the world. In them is our future, which is why you are inheriting Idyllwilde. I want a future for the old place.

The only part of the will you do not receive is my Dublin flat. That, as it's by the Trinity College- which is greatly steeped in history- will go to Mairead, in hopes that she will do more research on medieval Ireland (that was my favorite of her essays). If she cannot take it, it will go to your younger sister Taia when she comes of age.

I believe in you, Adam. Do you trust in me?

Your rather distant cousin, twice removed,

Millie Preston. 

Adam folded the paper and knelt at the stone. "I'll do it, Cousin Millie," he whispered fiercely to the marble. "Idyllwilde will be everything you could have dreamed- and more."