9

April 1774

London, England

England rubbed at his temple, reading scrawled handwriting across the parchment. Across the sheets of tan colored paper were a series of five acts. His government had been working on them for days, fast and fueled by anger were the members of his parliament. Not that he could blame a single soul. He found his own temper heated sufficiently, quills snapping between grasping fingers, death biting into sea chapped lips. The bloody Boston tea party...what was America thinking! As if those colonial citizens could pull such an offensive act and get away with it. It was like a child who stuck their hand in the sweets jar and thought they would get away with it with no repercussions. America would have to learn like the a child. You do something that is against the rules and you have to suffer the consequences. Massachusetts and the Bostonians were going to have to learn the hard way it seemed.

Leaning back against the straight back of his chair he found himself entranced by the dancing flame of the candle. He briefly found himself tripping into memories of his experiences in the Indian subcontinent. Some of those women he had seen, exotic in dance and dress. Hips swinging side to side in the most inappropriate yet mesmerizing ways. Side to side like the sway of the candle flame. Blinking rapidly England brought his attention back to the task at hand. Those colonists had dumped 342 crates of tea in the Boston Harbor. Did they think he was fool enough to believe their savage disguise. These 'Sons of Liberty' assaulted three of his ships. Bloody bastards.

It was because of this that these four acts were to be passed. He thumbed through the papers with disdain.

First was the Boston Port act. This act would close off all actions of the port until Boston paid back all of the damages.

Second was the Massachusetts Government Act. Which did not allow democratic meetings and put the governor councils in charge of political matters.

Third was the Administration of Justice Act. As a result of the colonials illegal actions all British officials were now immune to criminal prosecution.

Fourth was the Quartering Act, this would require the colonists to house the British troops without notice.

Fifth was the Quebec Act then was to allow Catholics the freedom of worship inside of Canada and the continuation of their personal judicial system.

England was aware that this was a personal sting to the massive amounts of protestants in the colonials. But the vindictive part of him was pleased with the situation. He hoped quietly that the act would split Boston and New England off from the other colonies, crushing any hopes of complete unified actions of rebellion. He was quite aware it would infuriate the colonists and probably make America upset with him in return but...he could not let a disobedient child get away with things just because he had a soft spot for the boy.

Running his hands in discomfort along the seams of his trousers England sighed. It was unpleasant, but raising a child was certainly a trial in itself. It would do no good for either of them for discipline to be pushed to the wayside. The good book stated that. He remembered it clearly. Proverbs 13:24 stated "He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes."

Yes, It was something that he had to do as a big brother. As a role model. England repeated such words to himself until the pain in his heart turned to what he deemed compassion. He was not hurting America merely for the sake of power, not entirely. He was doing this for the boys own sake. To help prevent future pains and punishments, in prevention of further mistakes. It was the thing to do. He assured him as he lifted the quill, dipping it into the well and began to sign his own name

Hear me, America… I don't want to hurt you… but I will do what I have to do.

May 1774

Paris, France

England found himself staring up into the darkness, where he knew a red canopy hung above the bed. Paris, it was a discomfort for him to be here. However, it had been important for him to come. King Louis XVI was a man of great power that he had yet to make personal exchanges with. The French king had yet to be coronated, but it would do England well to meet him prior, or so parliament had told him. France made a point to avoid him at all functions, a refreshing, albeit strange turn of events.

The young man, (all men were young in comparison to countries of course) seemed to have a fire. Over goblets sloshing of wine and a belly full of food Louis had spoken about reformation. About the push of enlightenment ideals. He asked England of his own opinions regarding taille (taxation of peasants), serfdom and such things.

He played the part of a mere curious young monarch immensely well England had to admit as sleep slowly touch his mind. Curiosity was a prized trait to own, as long as it did not get one into trouble. Allowing a large yawn to escape, England finally allowed slumber to have its way. Thoughts trickling into a thick pool of unconscious. The young king had curiosity and fervor which was of little interest to England personally. As long as it stayed within French borders. If the king wished to touch things that were not his, that he belonged to England he would learn quickly the taste of blade and drýcræft.

September 1774

Philadelphia, Colony of Pennsylvania

First Continental Congress

"America, did you hear? The Resolves are going to a vote. You should come back inside."

America looked up at the speaker, somewhat surprised and delighted to see Patrick Henry. He enjoyed listening to him speak about all the dreams he had for the future, his unrest at the behavior England was showing towards all of them. Although, America had to admit that some of his ideas were a little frightening to contemplate. America had been sitting under a tree in a courtyard nearby Carpenters' Hall, where the meeting was being held. The fall was progressing around him in the crunch of red and yellow leaves underfoot. They'd been in session for several weeks now and it was nearing October, the crispness of winter beginning to slip into the air. All of the arguments that had come forth in the meeting were making America's head spin. Men had come from all of the colonies except Georgia. He couldn't really blame them, there was trouble with the tribes and they needed help. Would his people be able to fight them off on their own? That question made him shift a little, suddenly uncomfortable in his seat on the ground.

"Do you think anything will come of it?"

"You might get to hear the Massachusettsmen take the philosophical high road again." They smiled at each other. America had to admit he liked their vehemence in defending his rights, but the New Englanders did tend to rub the aristocratic southern men the wrong way. The South Carolinians were particularly vocal about the lack of courtesy and gentlemanly procedure.

America sighed. Henry offered him a hand, "If Britain concedes to the Resolves that are passed you'll want to have been there when we decide." America took the hand up and dusted off his clothes. He followed the Virginian back into the hall where another reading of the draft Resolves was underway. America liked its full title, The Declaration of Colonial Rights, and hoped that England would give him a chance.

The letter that had come along with the Intolerable Acts had been as intolerable as the taxes themselves. America had barely read through it before crumpling and tossing it into the fire. He had sent one message back that correspondence could not continue due to the high costs of paper due to the taxation. He had gotten a sort of glib satisfaction at letting him know that just because Parliament had repealed some of the taxes he wasn't still angry. He wished England would come and talk to him. He would take the yelling, if England was here it would mean that America could at least yell back. It had been over a decade since he'd seen him, not the longest they'd been apart but the most volatile. It was the first time he'd really felt abandoned.

Rights of Englishmen. Rights of self government. All the rights that those across the Atlantic enjoyed. The word subjugation, freedom, law and others swirled.

"From what it sounds like Mr. Adams, is that you advocate for not only asserting our God given rights, but for a break from the Mother Country!"

"I think, Mr. Dickinson, that it is only wise to consider that independence may be the only recourse!" Any reply was caught up in many voices speaking at once.

Independence. The word bounced around in America's mind. Several times he had stood on the edge of a cliff or near the drop of a waterfall. He wondered what it would feel like if he jumped. The thrill, the fear that he would be hurt would all wash away for a moment between leaving solid ground and meeting the water below. That was what this felt like. Wondering if the water would be deep enough if he jumped.

He glanced around the room. Many of the delegates had left their seats and Mr. Peyton Randolph, the elected President, was trying to restore some sense of order. Sitting quietly a few seats away from him was Mr. Washington. They had exchanged a few words since both arriving in Philadelphia, America being pulled in so many directions by the delegates. America walked the few paces and set his chair next to him.

"Hello Mr. Washington." America took in that he was wearing his military uniform. He resisted the urge to call him Lieutenant Colonel as he had so many years ago.

"Hello America." Washington had always been soft spoken and even now America could barely hear him over all the noise.

"Why the uniform?" America had heard that Mr. Washington was on his way to becoming quite the Virginia gentleman. He had married a wealthy widow and been making reasonable money in land speculation. America wondered about the woman he had married. Marriage always made him curious, ever since England had taught him it was a rare institution between nations.

Washington turned to him. America was pleased to realize that his latest growth spurt put him almost eye to eye with the tall man. "For when they make the decision to defend you and if we decide we need to fight for our rights."

America glanced down at the floor, "Do you think that will happen?"

"What do you think? You know Britain himself better than we do." America laced his fingers together, considering. England was angry, there was no doubt about that. America was angry too. There had been several incidents where British soldiers had killed his people during protests. He looked up from his hands to see John Adams arguing with several of the Pennsylvanians, his cousin Samuel beside him. America remembered John in the courtroom, arguing for the British soldiers that had killed those men and boys in Boston. Sam had called them murderers, John had proved it was an accident. The judges and jury of Boston had declared the red coats not guilty four years ago. However, England had retaliated by taking America's ability to try cases of that kind in the colonies and dissolving the Massachusetts Assembly. England had called him a child.

Do they think us too young, too unprincipled to understand justice? John Adams had said those things with the same sense of indignation that America had felt. America had asked and got no word from England at all.

Washington waited patiently as he thought. "I don't know." America said, knowing it was the truth, "He's treated me like a subject for years, instead of the brothers that we are. I can't predict what he will do, I never expected any of this."

Washington nodded, "Then I will do what must be done."

"Thank you." America could never be sure, but Washington seemed to smile.

Any attempt to restore order was only half successful. America listened for a while, then looked for an opportunity to excuse himself. H wanted to walk down to the docks, perhaps an ocean breeze could clear his head. A recess was called and America slipped out before anyone could come over and speak to him. He pulled his tricorn low over his eyes so no one would be able to tell him from any other tall youth that wandered among the merchants and fishermen.

He found a relatively quiet stretch of shoreline, some distance from the piers. He could see large ships out in the harbor some flying naval flags and others merchant, many with the Union Jack tall on their masts. I wonder if nations get to choose their flags… or if we somehow inherit them. Maybe I will know someday. America had thought to walk down to the beach and sit but found he was too anxious. Staring down at the cliff called independence required walking.

That was said in a moment of passion… it doesn't mean they will propose it. He thought, watching the impressions his feet made on the sand. You would have to fight England then… Washington's question flew back into the fore of his brain. Would England fight him to put him in his place? Would he, America, stand against him… would he be able to? He didn't want to need to, that much he was sure. I want him to hear me.

"America."

Hopefully the Resolves will get him to at least pay attention…

"America!"

Is there anything I should suggest they add? Should I write a letter to him?

"America!" Canada's voice finally penetrated his thoughts and he turned. Canada was following his footsteps down the beach after him. America opened his arms to embrace his twin.

"What brings you here? Aren't you trying to get the rest of your crops in before the snows come?" America said, deciding it sounded far more diplomatic than asking, 'what are you doing here?'

Canada pulled back from him, gesturing that they could continue walking. "I didn't hear from you since that incident last December."

"Incident? If you are referring to the Boston tea party, I'm not talking about it with you. I've already had word about it with England, by letter of course since he's too busy to come and see me." He didn't bother to disguise the bitterness in his voice.

Canada was silent for a moment. "I know. The entirety of his last letter was all about you."

America turned on his heel to stomp away. He called over his shoulder, "Of course he still writes to you. Telling him everything I do are you? Is that why you came?" Canada grabbed his arm, swinging him around to face him.

"I am not his spy!"

"I'll remember that." America replied, sarcastic. Canada flushed with anger, but America cut him off before he could say anything. "Did you really just want to see me?" He was shocked by the sound of hope in his voice.

Canada nodded, "I have a feeling England will tell me not to soon enough… although I probably would come anyway… I think he knows… this assembly you are holding, it isn't exactly legal…"

"It is and it isn't."

"America…"

"I can't just sit by… he apparently only hears me when I'm shouting."

"I think you should be careful it doesn't come to blows."

America stared at his brother. "What makes you say that?"

"You. And him."

"What did he say?"

Canada sighed, "Neither of you have to say anything. I've known both of you practically my entire existence. Just… please reconcile with him. If I don't have to see war again for 100 years I would be most happy."

"I'll consider it." Canada frowned at him. America shrugged. "I said I will consider it and I will. If you really are here to visit me than my conditions are you can't talk to me about England and you can't tell him anything you may overhear."

Canada gave him a wary, considering look. Suspicious shone plainly in his eyes and America knew he wanted to ask exactly what the illegal congress was talking about, but said nothing beyond agreeing.

A few days went by rather companionably, each careful not to speak about politics. Canada seemed happy enough to remain at the house when he went to check on how the talks progressed.

The Congress seemed to move at a snail's pace, any progress one day undone by an argument the next. America looked greedily through every notice and newspaper he could find for word that was going on elsewhere, if decisions were being made via colonial assembly or armed uprising. He made sure that he never shared any news with Canada, lest it get back to England more directly.

Finally, he decided that he would wait and see how the congress played out… but from afar. Canada headed home in the first week of October and America headed further south, eager to learn if the news of discontent was accurate.

October 25, 1774

Edonton, Colony of North Carolina

The North Carolinians were holding their own congress. America listened to the discussion for days. There had been trouble here and there, battle lines being drawn, politically at least. A great stir occurred at the arrival of dozens of women, coming to show their support of the boycotts. They presented a document, signed by over fifty women in protest of the taxation on tea and cloth. They were unafraid of England knowing their names, and that made America feel brave.

The letters and other petitions were sealed up and set on a ship to go across the Atlantic and hopefully return with remittance. America was invited to Mrs. Penelope Barker's home for dinner. He was happy to be in the company of someone who had done something so unprecedented and extraordinary by organizing the local women to support a political stance. The food was simple, evidence that they held to the boycott of all British goods, but heartwarming. It felt good to leave the cold rooms of politics to the warmth of a home. He could, for just a moment, pretend to be human.

He was nearly drifting off on the sofa of the sitting room when Mrs. Barker settled down with her sewing on one of the arm chairs. She had just bid the rest of the guests goodbye and her husband had gone off to bed. America felt further lulled by the quiet methodology of her work. He watched her mend holes in rather worn shirts and breeches, sometimes deeming one or the other a lost cause and using the better bits for patches. The rest was relegated into strips for rags.

"Is it very hard, to hold to the boycotts?"

She stopped, settling the white cloth over her skirts. "Men are not the only ones that can have principles they wish to defend. It is no little thing, but it is just. We women will suffer for it either way, with unlawful taxes or doing without. You are pleased aren't you? You seemed rather cheerful all day."

"Spending time with your family has been much more delightful than listening to people quoting philosophers all day." She laughed. "I was happy to be with you, like being part of a family."

She gave him a curious look. "Do you not have a family, America?"

"Not the way humans do. Canada is my brother, we look almost exactly alike… and England, I called him brother and he sort of raised me."

"What does he think of all this? What the King and Parliament have been doing to us, to you?"

"He thinks it is beyond my place to demand anything. He treats me as if I was a little boy… He wasn't always like that though. I used to be really happy to see him. I'd wait and wait and then he would arrive and everything would change. He'd bring new things and new learning and… I just liked seeing him."

"It sounds like you love him a great deal."

Her words surprised him, he'd never thought about it so simply. "Maybe that's why I am so angry at him."

"Let us hope that he hears us then, so that families shall not be torn asunder. Yours included, America." She picked up her mending again and started to work. America watched the fire for some time.

He wanted to hope that everything would be well, he wanted to believe it with all his heart. Yet, the last image he had of England was being commanded to the rear forts, not allowed to share the victory he had helped win. An ally when it was convenient, an expedient to an end. A subject when his usefulness was done, not family, not a brother.

Hear me, England… I don't want to hurt you… but I will do what I have to do.

The next morning he was offered a cloth from some of the women. "What is it?"

"A flag. For you." He looked at it, red stripes on white cloth and couldn't think of anything to say.