When You Left Me
By: Verin Mystal
Summary: Upon meeting America for the first time, England spends four months settling America down in a new home, teaching him his language and culture. After deeming the boy settled and safe, England decides it's time for him to return home. America takes it badly.
Note: This was originally intended for the One Year Anniversary Celebration of the USxUK LJ community (For the "Spring" theme), but I never finished it in time. Also, this was originally a one-shot, but it was so long (More than 20 pages!) I decided to split it into two chapters. I own nothing but the ideas of this story.
Late September
Never had America cried so much as when England left for the first time. America had just grown used to the older nation, enjoying his company and smiling face. The nation told America his human name, Arthur, and gave him his very own human name, Alfred.
"A nation's real name is precious, only to be spoken by friends and loved ones." England had told him. "Our human names are used to protect our identity. No one but the highest officials may know who we truly are."
England taught America his language, his culture… he often took America to the docks and taught him about the different ships that were tied off, what their purpose was and the names of the equipment on the deck. America hung on his every word, listening to England relay bits of his wild pirate days before he met his tiny charge.
Months passed, and the days grew shorter and the nights longer. The air slowly turned crisp with chill and the sun's light lost its luster. Autumn was coming, along with the cold, harsh winter. It was on an early cloudy morning when America found England packing his clothes away in his sea chest.
America stood frozen in the doorway, his frilly white gown billowing in the breeze.
"You're leaving…?"
"I'm sorry America, but I have stayed as long as I could manage. I have to visit the other colonies and nations…" he said calmly. "My people need me."
America ran to him, stumbling over his tiny legs and feet, and flung his arms around the nation's right leg. "Don't go!" The boy demanded before remembering his manners. "Please!"
England set down a half-folded shirt and turned to the tiny boy. "America…"
"Please!" The boy insisted, his grip on England's leg growing tighter with each passing second. "You can't leave!"
Something flashed in England's evergreen stare and he calmly extracted America from around his leg and hefted him into his arms. America's face scrunched in further distress and he wrapped his arms around the older man's neck. "America, I have stayed with you for almost four months now-"
"B-but you can't-!"
"America." England pulled the boy away and set him upon the bed. "I can't stay with you all of the time. There are other people who wish to see me too."
The older nation leveled a stern, unrelenting stare at the boy.
"But…"
America dug his fingers into the bed sheets, his chin trembled, his blue eyes stormy.
"I'll miss you, England."
America had watched England's ship leave the port with sadness, anger and frustration boiling in his chest. He tried to remember the words England left with him, promising to come back next spring.
"Soon you'll forget being sad about me," England reassured. "You'll find other things to worry about… and before you know it, the birds will be singing, the flowers blooming… and I will return."
Biting his lip and narrowing his eyes, he watched the ship disappear into the horizon with a deep scowl, and when he could no longer see the white sails, he turned and ran from the docks. He dodged merchant carts and groups of women, men riding horses and children playing jacks, he ran through the city and into the countryside, deep into the forests… the very same forests England warned him about. Telling him of devils and impure spirits lurking in the woods, all of whom carried little boys off who wandered about after dark.
America finally stopped at a tree, staggering on his heels for a moment while he gasped for air.
England had left him… he left him alone.
It's not fair.
America pushed away from the trunk and sprawled to the forest floor, staring into the sky, crisscrossed with barren tree branches.
I wish England would always stay with me.
Mid-November
Winter passed slowly, and everyday America wondered when England's words might come true. Will I ever forget feeling sad? America hated feeling so gloomy, and tried focusing on other tasks. Mary, the maid and indentured servant England took in and agreed to servitude of two years until her debts were paid, took care of him. Upon first hiring her, England forced America to pretend they were a normal family, but it was only after the boy accidently split a door in half that she discovered his true nature. After England left, she made sure he was well fed, properly clothed and bathed. Every day she had him practice his letters with the horn book, read verses and practice simple arithmetic, and always made sure the boy was busy in some way. America threw himself into the chores, finding he disliked the hornbook and wished to write using real paper with a feather quill and ink, just like the kind England uses.
England… I still miss you. America sighed and stared out the window, forgetting all about the hornbook and practicing the alphabet. It's been so long… when will Spring come?
The months passed slowly, the nights long and the days short. Snow covered the garden England had tended over the spring and summer months. The tree's were barren, save for the occasional pine. America pressed his face to the cold glass of the window and stared into the forest. Beyond the forest lay the docks, beyond the docks lay the ocean, and beyond the ocean was where England was. America pulled away from the window and stared at the map England had given him before he left. Setting the map on his bed, he touched the coastline of his land, running his tiny fingers across the rough paper. Running his eyes over the document, he moved his finger across the large expanse of the Atlantic Ocean and rested his finger on the island where England lived.
Are you in your home country, England? America wondered. Or are you with the other colonies…?
A burning wave filled him, and America grasped the map and flung it to the floor in a fit of jealousy. England went to see the other colonies over staying with him. He was a worthless, backwater colony… the only thing he had of value was the abundance of land that stretched on to the western horizon. He was small and unworthy… unfit for England to care and spend his time with. Eyes stinging at his revelation, he jumped to the floor and pounded down the stairs.
"Alfred, how many times have I told you to-"
America ignored his caretaker and flung the front door open, letting in a blast of frozen air, and ran outside wearing only his trousers and white shirt. Outside, the once green landscape was turned grey and white. Winter lay its heavy hand on the land, turning the air and water frozen, causing the trees to drop their leaves and the animals to hide away.
"Alfred, where are you going?" The voice of his frantic caretaker grew in volume as she neared proximity. "Come inside before you catch your death-!"
America sprinted away from her, hot anger coursing through his arms and legs. The cold air burned his throat and lungs, turning his cheeks and ears red. His bare feet pounded into the frozen ground as he ran around the house, through England's frozen garden and into the woods. He ran until he was breathless, and then continued to run, ignoring the stinging pain from his feet. Tree's void of leaves and small bushes flew past him, he jumped over jagged roots and dodged small animals that came into his path looking for food to eat. Finally he heard the distant sounds of the town and emerged on the other side of the forest. Buildings and muddy streets appeared before him, horses and carriages rode past, the townspeople not sparing another glance as they assumed him to be an orphan living on the street. America looked down and found mud covering his feet up to his ankles.
Frowning, he threw himself into another sprint, flying past houses and print shop windows, general stores and governmental offices. The salty air grew stronger and finally America came to the docks. Only a few ships were tied and anchored, as many ships didn't risk sailing during the treacherous winter months where icebergs grew more abundant. A tiny smile blossomed on America's face, and he stepped forward onto the docks, the wood feeling soft against his battered feet. He spied a clear area, void of any dock officials and sailors, and sat on the edge of the wooden boards, allowing his feet to dangle just inches above the water's surface.
America breathed in, allowing a deep breath of salty air to fill his lungs.
England… I wish you were here all the time… America stared at the dark, midnight blue water under his feet. The water splashed against the wooden pillars under the dock, stinging the cuts on his muddy feet. If I were more like Canada… would you stay with me?
He thought of his twin brother, and how different he seemed. The boy was quiet and mild-mannered. He hated conflict and only seemed to enjoy America's company if he had already burned off sufficient enough excitement outside.
But… England is always comparing him to me. America stared into the eastern horizon with a scowl. Always going on and on how "Matthew follows the rules", "Matthew never tracks mud into the house", "Matthew never burps at the dinner table", "Matthew never skips his academics to play outside", "Matthew always keeps everything neat and tidy"… Matthew, Matthew, Matthew.
Something struck America suddenly, and he felt excitement filling for the first time in months.
It was all so simple. Why hadn't he figured it out earlier?
If I were more like Matthew… then maybe England will stay longer?
Late January
America clutched the feather quill, dipped the pointed tip into the ink well atop England's desk, and sloppily scratched out the letter "A". Beside him stood his tutor, an old man with glasses, a white beard, and a scowl on his face. The man always seemed to be angry at everyone and everything… especially at me, America thought gloomily while he tried writing his human name on the paper, his tiny hand trembling from the effort.
"Good heavens child, your penmanship is horrible." The man frowned at America, and tore the quill from his hand. "Must you press into the paper so hard? Look at how I hold it between my two fingers and thumb. I do not grasp it with my fist and carve it into the paper."
America barely suppressed a sigh and stared at the paper. His fingers were still clumsy with youth and holding the quill with only three fingers was hard.
But… I bet Matthew holds his pen perfectly. I bet he has nice penmanship and can write his name in cursive, even.
He gripped the edge of his table with his fists and dug his fingers into the surface. It wasn't like he could complain, because he was the one who insisted and pleaded to have a tutor to his caretaker. He wanted to learn how to write and read like the high class men in town, so one day he could write a letter to England. That would definitely impress him. How hard could it be? America assumed it would only take a week to learn how to do these things.
Four weeks into the tutoring and America barely learned how to write a sentence, much less a letter. Some simple words and signs he could read… but the books in England's office were impossible. America sighed and glared at the paper and his scribbles. This is taking too long. I have to think of something else. After his uptight tutor finally left for the day, America snuck to his room and sat at the window in his hopes of avoiding Mary and her never ending list of chores.
I tried learning how to read and write… but that will take too long. America peered out the window and thought of England and the stories he told. England always talked about sailing… what if I became a ships boy? Excitement coursed through him. I could travel across the Atlantic and finally see England in his home land for the first time! Or I could travel to the Caribbean or to the northern coast of Africa! All the same places England's been to before!
He jumped from his chair, a grin stretching ear to ear.
A ship's boy… I can't wait!
Mid-February
Having waited for new ships to arrive in the harbor, lest the tavern be full of people who might recognize America, he finally decided on sneaking into the "Bell in Hand"(1) by the docks. America waited until sunset and after eating dinner, told his caretaker he was going to visit the governor on important business. Mary held a look of confusion at first, and then realized that, despite him being a child he was still a colony and had duties to honor. She smiled and beamed at his sudden show of responsibility and bid America good evening, warning him not to be out too late. All the while America smiled as innocently as he could muster, holding his head high and back straight.
Having walked out of sight of the downstairs window where Mary sat with her sewing, America finally allowed a grin that nearly split his face from ear to ear. He broke into a run down the dirt carriage road that curved, dipped and twisted until the town came into view. Deciding it would be better to avoid the main streets, as the constable(2) might catch him and send him home, he ran down the back streets and hidden alleys, sneaking past candle-lit windows and horse stables until the tavern came into view. The bitter smell of alcohol flooded the air, along with the smells of roasted meat and fresh bread. America licked his lips and was thankful he decided to eat his dinner at home before coming.
Finally arriving at the front of the tavern, he stood near the entrance and glanced about. The people he saw were all strangers, some wearing official naval uniforms, others wearing filthy clothes that held the stink of salt and fish on them. Releasing the air from his lungs, America casually waltzed into the tavern and stuck close to the walls, away from the main floor. He didn't want to attract any attention to himself, as his clothing and hygiene was far cleaner than half the men and women currently in the establishment. Finding a darkened corner, America crouched and opened his eyes and ears. Many voices filled the air, some slurring and giggling from the alcoholic high, others jovial and happy to be on land, spending their money on good food and good women. Whatever that means, America thought with a roll of his eyes.
He sat and listened quietly until his legs ached from the position. Finally a nearby sailor spoke up, mentioning the need for new ships' boys. America jumped up, wobbling for a moment on his unsteady legs, and rushed to the sailor.
"I wish to join your crew as a ships boy, sir!" America stood straight and tall, hoping to make a good impression. "I'm a hard worker!"
The sailor peered down at him for a moment before sneering at his clothes with a chuckle. "Boy you've got some nerve comin' in here looking like that."
"Like what?" America looked down at his clothes. "What's wrong with what I look like??"
"Your blood is too rich to be a ships boy." The man laughed under his breath and brought a brown bottle to his lips, gulping down the strong smelling liquid. "Hey, constable! This brat is bothering us! Get him out of here!"
America gasped and turned around, finding the man who knew him for his true self, thanks to several accidents involving his uncontrolled strength, glaring at him. "Alfred, what in devils name are you doing here?"
Not waiting to respond, America fled the tavern and ran all the way home.
America sat facing the corner, his face and rear end both burned, but for entirely different reasons. After telling Mary of his brilliant adventure in the tavern, thanks to the constable showing up the following morning and explaining to Mary regarding his true whereabouts, his caretaker held a look of horror and spent the next 30 minutes explaining why he was forbidden to return to the docks. America grew frustrated, then angry and lashed out in a fit of anger, calling her something he'd overheard England say to someone in town when he thought he wasn't listening. That was when Mary, red faced, sent him outside to find a suitable switch for his lashing. After Mary deemed his punishment suitable, she sent him to sit in the corner on a hard wooden stool.
He sighed and glared at the wall. So much for adventure on the high sea's, sailing across vast oceans, exploring unknown lands and battling pirates. The plans he'd been so excited out thirty minutes prior were dashed to pieces.
There's not as much snow falling as there was before, America thought suddenly. Just a couple more months and England will be here! Excitement flooded him momentarily before his failures fell upon him once more. I'm running out of time… if I don't think of something soon it'll be too late!
A lump of sadness filled his throat and he bit his lip, forcing himself not to cry. England never cried. Not even when he was wounded or shot. Why should he?
Another mournful sigh escaped his lips once more.
I'll never make England proud of me.
Early March
Arthur slammed the door shut to his room and collapsed into the chair at his desk. Stacks of paper sat on one side, his ink well and quills sat on the other. Pressing his hands to his face, he sighed heavily and rubbed his throbbing temples. For weeks he'd dealt with foreign officials and his own politics, their never ending arguments driving into his brain like a hammer to an anvil. Groaning, he opened the desk drawer, shoved documents to the side and pulled out a bottle of rum he'd saved from his voyage across the Atlantic. Yanking the stopper off the bottle, he gulped down the warm liquid and after setting the bottle back to his desk, sighed and slouched in his chair. It had been nothing but headaches since he'd arrived in England, his problems with France and Spain never seeming to end.
There was a knock at his door, and the voice of his assistant came through the door.
"Sir, I have more documents here-"
Biting down the urge to tell the man to throw the bloody things away, he grit his teeth and clutched at the bottle of rum. "Set them on the floor and I'll take care of them later."
"But sir-"
"Just do it, please."
There was a pause, an obvious sigh and the sound of documents being placed beyond his door.
"You must take care of these at once, sir."
Footsteps sounded and disappeared down the stairs.
England shook his head and closed his eyes, wishing for the cool calm and peaceful silence of America's colony. Granted, he could go to his second home out in the country, but… there was something about the new world that relaxed him and drew on his old adventuring spirit all at once. Opening his eyes, he stood from the chair, twisting the kink from his right shoulder, and scuffed to the window, where a sparrow sat on a nearby tree limb. England opened the window slowly, not wanting to startle the bird away, and gazed at it. The bird chirped and sung its song, rustling its feather and scurrying down the branch when another bird tried invading his branch.
He peered at the tree and noticed the slight flashes of green where new green leaves were emerging. Smiling, England came to a silent decision, went back to his desk and readied his quill.
Late March
"Alfred you have a letter from Arthur!" called Mary from the bottom of the stairs. "Would you like me to read it to you?"
America threw his horn book down and rushed down the stairs. "A letter from Arthur, really?"
A grin blossomed across America's face, England had never sent him a letter before!
"Then I'll go ahead and open it." Mary broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter. England's fancy cursive was revealed. "Dear Alfred," Mary started in her best storytelling voice. "Winter is almost over, and as promised, I am returning in the spring. By the time you read this letter, I shall be only a day away from arriving. I hope to see you soon. Sincerely, Arthur." Mary smiled at Alfred's excited grin. "Oh! Here's a post script. Alfred, I hope you are not upset at me still. Don't ever forget that I deeply care for you."
America took the letter from Mary and stared at the perfect cursive. "I wish I could write like Arthur…"
"Perhaps you could practice writing something so when Arthur gets home, you can show him your progress in your academics?"
America stared at Mary for a moment. "Then En- Arthur will be proud of me?"
…England always talked about honor and pride when he told me his adventures across the world. How he never put his pride and honor on the line, defending it with any means necessary…
"Why…?" Mary paused a moment. "Of course he'll be proud of you! Why wouldn't he be proud of you, Alfred?"
America ignored her question. "That's a good idea, I'll write something for Arthur!" …I can't tell her anything, otherwise she might tell England!
"Ah- Alfred wait! I need you to help me make pomander balls(2)! Alfred!"
America ran to England's office and pulled the chair from the heavy oak desk. Settling into the chair, he scooted forward and took up a piece of paper and quill, but didn't dip the quill into the ink well yet. He stared at the blank off-white paper, his blue eyes focused on a single point. Finally he dipped the quill into the ink well and touched the tip to the paper.
Dear Arthur,
Starting the letter was easy enough, as it's always the same thing. America bit his lip and stared at his sloppy hand writing.
When you left- "No…"
I practiced my letters and try- "No, no…"
He scratched these fragments out with the quill.
I tried to forget you, but I just couldn't do it. I miss you. I practiced my letters every day. I always did my-
America flung the quill to the floor in a fit of frustration. It's all wrong! Nothing ever turns out right. It's always wrong, all the time. America clenched his fingers into fists.
England will read this and make that choked scoffing noise he does whenever an officer from town summons him, America thought grimly. He would stare at it and crumple it up, saying "I'm disappointed in you America. Mary told me you studied your letters and practiced your writing over the winter months… and this is all you can do? America clutched either side of his face, unable to stop the scene from playing out in his head, no matter how hard he closed his eyes.
England frowned at him. "Matthew is your same age, and yet he can already read and write fluently."
England stepped away from him.
"I'm disappointed in you."
"Noo-!"
America clenched his fists and slammed them into the desk. A horrible sound erupted, and wooden splinters covered him. A trembling shiver filled his chest.
Oh god… oh please oh please…
His stomach hollowing out, and he slowly lowered his wide blue eyes to the desk. Two fist shaped dents appeared in the wood underneath his clenched fingers, alongside a deep crack that ran directly down the center of the desk. Breath catching, America peeling his fists away from the wood, he touched the crack, and the surface gave way, both ends of the desk collapsing into a pile.
A choked gasp caught in his throat.
"Alfred!" Mary called from the first floor. "I need your help to prepare for Arthur's arrival!"
Arthur… England… he'll be here any day now… and no, no, no, his desk… the desk he had made just for him, the desk that was made in his home land and shipped across the Atlantic… the desk he spent hours at, pouring over papers and books and drinking the dark rum bottles I wasn't supposed to know about and-
"Alfred," Came Mary's voice once more, only this time it was strained. "Don't make me come up there!"
America gasped, finally forcing a breath through his throat, which his heart was most likely wedged into and slide off of the chair. Swallowing repeatedly, he rushed to the door, stepping beyond the thresh hold and slammed it shut behind him.
"I'm coming!" America trembled and tried coming up with an excuse. "Don't come into the office! I have a secret waiting for Arthur!"
"A secret?" Mary smiled at him, thinking Alfred had written a letter for the elder nation. "Of course, now come down and help me with these Pomander Balls. You want the house to smell nice for when Arthur comes, don't you?"
America rushed down the stairs.
"…Sure."
Sunlight filtered through the cotton curtains that hung from America's window. It was morning, and America sat buried under the bed sheets. England was going to arrive today. He was going to come to his house and go to his room. He'd set his chest at the foot of his bed and take the documents he received upon arriving at the docks to his office. He'd open the door and find the shattered remains of his desk and-
America choked down a sob that crept up his throat and squeezed his eyes shut.
Nations don't cry. Colonies don't cry. It's not brave or heroic!
Squeezing his eyes shut, he thought of his caretaker. Mary had come in earlier to rouse him from sleep, but after finding the boy in his sorry state: cheeks flushed, eyes bloodshot, hands trembling, she deemed him sick and ordered him to stay in bed while she made warm broth.
Soon now, England would be coming home. His ship was due to arrive today, and he could show up in the carriage at any moment.
America twisted under the bed sheets and buried his face into his goose-feather pillows. England is going to be so angry… he'll make me get a switch from outside and bend me over the side of the bed and- America shook his head at the thought. Maybe… if I got away somehow… maybe if I had something grand and honorable for England to see, he won't be mad at me? America bit his bottom lip and turned away from the pillow. England has been all over the world… and here I've never even left my own colony. I must be… if I was to travel and prove my honor and pride, like England has so many times, then maybe he'll forgive me? The idea seemed good enough. England always loved telling his stories and tales of fortune and adventures. That's it. I'll go and try to gain entrance to one of the ships.
Throwing the bed sheets off, he jumped from the bed and started going through his clothes, trying to find an older pair that was dirty and scuffed. Finding one set of trousers that were full of holes and an old collared shirt that used to be white, he threw the clothes on and put on an old set of stockings and hard-heeled shoes, he fled his room, stepping down the stairs silently and snuck to the front door. Glancing back once to ensure Mary was busy elsewhere, he opened the door, stepped through and closed it softly behind him.
I'll be back when I can prove my worth.
America ran through the woods, making sure to dirty his skin and clothes along the way. Upon entering town, he followed the alleys and back roads, sneaking past homes with the savory smells of cooking meat and fresh baked goods. A rumbling came from his belly, but America ignored it. I'll have time to eat later, he reasoned. The Bell in Hand finally came into view. Excitement flooded him as he neared the back of the building. Stepping to the side of the building and edging to the street, he found the tavern to be mostly empty. Frowning, he realized it was still mid-day and many of the sailors and other men weren't in yet. I'll have to wait for nightfall, America reasoned with a frown. I'll have to find a place to hide until-
His train of thought was cut off when a voice pierced his consciousness. The familiar rough voice, yet with the lilt of a British accent… eyes widening, America crouched and peered around the edge of the building. There, standing before a dock official was England.
Something squeezed inside his chest, and America smiled. England… England was back! The elder nation appeared to be happy, as his face and shoulders were relaxed, a tiny smile on his face. He's happy now… but not when he finds how what happened… America shivered and pulled away, closing his eyes. He'll be so mad…
He stepped away, backing into the shadows and slide to the ground, his feet splayed out before him. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the dour smells of the city and let his head lull on his shoulders.
At least now I can relax… England sighed and stepped off the carriage, taking his sea chest and carrying it across the lawn to the house, when the front door opened. England froze and braced himself, expecting America to come barreling towards him. Last time he'd been gone for a few days America nearly broke a rib when he ran to him and gave him a bruising hug. Yet, to his surprise, it was Mary who stepped out from the doorway. England ignored the wave of disappointment.
"Mr. Kirkland, so good to see you!"
England nodded. "It is nice to be back. How have you and Alfred been?"
To this, Mary's smiled faltered. "Well… we've been well enough."
England's steady pace slowed. "…Well enough?" He parroted. "Is something wrong?"
"Well…" Mary interlaced her fingers together and played with the hem of her dirtied apron. "Alfred has been acting strangely since you left."
England frowned, but continued into the house, wishing to put his belongings away. "How so?"
Mary followed him inside, shutting the door. "Well… he seemed to take your leaving fine. He even asked for a tutor-"
"A tutor?" England paused on the stairwell. "A tutor for what?"
"Reading and writing… Alfred said he wanted to learn as fast as possible…"
England raised an eyebrow at this. Getting the boy to study from his hornbook and read verses was as painful as pulling teeth. And now he wanted a tutor??
Mary knew this as well, having been witness to many a temper tantrum from the tiny colony. "It was odd at first… but it wasn't until yesterday that I realized what it was from." A small smile grew on her face. "He didn't say it out loud, but I think he wanted to write to you. He missed you dearly… "
England turned away from her, hoping she didn't see his flustered, red-faced stare, and hurried up the stairs. America missed me that badly? England stepped into his room and set his sea chest at the foot of his bed. No one's ever felt that way about me before… he mused. Usually the other nations… and my brothers… are glad to have me gone…
"But…" Mary stood in the doorway to his room. "He got this idea in his head about sailing and the docks and snuck into town, into a tavern of all places. He told me he wished to be a ships boy and travel the world, just like you did." There was a hint of suspicion in her voice, but being an indentured servant, she didn't push it. "However, he did say he had a surprise waiting for you in your office."
"A surprise?" England turned to Mary. "By the way, where is Alfred?"
"He woke up sick and with fever this morning, so I kept him in bed. That reminds me, I have broth for him…" Mary retreated to the stairs and headed to the kitchen.
England frowned. A fever? Nations and colonies rarely got sick, save for economic downturns… but to his knowledge, the American colony seemed to be doing fine, even thriving. Why would he have an illness? Brushing the concern aside, he headed to his office, intent on finding the surprise America left for him. Grasping the brass doorknob, he twisted and pushed the door open.
Shock filled him at the sight. His once beautiful oaken desk, now a splintered, destroyed mess lay in ruins on the floor. Papers, feather quills and spilled indian ink lay everywhere. Feeling that ever familiar rising tide of anger filling him, he clenched his jaw and stiffly walked to the remains of his desk, which looked like it had been shot with a cannon, and knelt before it, gathering papers and sorting them into a stack. Why in the hell… he claims me missed, me, and yet he destroys my desk?? Frowning, he shoved on stack to the side and grasped a piece of paper that didn't hold his cursive hand. Instead it was awkward and almost… inexperienced. Curiosity rising beyond his anger, he held the paper before him and read the scribbled writing.
Dear Arthur,
I tried to forget you, but I just couldn't do it. I miss you. I practiced my letters every day. I always did my
England stared at the paper, his evergreen eyes widening at America's effort to write him a letter. His shoulders sagged, and he slowly stood up. Glancing away from the tattered letter, he stared at the broken remains of his desk. Taking in a deep breath, he turned and left his office, stepping down the hall and came to America's room. Steeling himself both mentally and physically, he opened the door.
The boy's bed was empty, his clothes littered the floor.
"Alfred? Come out of hiding, I'm not angry." I am angry, but your letter... England shook the thought away. "Alfred, come out of hiding, I'd like to speak with you."
England stepped further into the room and started moving objects and clothes, even pulling the bed sheets back and kneeling on the to peek under the bed. "Alfred, come now stop hiding- Alfred?"
He's not here…
England stood and left the room in a rush, nearly running into Mary.
"Where is he?"
"Where is who??"
"Alfred… you said he was in his room."
"He was! He was in there for the entire morning-"
"He's gone." England gripped the letter in his hand. "I already searched his room."
Mary gaped only at him, and then gasped in anger. "The docks! There's no other place he'd be!"
Frowning, England rushed past her and into his room. Unlocking his sea chest, he withdrew some items and lay them on his bed. What possessed me to tell the boy of my adventures?? Honestly, you should have known he'd do something like this! England berated himself as he shut the doors to his room and changed into a different attire. I'll have to get this ships boy nonsense and seafaring adventures out of his mind. Otherwise he might try something drastic when I leave again. Shrugging the heavy coat on, looping the thick leather belt around him, tugging the black leather boots on, he opened his closet door and picked up an old hat, the feathers adorning it were dusty and dropping. Placing the hat upon his head, he stepped away and stared at himself in the mirror.
Well, Captain… it's been some time, hasn't it?
A/n: Hope you all liked this :) Also, for the record, I love Canada just as much as I love America and England (and all the other nation/characters). If anyone is offended by whats written, then I apologize.
Preview for Chapter 2: In which we find out where America got his name from and where his love for Disney's Pirate's of the Caribbean movies come from :D
Historical Notes?:
1) Indentured Servant - According to Wikipedia: "An indentured servant was a worker, typically a laborer, under contract to an employer for a fixed period of time, typically three to seven years, in exchange for their transportation, food, clothing, lodging and other necessities. Unlike slaves, an indentured servant was required to work only for a limited term, specified in a signed contract."
2) Horn Book - According to Wikipedia: "In children's education, in the years before modern education materials were used, it referred to a leaf or page containing the alphabet, religious materials, etc., covered with a sheet of transparent horn and fixed in a frame with a handle". These were used extensively in early colonial America, and were often hand made by the student's family.
3) Bell in Hand - This is the actual name of a historical Pub/Tavern in Boston.
4) Constable - A constable was actually an officer who was in charge of the care of a royal households horses, but I've heard of them being referred to as peace officers as well, so I thought I'd use this.
5) Pomander Balls - These were typically large apples with cloves and cinnamon sprinkled on them. They were were hung from the ceiling. Children would make them in Colonial times to make the house smell nice.