Dialogue Essay: The Hero's Journey

James stood and added his new shirt and the letter that had arrived today to his travel bag. It wasn’t going to be easy, but after he bearded his father in his den, then he would be on his way. He had already sent Asa to saddle the horse.
As he put his bag on the floor beside the front door, James reminded himself he was not going to use James on his sojourn. James belonged to his father and grandfather, he was going to be Delmar Monroe from now on. He was going to looked around and felt relieved no one else was up. He knew the women, his mother and two sisters were still abed. He didn’t want to go through the choked throat, teary eyed conversations they had shared last night. Debra and Ellen had whined, asking him to please, please stay.
He clucked to his horse, thumped his sides to urge him into a gallop. Here in the tidewater, it was still easy to get lost in the swampy terrain and his father had given him specific warnings about how to reach Sparrow Walk before sundown. He rode the lathered horse into the yard of the dilapidated plantation, surprised when one of the blacks still on the property ran out to take his horse, lantern raised.
As he dismounted, to free his traps from the horse, the boy told him, “You best go on in, I got these things. Master’s waiting dinner for you.”
Delmar thanked him, then turned to race up the high steps to the wide veranda. In the ghostly hour of twilight, he could see that the place was as big and grand as he remembered. He hadn’t been here since he was a boy of ten, but he had never forgotten the gay music his uncle had played and the beautiful ladies who smiled at his father and mother and welcomed them to dance in a brightly lit ballroom.
Since then, like the other Monroes, his Uncle had freed all his slaves. A few like the boy outside, had stayed out of loyalty. They continued to tend the fields and run the house to take care of the man who had always provided for them and had given them the gift of their freedom. Still, over a hundred had disappeared, most to the cities, many into the swamps and Piedmont to build their own homes.
He noticed the stained glass panel doors onto the ballroom were open, was surprised by the familiar scent of sawdust that drifted from inside. The man stopped, opened the door to the closet sized room. “In case you’d like to wash up, Sir.”
Minutes later, Delmar was following the man and was glad when the Butler halted and opened the solid doors at the end of the hall. He announced in a booming voice. “Master Monroe has arrived.”
He moved inside, reassured to find his Uncle Spencer dressed for dinner, the candles on the candelabra all lit. The butler pulled out a chair to the right of his Uncle while the two embraced, then sat down. He noticed the girl who carried in a soup tureen gave him a resentful gaze before setting it down. “Fetch the bread and butter, girl.” The butler scolded her and the girl rushed away while the man served. “My, my, but you do favor your father James. I hope I won’t offend when I say I see a little more of the Scott about you than in him. How fares the rascal and the rest of your