Chapter 3: What the Crowd Wants

How often it is that the angry man rages denial of what his inner self is telling him. -Frank Herbert

It had been a little more than three weeks since Alfred's meeting with the Illinois politician. The election season's approaching end was finally in sight. While the actual election day would not be until early November, the cool air of September brought promises of a conclusion to the tensions in government. The Republicans seemed satisfied with Lincoln's work and stance in the coming election, and were even more so elated with the Democratic party's predicament.

The Democratic party had fallen into a snag, namely the split in their party. Illinois's infamous Stephen Douglas had fallen prey to series of poor decisions and choices during his political life and presidential campaign. Thus, even with his long history of driving Republican candidate Lincoln mad with their debates, had lost most all his support throughout the country. Not even the northern half of the country came to the man's rescue, as both southerns and northerners had come to detest the man and his weak stance.

Of course, Mr. Douglas was a Democrat and the face of the party- an obvious mistake that many would have been glad to take back.

Now, Alfred's very own Vice President, Breckinridge, held the so called 'Southern Democrat' name into battle for presidency. A clearly more capable and ideal man to represent what the South was asking for, the Kentucky politician seemed to be the one who would give Mr. Lincoln a run for his money.

Then again, the young nation understood this, as he had played witness to the entire spectacle as it had unraveled over the past year. In all honesty, the blond would have been more entertained in meeting Mr. John Bell and listening to his prattle than endure another meeting with the far too tense Democratic representatives.

Unfortunately, life was hardly ever fair for man, and perhaps even less so for nations.

"-ones? Jones? Are you listening?"

"Huh?"

"My God, man! Mr. Buchanan did mention from time to time that you had habit of dozing off, but this is a bit absurd." Douglas huffed, leaning back in his chair and wearing a prominent scowl on his face.

Usually, Alfred was much better at controlling his fatigue and asserting his utmost focus, (when he deemed necessary, naturally) but his meeting with Douglas seemed to be testing his abilities to an extreme. Every part of his body screamed at this mind to grant just a mere five minutes of rest, and he had a feeling it had everything to do with the people's displeasure with the man sitting across from him. Even when the teen had been forced to sit through lunch with Breckinridge last Sunday, part of him at least wanted to remain awake to hear what the man had to say. However, he could not help but feel a bit of scorn radiating off of his once agreeable vice president. Whether it be from the man's personal stress of resentment toward's Alfred's northern way of thinking, he could not be sure.

But there, in the far too stuffy room with ill-made whiskey and repetitive conversation, Alfred would have given anything to go home and forget all about the torture he was being forced into.

"Sorry Mr. Douglas... What were you talking about?" the teen asked, boredom seeping through his words.

The Democrat did not comment on the tone used against him, but instead took a sip of his own glass of Jim Bean. There was a brief pause, though Alfred took no notice, before the politician spoke up again. "I can see that you're taking very little interest in the current discussion, if your dozing is anything to go by."

Well duh. "Sorry Mr. Douglas." the blond repeated, for what felt like the millionth time that day. "I'll pay attention this time, honest-"

"There's no need. I was a fool to think that the country would be willing to listen to me after the muck I've made of my career." Douglas interrupted, glaring down at his glass. "Sometimes I need to remind myself that you're not just a man, but the people; and I've fallen out of their favor."

Alfred perked up at the mention of his position, sitting upright in his seat. Finally, they were getting somewhere. "Well... I think Missouri still likes you a little."

"'Think'? I remember the days when you could tell me exactly what the southern states were feeling." Douglas replied, pouring himself another shot. "You've met with Mr. Lincoln, yes?"

This earned the candidate a confused look from his nation. Why bring up his opponent? Surely Alfred wouldn't have to sit through another passive-aggressive remark about the Republican. "Yeah, why do ya ask, sir?"

"I can see plain as day how the North favors him so. If all goes according to his plan, it is unfortunately very likely that that abolitionist will become president within the next few months." Douglas commented, taking a sip of his whiskey. "That man truly is what they want."

Somehow, something within Alfred possessed him to press further. "I get that you don't like him. But he seems to know what he's doing, you know? He's not here to tell the south to bite it, he's trying to help."

He didn't miss how Douglas let out a bitter laugh at his statement, putting the nation even further on edge. The man simply shook his head, as if listening to the ravings of a child. "You sound a little more like a Northerner each day, my good sir." He leaned forward in his seat, looking directly into the other's blue eyes. The latter again noted, with an unknown feeling stirring in his stomach, that the man's own brown eyes lacked the kindness that he found in Lincoln's. "Mr. Jones, may I ask you something?"

"I get the feeling that you're gunna ask anyway no matter what I say..." Alfred answered, becoming weary of the impending question.

Douglas shrugged. "A common courtesy. Regardless, I must ask if you are prepared for the worst if it comes."

An almost affronted look crossed the teen's face in response. "What are you talking about? The southern secession won't happen- Breckinridge won't do that and Lincoln won't let it happen."

A dark look grew on the politicians features, making Alfred unsure of his answer. He took a moment, as if studying to see if the boy's answer was genuine, before speaking again. "Alfred Jones, tell me you at least realize that secession could mean. This will not be simply a matter of political struggle anymore; if the South truly secedes, than a civil war could break out."

This was the first time anyone had mentioned the idea of military conflict to Alfred, at least out loud. A pregnant silence fell between the two, as a silent fear had been voiced aloud- almost to the point where its mention was taboo. No one in Congress had spoken on the floor about the idea of a war between the southern and the northern states; not even Breckinridge or Lincoln. Instead, speculations and rumors bloomed behind closed doors, in the streets with civilians, and in the quiet states of denial in America's mind.

The idea of civil war, while very possible, was impossible to fathom to the teen. "There won't be a war. If the South does leave, then we'll just... leave them."

"You sound doubtful. Am I wrong?"

Another pause.

"There are many northerners who would disagree with your last statement. Many who see the necessity in having the South. Who see that, if I may quote Mr. Lincoln, that 'A house divided against itself cannot stand'."

Alfred bit his lip, his mind turning with the possibilities and outcomes of the next year. "Then we'll get them back. Plain and simple. We've put down rebellions tons of times before, why is this one different?"

"Because this is not some little trouble with corn farmers, Mr. Jones. We are talking about a war with guns and armies. A conflict that will cost hundreds of lives. You've already seen what's happened with Kansas, what's to say that this isn't only the beginning?" Douglas countered, his expression hard and his eyes ice.

Alfred swallowed, taking a moment to contemplate his options yet again. He had been doing this more often as of late, even after his discussion with Lincoln. He had once been so sure of his conviction, that everything would be alright if he did his best. But with every meeting with Buchanan, and every missed night of sleep, his doubts were once again creeping in. "Lin- I didn't say that things would be great all of a sudden, it takes time and-"

"Jones. When will you stop spitting out Mr. Lincoln's words as you own out of fear, when we both know that's not what's really happening?" Douglas cut in, aggravation setting into his voice.

The blond stood at this, rising from his chair and knocking over the coffee table separating the two men in the process. Douglas had touched a nerve. "I'm not saying anything I don't think, so stop treating me like I don't have a mind of my own! I'm saying that because he's right! The Republicans are right- you can't just let popular sovereignty and states' rights destroy everything! Order and the boundaries for slavery were here for a reason, so why doesn't the South get that?"

The tension in the room could not be measured, as the now severely vexed nation stood his ground against the annoyingly calm senator. Did he not realize that his unreadable expression was pissing Alfred off even further? If anything, his lack of response was the equivalent of a middle finger to the riled up teen.

Then, when the blond was a mere second away from yelling and demanding a response, Douglas took his final sip from his shot glass, tearing his gaze away from the blue eyes of his nation and focusing intently on the melted ice before him. "Perhaps I'll dignify that with a proper retort if you can tell me what the other half of yourself thinks of this? You talk so large of the Northern view, but tell me, how does the plantation owner in Georgia feel? What does the half of the country that you've begun to neglect think?"

Stephen may has well have punched him. Alfred certainly felt that way, as he teeth gritted against each other in barely contained rage. What made him impossibly more exasperated with the entire situation and himself was his lack of a good answer. For the life of him, he couldn't rack his brain for a suitable defending argument and instead resigned to quiet seething and the urge to punch something.

America didn't have an answer.

Washington D.C., September 17, 1860

Had the atmosphere not been so glum, Alfred may have made some rather unnecessary jokes concerning his and Douglas' height difference. There were an abundance of jokes and comments that were pilling up in the unused section of his mind, where at one point he would make every humorous crack whenever they came to mind- no matter if anyone found them funny. In fact, it had been Alfred's handiwork that lead to the 'Little Giant' dilemma.

Sometimes, when the meetings got boring and the paperwork was a bit much, Alfred would take small pleasure in recalling the week that he had first come up with the name. Douglas of course was not in the slightest bit amused, and had spent the entire work week tracking down the creator of such a juvenile name for himself. Needless to say, Alfred had the giggles throughout every meeting- making every withered yet knowing glare from Jackson worth it.

Now, in the dull and rainy streets of D.C. with said 'Little Giant' walking ahead of him, Alfred had a hard time finding it funny anymore.

"Where are we going again?" He asked, deciding to break the ice that had begun to form since they left Douglas's living room.

"You agreed to accompany me to a exchange between Mr. John Brown's former lawyer and myself. You do remember Mr. Brown, I hope?" The man answered, never once breaking his stride across the pavement.

This was, without doubt, a rhetorical question. There wasn't a man, woman, or child who was ignorant to the situation that once surrounded the infamous John Brown. He was the face of the abolition movement in the north; revered by the North as a man of justice, and nothing short of evil in the South. It was his mad ravings that lead to the mass murder of southerners and uprisings of slaves all over- Congress had practically lost what little hair they had over the incident, as Alfred recalled.

Despite the mixed feelings on the man, there was without question that every last one of his citizens could associate one word with the now deceased 'terrorist'.

Crazy.

Now, what type of crazy was where the split of opinions occurred.

Taking off Texas and wiping them clean with the cuff of his shirt, the teen looked ahead at the senator's back. "Course I do. But I don't get why you're going to talk to his lawyer. Congress already did their investigation, remember? Big press free-for-all, riots in the streets, blacks running free; was a pretty big deal actually."

"I wanted to see if he managed to keep some of Mr. Brown's final works before the government decided to steal it." Was the curt answer, his mention of the government practically dripping in malice.

"Well geez Mr. Douglas, it's kinda their job to investigate acts of treason." Alfred huffed, "The stuff he wrote was evidence, so they took them probably."

Had the nation been standing in front of him, he wouldn't have missed the way the shorter man's eyes rolled in agitation. "When did you start being the government's advocate? When I first met you, you didn't give a hat over government and thought it better that we simply work everything out over duels."

"Hey, Andrew solved lots of problems through duels! Fighting over a civil suit? Duel them!" Alfred hollered, drawing the attention of confused onlookers. "Someone talking bad about your wife? Duel them! Someone talking bad about you? Duel them! Dueling really solves everything if you think about it!"

"...I think it's time we changed the subject of this conversation." Douglas deadpanned, practically convinced he was loosing brain capacity the more he listened to nonsense about shooting guns.

"It does! I talked to Joseph about it too, and he agreed with me." Alfred insisted, confident in his stance.

Douglas looked over his shoulder and glared at the teen trailing behind him. "And when exactly did you speak with Mr. Lane? My running mate does not make appointments without my knowledge."

The instant switch between the confident, fight-filled teen to the embarrassed, caught-red-handed boy was not to be missed. "Uh... Well you know things go! Stop by his house, bring him a bottle of whiskey, ask him for a spare horse and his political stance..."

The Senator pinched the bridge of his nose, the beginnings of a stress-induced migraine beginning to form. "I swear, when I get my hands on that man..."

"Aw come on Mr. Douglas, it's not like I'm a threat to you guys or anything. I'm just here to kick ass, crack jokes, eat sandwiches, and make sure nobody goes nuts and hits somebody with a cane again." Alfred pointed out. "The guy looked like he needed a drink and break anyway."

The Kentucky politician found he could not properly counter that statement. After all, he himself looked forward to even the slightest bit of breathing space in times like these. How could he really blame his would-be Vice President for wanting a simple moment to talk to Jones? Even now, when his nerves were rising and patience was being tested, he would take talking to his nation any day over a political brawl with his party or Lincoln.

"Most men do, I find." Douglas finally said, after a few moments of musing. "I'm sure even Mr. Lincoln would be most agreeable to a bottle of his finest right now. It's quite the miracle that he's been able to keep up his act for so long. I find it almost commendable."

Alfred furrowed his eyebrows. "Act?"

Douglas looked at his pocket watch, checking the time nonchalantly. "During our time together on the floor of Congress, I found that Mr. Lincoln has the uncanny ability to remain on his toes at all times. If there is anything the man is gifted with, its his ability to please the people and tell them exactly what they wish to hear. Most politicians can only dream of being so well liked."

"That doesn't mean he's not dishonest! He even gives those stuffy jerks in New York some hope that he can level things out in over here." Alfred defended, irked that they were jumping back to a fight about Lincoln.

"I'm not saying he doesn't. He's actually very good what he does, and I have very little doubt that he will make a fine leader should his victory come." Said Douglas, as if talking about something as simple as the weather. "But I don't believe that he has the power to keep this nation together. For all his abilities to lead, he cannot lead those who do not believe in the same things as those in New York or anywhere else in the North."

"So you think you or Breckinridge can do it?" Alfred queried, curious as to the man's change in opinion about his supposed 'rival'.

"I though I could at some point; a foolish dream of a young politician. Then, when my party stepped on my feet in contempt, I thought perhaps that Mr. Breckinridge was the man that this nation needed." Douglas went on, looking up at the dark, clouded sky. The rain had let up only slightly, and the drizzle only signaled the coming of another storm in the distance. It seemed to be raining more often lately, but no could exactly say why.

"Now, I can't image such a man exists anymore. How could he?"

The transaction between Douglas and Brown's former attorney went without hitch, save the distant sounds of Alfred's whining. Luckily, the whining was all that had to be dealt with, as the young nation was known to get into mischief (and by extension, trouble) when he grew bored.

Much to the senator's dismay, Brown's former lawyer possessed little documents of his former employer. The government had been extremely thorough in their confiscation; not a single paper that was even remotely related to the man's life pursuit had not been left to question, it seemed. Not that any of the men there could argue with their reasoning- an issue as big as abolitionist terrorists could not be treated lightly in time such as these. If even a small portion of Brown's writings were let loose onto the public and, god forbid, the press, there would be an even bigger mess that the original. Best to keep damages to a minimum then, was the collective thought process, according to the attorney.

So, the inquiring pair left the law offices made their departure into the still drizzling streets. Douglas, obviously disappointed with his lack of results and fatigued from the day's stress, made quick work of his goodbyes to his nation. They shook hands, again out of common curtesy, bid each other a safe trip back to their homes, and the Senator was off on his way.

Turning on his heel and glad that he was once again left to his own devices, Alfred made his way down the walkways, smiling and greeting his citizens should he ever cross their path. Most were in a hurry to escape the rain, as the thunder in the distance was a clear warning that woe would befall any who stayed outdoors.

Decided that he didn't want to hear Ms. Evan's complaining about ruining his clothing for the third time that week, Alfred made haste to the train station. The iron horse was not to be expected in this area for another forty minutes, but the teen was not in the slightest bit surprised to see other men and women hurrying inside the building alongside himself. The building, with its dim lighting and musty air, was not at all a pleasant place to be cooped up in with some two hundred odd merchants and travelers alike. People often brushed, pushed, shoved, and bumped into each other on the gates to the railway, and there were very few who enjoyed the experience of railroad traveling for that reason.

And it wasn't simply the close quarters that deterred people from the process. The less than pleasant conditions often made men more irritable than usual, and it wasn't uncommon for disagreements and brawls to spring up in some of the less monitored parts of the station. For the most part, people were miserable to wait for the train, and it became a well accepted fact that your neighbor was likely not in the best of moods and it was wise to keep interactions brief.

However, Alfred was one of the few breeds that did not feel the misery of the commute. Odder still, he found that, with the right company, the wait could actually be quite enjoyable.

Luckily, he was able to spot such company in the far corners of the stone building. Better still, they seemed to have sandwiches and were making jokes to each other as if the people around them didn't exist. Exactly the kind of merriment the blond was craving.

He wasted no time in running over to the group of young boys, not far from Alfred's physical age. "Hey guys, miss me?"

The trio, looking up from their game of cards and their cigarettes for a moment, caught the eyes of the teen standing before them and instantly jumped up in glee. The tallest, and closest to Alfred, quickly brought the latter into a hug. "Jones! Vhere have you been? Ze gamez of poke have been stale vizout you!"

Alfred punched him playfully, "It's called 'Poker', you blockhead! You been keeping these criminals in check for me while I was away?"

"Ja. Zough James has been cheatink." The golden blond stated, glaring back at the lanky boy to his right.

Said boy shook his unruly copper curls in protest. "Nu-uh! He's just lookin' to blame me cuz ah got the last butter cake from Miss Browne on the train last Munday!"

"It vas clearly mine!" The taller teen hollered back in annoyance.

The copper-headed teen merely wrinkled his freckled nose. "Ah didn't see yo' name on it!"

Turning his attention to the bickering hotheads, Alfred shot a beaming grin to the youngest of the group who had yet to speak. "Browne made her butter cakes again? Did you save me any?"

The short, dark-haired boy shook his head. "Course not. You really think I could save you a crumb from these crazies? Poor Miss Browne didn't stand a chance when they found her with food."

"Aw damn. I love those cakes!" Alfred groaned, slumping next to the crates that the group was using for chairs. "Did she says when she was gunna come back up north for her husband?"

"Negative. She said she's staying in Georgia with her sister for a while. Says she can't be making trips up here anymore." The teen sighed in resignation.

"That's terrible!" Alfred exclaimed, his face the picture of distraught.

"Yeah, you know how much she hates her sister! Poor lady's going to loose her wits-"

"Not that! The cakes! How on earth am I going to survive without her butter cakes?!"

"Maybe zey vould have lasted longer if James did not hog zem all!"

"Aw, lay off mah case Phil! If you weren't goin' off flirtin' with them girls in the other car you could've kept them! Findas keepas!"

"Fellas, can't we go back to the game? People are starting to stare.."

"Oh god, the cakes."

Unsurprisingly, it took a complete ten minutes for the fighting to break up and an additional five minutes to get everyone back on a normal basis. Which, by their standards, was considerably good given their past conflicts and never-ending arguments between two specific members.

As Alfred went about dealing a new set of cards due to his arrival, he quickly glanced at each teen. They changed in slight ways every time they met, and he wondered briefly if they would start growing beards soon. The 'oldest' of the group was Phillip Zeigler, the tall German teen practically fresh off the boat. His English was more than sufficient for work purposes, and he was on the train traveling to and fro from his job in the outskirts of the capital. Phillip was hardly shy, as one would think of an immigrant, and was by far one of the most sociable of the group (only second to Alfred himself).

Finished his dealing to 'Phil', Alfred turned his attention to the huffing ginger to his front. James Carey, with his ever-present cigarette in hand, was bound to the train in both body and soul. He was one of the unofficial workers on the evening commutes, and had been since he turned thirteen and ran away from his home in Mississippi. James was rash in nature, and came to butt heads with Phillip on more than one occasion- such was the defining feature of their friendship.

Last, but certainly not least, came young Alexander Hamilton, calmly seated at Alfred's right. While sharing the name of Alfred's former politician, he seemed to lack nerve and charisma that the now deceased man had possessed. Instead, 'Alex' was a kind, naive, yet bright young student attending the university in hopes of going into law as per his father's wishes. The seventeen year-old from Maine was usually the mediator of the group, and was the unspoken favorite of Alfred's.

Sometimes, Alfred wondered what sort of luck had to be present for all four of them to meet on the biggest train on the east coast.

"Can ve play anozer game for once? Zis poker game iz not wery fun now." Phillip groaned, taking a drag of his own cigarette and looking down at his cards in hand with piercing blue eyes.

"What's your deal, Phil? You were the one who didn't want to stop playing this ever since you learned about it!" Alfred pointed out, munching on a sandwich that may or may not have been Alex's.

James shook his head and leaned back against the cold wall behind him. "Don' mind him, Jones. He's just hung over what's been goin' on back with the big boys in Washin'ton."

This earned him an another stern look from the German. "It is serious! I hear zey vill be lookink fur soldiers soon. Zat a var vill break out."

Alfred groaned. Could he have no respite from his troubles? "Don't be like that, Phil! Nobody's going to war, so quit your worrying!" He replied, placing two chips forward.

"I don't know, Alfred. My father says that if Mr. Lincoln wins, the southern states are going to leave the union. I'd hate to think about it, but if push comes to shove..." Alex trailed off, staring at his cards, rather disheartened.

"Aw, shut yer traps! I'm tryin' to win this game right here, so if yer all done mopin' around like girls, can y'all just play yer damn cards?" James snapped, glaring at his own hand as if it were the one to speak.

Alex frowned and turned to Alfred, whispering. "Family troubles. He's been more on edge than usual."

"His folks are trying to write to him?" Alfred asked, "I thought they hated him?"

"It's something to do with the way the southern politics are heading lately. I think they want him to head back to the farm." Alex answered, sparing a glance in James's direction. "My mother has been hinting that she wants me to start going to school in Connecticut instead. That I should stay closer to home."

"That sucks," Alfred huffed, "You're not gunna listen to them, right?"

This time, it was Phillip that spoke up. "Alex? Not listen to his mutter und vater? Unheard of."

Alfred shook his head in denial. "No way! With everything that's happening, wouldn't it make more sense to stick together more than ever? One for all and all for one? We can't move apart, because that's what the politicians want!"

"I think you're saying that quote wrong..."

"No, I'm totally saying it right!"

"Regardless," Phillip cut in, "If ze country is dividet, how vill ve know who vill be draftet? It is a very real issue."

"Nobody getting drafted! There's no war!" Alfred countered, "There has to be a war for there to be a draft, and I don't see no war!"

"If there was, and you were drafted, what would happen if we weren't on the same side?" Alex asked quietly, but somehow spoke volumes.

If the young nation had not been thrown in for a loop over Alex's question, he would have noticed the way Phillip's mouth dropped, his cigarette hanging off the corner of his mouth. He also would have notice the way James's grip on his cards became a bit too hard and how he refused to look at any of the other boys.

But Alfred just placed his cards face down on the playing space in the middle of the group, looking over at Alex all the while. "Nothing like that's ever going to happen. Nobody's getting drafted, nobody's going to war, and nobody's gunna have to shoot the guy next to him. That's crazy and it'll never happen. Got it?"

There was a collective grumble of affirmation as the boys returned their attention back to the game and tried to keep their thoughts on more pleasant subjects. On the second dealing and after a minute or so of the silence that befell the group, Phillip spoke up, almost nonchalantly as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"If ve vere on ozer sides, I'd vant to be on ze ozer side of James. Zen I coult have an excuse to shoot him in ze foot." Phillip stated, not even looking up from his cards in what appeared to be intense concentration.

It took the rest of the time they had remaining until the train arrived to drag James away from Phillip in his fit of rage. It took an additional five minutes to get Phillip and Alfred off the floor and away from their laughing and thus were rewarded with the less that preferable seats on the train.

Fortunately, James brought his harmonica and had learned a song or two to make the trip go by smoothly.

Historical Explanation In the Order in Which They Appear

1. During the time period prior to the election of 1860, the Democratic party experienced a split between their two candidates Breckinridge and Douglas. It was quite messy actually, as it was clear (and even illustrated in several political cartoons) that the party was doomed to failure. Douglas had outright humiliated himself after a series of bad sidings and choices in his political career, which eventually lead to the split in the Democratic party lead by Breckinridge. This was explained as thorough as needed to understand this aspect of the plot, but if you wish to know more, I encourage you to research the Stephen Douglas's political career. Or you know, take an AP US History class like I did.

2. This doesn't have any real significance to the plot, but Douglas briefly referenced the Whiskey Rebellion of 1791 when comparing it to the status of the south's impending rebellion. In short, the 'corn farmers' mentioned were farmers living in the western side of the country who used whiskey as a means of currency. Then, with a new tax on corn being placed, the farmers naturally got very upset and started a rebellion that had to be put down by good old Washington.

3. The infamous John Brown was an abolitionist living in the north some years prior to the election of 1860. Claiming that God had spoken to him in a dream, Brown believed it was his life's mission to free slaves by any means necessary. He lead several slave uprisings in the South, killed slave owners, and was by by modern standards a terrorist. However, the North (leaning towards anti-slavery) regarded him as a martyr and hero. The South, of course, thought he was hell-spawn and out of his mind.

4. Railways were quite useful when traveling goods and people across the states during this time period and were often used as means to travel between work, home, and school in some cases. They weren't always a very pleasant experience though.

5. Poker was first recorded to have been played in New Orleans, Louisiana in 1829 by an English actor who had payed whiteness. It eventually spread across the Mississippi River and became a popular card game to be played across America. By 1860 (the current year of this story), poker is still a relatively new game.

Translations

German:

Ja : Yes

Mutter und Vater : Mother and Father

And now, our moment of thanks

hetawholockvengerstuck: I'm a bit of a history buff myself (can you tell?) and I'm glad you guys come out and support my work. As usual, I try my best to keep things as historically accurate as possible, so please feel free to contact me if you any suggestions/questions/concerns.

Youngbountygirl: It's been a while since our big historical/hetalia break down, but for those who are reading this, Youngbountygirl and I had a pm session and I explained to her that the reason why I had Alfred lie to Lincoln was for personal protection for both himself and Buchanan. It's a bit complicated so if anyone has any questions feel free to ask. Youngbountygirl is excellent at keeping me on my toes and she is brilliant.

Macy Webber: Thank you! I always try to make the scene realistic as so the audience can almost follow Alfred through this time period. A story that can't immerse you in the setting and the main character's shoes lacks luster to me.

(It's been too long since my last update, and for that I sincerely apologize. School was getting out of hand, but it's just about finished and I can resume work on C&S. And don't worry, things will start picking up real soon. All reviews, comments, and corrects are welcomed!)