The war is finally over. It's really over. There's no fighting anymore. Sure it officially ended five years ago but…it didn't count until yesterday. Yesterday was a very special day for America. Yesterday it was official. His baby was coming home. Her real home.
Alfred sat alone in his house in D.C. It was late, the sun had just set. He was thinking about what to make for dinner. His entire day had been taken up by politics and various meetings with representatives. Even five years later they still couldn't get along. It amazed him that they ever got along in the first place. What with all of the fighting and accusations. Petty arguments of ad hominem that did nothing but waste time.
He took his glasses off and twirled them absently in his hands. Texas glinted in the lamplight, casting reflections on the pale walls around him. Alfred almost didn't hear the knock. It was so subtle, like the person was afraid the door would break if they knocked on it any harder. He blinked and shook his head, coming out of the blank stare he'd been giving the wall before going to answer the door.
It was late. Too late for visitors. The list of people shortened drastically, only a few would bother him this late. Texas remained in his lose grasp by his side, still twirling slowly, as the door opened.
Standing on the wraparound porch was a young girl. Strawberry blonde hair tied into a messy bun, vibrant green eyes, and a gray dress of infinitely folded layers, a typical southern belle. Her image was complete with a matching bonnet tied loosely around her chin. A worn trunk sat off to the side.
She held nothing in her hands as her fingers twiddled nervously in front of her. Behind her on the gravel driveway was a lone carriage with a single brown horse standing at the ready. The driver paid neither of them any attention as he sat observing the area.
The second the door opened and their eyes met, Alfred's breathing hitched in surprise. Though he'd been expecting her, it hadn't been so soon. Her gaze quickly shifted to the wooden slats beneath her and she refused to meet his cerulean eyes.
In that moment all he wanted to do was embrace her in the biggest hug she'd ever received. It didn't matter what she'd done nine years ago. It didn't matter how her and her sibling's actions nearly tore the country apart. All that mattered was that she was home.
"G-Georgia?" He asked in disbelief. Even though she stood three feet away, clear as day, he still couldn't believe that she was actually there. He resisted the urge to reach out to her, fearing she might be an apparition. No, she was really there, in the flesh.
"Hello…Dad." She mumbled, her words barely audible.
At this point, etiquette was the last thing on his mind. Alfred rushed forward to wrap her in that hug and she stiffened, returning the gesture after what seemed like forever. Her arms loosely wrapping around him, as if, like the door, he would break at the slightest touch.
"You're really here. It's really you." He said, pulling back and placing his hands on her shoulders. Keeping her in that position just so he could commit her image to memory.
"Y-yeah. It's me." She said, still looking at anywhere but him. He released her and hauled the trunk inside, beckoning for her to follow.
Georgia hesitated, glancing back at the carriage one final time before following America inside and shutting the door behind her. There was no going back now.
Once inside, she stood rigidly on the rug, taking in the familiar sight and scent of the house. She had many memories in this house, not all of them good.
"Dad…no, Alfred, I'm leaving. I- I can't take it anymore. My people are not being treated fairly and staying will only make it worse. I'm- goodbye, I hope you understand."
"Georgia-"
"No! No I- I can't. Please don't make this harder than it has to be."
She subconsciously put a hand to her chest, right over her heart. Even now, the memory of Atlanta still hurt like it just happened yesterday. Though they would begin reconstruction, it would take many more years for that pain to subside. Atlanta was not her capital yet Sherman's attack hit home more than Milledgeville ever would.
Alfred re-entered the foyer after storing the trunk in one of the spare rooms. His eyes were tinged with red.
"Georgia I-" He was cut off by Georgia rushing forward to fully return his previous gesture.
"I'm sorry. I-"
"I forgive you." Alfred said quietly. She sniffled and pulled back to meet his gaze. In those cerulean eyes was an ocean of emotions. Hurt, guilt, regret, pain, but also hope, and happiness.
"You…you forgive me? After everything I've done? But…"
"You're my family, Georgia. It doesn't matter what you did or didn't do. Unconditional love right? I've forgiven England, he's forgiven me. Well…to an extent." He chuckled lightly at the memory before continuing. "Don't you ever think that I could hate you. Never in a million years, Georgia."
"We nearly tore the country apart, Dad. Hundreds of thousands of people died. Cities burned to the ground. The president was assassinated! I don't understand. I…I wasn't sure you would accept me- us back." Alfred wiped at his eyes, brushing away a few tears before smiling that Hollywood smile. For the first time in a long time it met his eyes. Georgia mirrored his movements, albeit hesitantly at first.
"The war was never supposed to be about slavery. It was about keeping you apart of the family. Of course I'll accept you back. Each and every one of you. I mean, yesterday made it official! We're all finally back together and only good times ahead. It's all uphill from here."
"You really mean it? My people, I can feel them. Their anger and resentment. They're upset with the reconstruction plans and emancipation and losing the war. Johnson's plan is not going to be lenient with us. I think we waited too long. Far too long."
Alfred led her to the couch and they sat on opposite ends, her dress taking up too much space for them to be any closer. She stared forlornly at the paintings on the walls. One to the left of the fireplace was of a little blonde boy with a cowlick standing up to the hip of a taller blonde man with the thickest eyebrows on the planet. On the other side of the fireplace hung a painting of Independence Hall in Philadelphia, a slightly older version of that same boy stood around a table with several other men all looking over a large piece of paper between them.
And over the mantle, hanging proudly, was a painting of fourteen people. Most of them young children no older than ten, one was taller than the rest, looking fifteen at the most. They all wore the same uniform, girls and boys. A blue coat, white sashes, off-white trousers. The males all carried muskets with bayonets while the girls held a wide variety of weapons. Two girls in the front, one with strawberry blonde hair and vibrant green eyes, held a red, white, and blue flag with thirteen stars arranged in a circle. Each face was smiling triumphantly, all eyes glittering with victorious light.
Georgia turned back to her not-quite father, who had been observing the paintings as well.
"Whatever is in store for us, no matter what it is, we'll get through it. My boss said something a while back. I didn't pay much attention at the time but now I understand. He'd said, 'The United States is'. This war, despite nearly tearing me in half, will make us stronger than ever before." The State flinched at the last sentence but nodded slowly at his words.
"Happy late birthday, by the way." She said after a long silence, remembering the date. America looked up at her in surprise, remembering as well. "It's almost the centennial."
"Well we still have six years. And I'm just glad we can all celebrate together. Our first Christmas together in a decade will be this year." He said wistfully, already planning the event. Georgia grimaced. Knowing she was the reason the whole family hadn't celebrated the Fourth in almost a decade. But the war is over. And now they can only move forward.
Onwards and upwards.
"I was just about to make dinner. Want to help?" Alfred stood, brushing himself off before offering a calloused hand to his not-technically daughter. His eyes were bright and full of life, like he really was the nineteen-year-old he looked like and not almost one hundred. All the age melted away, much like the tension in the room.
Georgia took the offered hand and followed him into the kitchen. "What are we making?"
America turned to her, "I have no idea." Both of them laughed before going through the pantry together.
Onwards and upwards indeed.