To my daughter, dearest Lizzy, I leave the farmstead and its surrounding orchards. Let the land, which has blessed our family with harvest for generations, continue to provide for you and your children. And now to my bullheaded sons, Edric and Anthony, you have filled my remaining years with your endless bickering over whom would inherit my fortune. To you, I leave nothing but these words.
I had the farmhands bury the gold somewhere on the Everbrook lands. You now have but two options: move on with your miserable lives and start anew through backbreaking labor, just as your great grandfather did before you, or squander your youth searching for that which you do not deserve. I trust you will make the right decision.
*Along the bottom, you can barely make out some scribbled notes in a different handwriting: In the hills, up the road from Thornsbury's. Bring explosives.*