Every year on my birthday, my grandfather handed me a single green plastic soldier. No card. No explanation. Just a smile and the toy, wrapped in yellowed newspaper.
As a child, I thought it was just Grandpa being quirky. But when I grew older, I realized it was something more. My grandfather Henry loved puzzles—he turned our backyard into scavenger hunts, filled journals with riddles, and carried secrets like treasure. Then, on my eighth birthday, the scavenger hunts stopped, and the soldiers began.
By twenty-six, I had eighteen of them lined up on my shelf. That year, in a hospital room, Grandpa gave me the last one before he slipped away. Weeks later, my sister Emma pointed out something I’d missed: numbers, years, and finally, two letters—N and E.
Coordinates.
They led me to a cottage in the woods, where Grandpa’s friend revealed his final gift: a hidden retreat packed with puzzles, riddles, photos, and letters. It was a living memory, a lifelong scavenger hunt ending in love.
I turned it into The Soldier’s Trail, a puzzle retreat for others. On opening day, I placed a green soldier on the counter—his legacy continuing, one mystery at a time.
