Chapter 2: False Fronts

Risk is trying to control something you are powerless over. -Eric Clapton

Walking down the hallways with the creaking wood beneath his feet, Alfred laughed softly to himself. It never seemed to matter what house he found himself occupying- the floor boards would always creek. The sound was practically a signature of the places he called home. Even when he wasn't quite as tall and even the smallest of Arthur's shirts fit him like dresses, the young colony could always make the wooden flooring make that old sound. It always made games of hiding with his brother unfair, he remarked with amusement. Arthur always knew where he was.

Standing above a particularly weak piece of hardwood, Alfred rocked his weight back and forth, producing more of the pressured sound. Sometimes he could tell what house he was in immediately depending on the sounds of the flooring. Adams had scolded him on retaining such useless information when the teen should have been focused on the impending trade agreements with Francis.

The supposedly 'useless' information, however, proved incredibly useful when Alfred was trying to figure out which house he was in during his dreams.

For instance, Alfred was almost positive this was his old home in Virginia. The floorboard that he currently was testing was the weakest part of the flooring located in the west side of the house. As a child, it had been easy to memorize the sturdiness of the new ground- determining which boards produced the most sound, and which ones produced none at all.

"Wonder why England never got it fixed..." Alfred wondered out loud, looking down at the almost insignificant boards.

"It was because he never had time for nothing besides his work."

Alfred stopped his movement, his eyes still fixed on his feet. It was back. The voice he could never see. The person it belonged to gone before Alfred could get a look at him.

The Voice, as the blond had dubbed it, was male with a southern lisp from what he had been able to gather. Most of the time, it would only affect the grammar of the sentences he was trying to convey. Other times it sounded as though the Voice had stepped straight off a carriage from Mississippi; the accent almost foreign and incomprehensible to most ears.

But if there was one thing that Alfred knew for sure about the Voice, it was that it had something out for him.

Prepared for his next encounter with the entity that had been haunting his dreams for the past few months, the teen did not turn to face the source of the Voice. Instead, he forced his attention to the end of the hallway to the door leading to Arthur's former study, determined to not repeat his mistakes. "Guess so, huh? Think he would have if I told him it started popping up in my dreams?"

When he received no answer, Alfred panicked, afraid that he had lost the Voice again. "How come you're never there when I turn around?"

There was a strange pause, time altered so that the nation could not determine how long he had been waiting before he heard the answer. "'Cus you never look in the right places."

"Right places?" Alfred asked, confusion written on his expression. "I don't get it. You're always right behind me, but when I turn around no one's there. Why? I'm starting to think you're just me- like my subconscious or whatever."

Another silence followed, and the blond sighed in defeat. Soon he would wake up, his question never answered and more questions would be mushrooming where there should have been answers. It was becoming something like a goose-chase. Sooner or later it would become routine until Alfred was able to figure out what the hell was going on, and the end seemed like miles off-

An all too familiar creek sounded behind him, bringing the young man's musings to a terrifying halt.

There was no time to think, no time to react as a warm breath caught his ear and the now dangerously close Voice whispered in his ear- the warmth of another's presence far too real. "Mudsill, when this is all said and done, you're gunna be wishin' for the days when I was just a voice."

When Alfred regained hold of his wits, he was sitting upright in his bed, breath labored, skin pale, and sweating as if he had spoken to the devil himself.

Springfield, Illinois, August 23, 1860

As much as it pained him to be wrong, Ms. Evans was right. Alfred looked like a dead man walking, and it could hardly be blamed on the uncomfortable suit he was being forced to wear. The nation was unable to fall back to sleep after his nightmare, and was only able to after the sun decided to rise from the eastern horizon.

When his housemaid had come to collect her employer and send him downstairs for breakfast, the poor woman was given quite the fright when she was greeted by the sight of the teen sprawled on the floor along with his sheets. His eyes bloodshot and prominent bags hanging below them, the maid concluded that Alfred had barely slept a wink, and had suggested that he cancel his meeting for today.

Alfred of course was completely against this.

The two had continued to argue while breakfast was served; Ms. Evans worried about the boy's health and the aforementioned was too stubborn to admit that he was anything other than perfectly alright. Even as the blond was getting dressed in his after his meal, his maid urged him to reconsider from the other side of his bedroom door.

"Mr. Jones, please answer me at least this: what is so important that you feel the need to go out when you are clearly unwell?" she had asked to the door, arms crossed in frustration.

"Hildie I told you, I have a letter to Mr. Lincoln that they needed me to deliver! Super important government business, remember?" The muffled reply came, his voice clouded by the shirt over his head and the door separating the two parties.

While this was in no way a lie, the older woman was not pleased with his excuse. "I'm sure Mr. Lincoln wouldn't mind the absence of company for once. You know how that man is- always in his home; never going out for campaigns; he's practically a recluse! Surely you can send some delivery boy in your place? The man wouldn't care either way and the letter would be delivered!"

The door then opened suddenly, Alfred standing in the doorway with his suit on but his tie disarray. "It's kinda complicated. I just have to be the one who delivers it. I mean, who wouldn't want to meet me?"

Thus, after another hour of making the teen look at least half-way presentable, Alfred found himself walking up the pathway to the now infamous Springfield home of the Republican presidential candidate. All the while cursing the fact that Ms. Evans was probably correct in her suggestion that he stay home.

Even after three hours since 'waking up', Alfred knew he didn't look too great. When he looked into the mirror earlier there was no missing the lack of color in his features and the obvious fatigue that seemed to radiate off of him. He had even fallen asleep during the carriage ride to the house, and had to be awoken by the rather awkward driver. The short nap he had taken had destroyed what little neatness had been preserved in his hair, now leaving his blond locks sticking out in odd angles.

In short, he looked like he just woke up.

Skipping another step and playing with the letter in his hands, Alfred hoped the man would not remember the youth from their brief encounter in Washington. Buchanan warned if he did, that the meeting should be cut short to avoid any unnecessary suspicion concerning Alfred's true identity.

Honestly, it was a miracle that the personification was let out in pubic at all with that sort of attitude governing his life.

Allowing the issue to exit his thoughts temporary, Alfred caught the final step to the front door. The house was not lavish by the area's standards, and the red door and large green windows proved to be the only remarkable features about the building. Had it not been for the man who lived inside, the beige house would not have been anything anyone would have looked twice at.

But while it was not incredibly large or extravagant, the nation could tell it was a home.

Knocking three times, Alfred smiled at the large red door, allowing his cheerful demeanor to cover any exhaustion he may have still felt. After all, he was being given not only the opportunity to meet his possible future president, but also visit his home and (hopefully) meet his family while he was there.

So, as soon as the door opened, the teen had barely a thought before he greeted his unknown welcomer. "Hello! I'm A-"

"Excuse me, I don't remember Mr. Lincoln saying he had made any appointments with the press today."

Startled at the interruption, Alfred looked down at the woman standing in the doorway. She was not old per say; well into her years, early forties at worst, and held an air of maturity about her. Her dark brown hair tied into a neat bun, exposing her rounded face and sharp expression. However, the most notable feature about his 'welcomer' was the unexpected glare and obvious annoyance being thrown in the teen's direction.

He realized he had to say something quick. "Actually I'm-"

"Pardon? From a different newspaper you say? Believe me young man, I have heard a many excuses to try and trick me into letting people like you into this house without any sort of notification. Either you send a telegram or letter in advance, and then you may be given an arranged interview time. You can tell that to your colleagues back in Washington or wherever you came from!" The woman snapped at him, gripping her dress with tight fists.

Alfred took a step back, raising his hands in surrender if only to cut the rant short before he lost his chance to explain the situation. "I'm very sorry Ma'am, but-"

"Sorry! I will accept an apology once you get your raggedy hind off of my property!" She cut yet again, taking a step towards the man clearly twice her size.

Contrary to what would be told later, Alfred most certainly did not take a step away from her. That would have meant that he was intimidated by her- and nations did not get intimidated by their own citizens. Instead, he remained firmly in his spot and kept his hands raised while he tried to negotiate in a way that did not end in his ass being kicked into the Atlantic. "Ma'am, I swear I'm not a scout for a newspaper or anything! I have a letter for Mr. Lincoln!"

Thankfully, this caught the rampaging woman's attention and she stopped in her advance. "A letter?"

"Yeah! It's from Mr. Haycraft- they sent me to deliver it!" Alfred exclaimed, holding up the folded envelope for further proof of his innocence.

Eyeing the nation with an air of suspicion, she snatched the letter from the blond's hand, looking over it a few times over. Alfred anxiously waited for her answer, and was thankfully not kept waiting long in the warm August air for too long.

"... Very well. I believe you." she finally said, turning back into the house while continuing to inspect the letter for some unknown reason. At first, Alfred wasn't sure as to what he should do as he stood at the doorway, but not a few seconds later the woman called to him from across the hall. "That means you can come in, boy!"

The teen did not need to be told a second time as he hurried inside and closed the door behind him.

Hanging up his jacket on the nearby racket, Alfred allowed his curiosity to get the better of him and took a quick look at the other rooms from the main hallway. There was the expected entertainment room for guests, along with smaller living areas. From where he stood, the nation could not see the kitchen or any other rooms, but assumed that if he ventured further down one of the branching hallways he would find plenty of other spaces. He was also confident that if he were to take the flight of stairs not too far from where he stood, he would find bedrooms and perhaps a study like Arthur had once had in their second home in New York.

Adjusting his collar, he wondered if there were any children in the home. If there were, all the usual sounds that accompanied the sound of family life were absent. The only thing left in their stead was the faint smell of wood and books, along with the footsteps of the now calm woman ahead of him.

"I feel as though I must apologize for my assumptions earlier. You see, my husband has been very busy lately running his campaign from his office. He does not have the time like he used to; visitors had to be kept to a manageable level to restore some inkling of organization in this household." She spoke up, gesturing for her guest to follow.

Tagging not two steps behind her, Alfred nodded in agreement before it dawned upon him what she had just implied before that. "Wait, you're his wife?"

The now realized 'Mrs. Lincoln' huffed in aggravation at the boy's ignorance. "Who did you think I was? Honestly, men these days grow more foolish by the generation."

Having the decency to blush in embarrassment, Alfred scratched his head as he continued. "A-anyway! So that means you're Miss Mary Lincoln right?"

"That's Mary Ann Todd Lincoln, to you. I did have a name before I met my husband, you know. My existence wasn't just suddenly given purpose when I met the man. I am a woman with a life and a history too." she pointed out, turning the corner to another hallway.

Turning an even deeper shade of red, Alfred sputtered at his mistake. "I'm awfully sorry Miss Mary-"

"Oh, you're never sorry until after I berate you on such mistakes, are you? I suppose I should expect this by now." She paused to sigh. "Hopefully there may be a day when ladies are not defined by the men they marry."

Leaving the dumbstruck teen in her wake, Mary turned to a closed door and knocked twice. "Abraham, you have a letter for you. From Mr. Haycraft he says."

The rustling of papers and a familiar voice could be heard from within the closed room. "Send him in."

With a swift turn of the doorknob, Mary opened the door and all but shoved Alfred inside, earning her a yelp of surprise from the latter. She looked over to the the figure sitting at his desk and announced,"I'll show the young man out when you two are finished." before closing the door behind her.

Staring at the now closed door for a moment, Alfred took a look around the obvious office space. The room was cluttered with papers and books, and for a moment it felt like he was intruding in on a library; it certainly smelled like one. His attention turned to the hunched over man sitting at his desk across the room, currently engrossed in a book. If he turned his head, Alfred could almost be sure that it was a law book of sorts.

The politician, taking off his reading glasses and scratching his beard, lifted his head and greeted his visitor with a smile. "Hello my boy. I hope my wife-" he stopped short, squinting slightly before rising from his chair, a shocked expression clearly written upon his face.

Please don't remember me. Please don't remember me. Please don't remember me.

"Jones?" Lincoln's question broke the silence, as the man took a few steps around his desk. "You're Mr. Alfred Jones, are you not?"

Shit.

"Uh... Am I? Huh, that's weird." Alfred blurt out, his brain evidently deciding it would fail him when he needed it most.

The candidate blinked and took a few steps closer, his attention far from the letter that was to be delivered to him. "Then you are Jones! We met in Washington some years ago, do you not remember? You were the young man who informed me of the caning of Mr. Sumner, as I recall."

"Um... Well uh... I think?" Alfred tried, putting on his most innocent looking face. "I mean, everybody told everybody when it happened, so I don't know if I told you! I told anybody who would listen! I even told a stray cat!"

"Jones, I remember that night as clear as what I had for breakfast this morning. I know it was you, and that I informed you of my name before we parted ways."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Lincoln!"

"Jones, I have been a politician for years and a father of many children. I like to believe I have become very good at telling when people are lying to me."

"What! I'm not lying! I swear on my great-grandfather's grave!"

"... You're making a habit of it."

"Making a habit of what?"

"Looking everywhere but myself. My youngest son has the same quirk. He refuses to look his mother in the eye when he has gotten himself into trouble and does not wish to be caught, just as you are doing right now."

"I am not!"

"Then I ask that you meet my eyes and tell me that we have not met before."

"You cannot be serious!"

"Surely if you have nothing to hide this will be of no trouble to you."

"I thought I was here because the letter!"

"Humor me."

A stalemate was reached between the two parties, as both knew there were only a limited number of ways the conversation had yet to go. Alfred took a deep breath and looked the bearded man in the eye, opening his mouth to deny all claims against him.

And then he shut his mouth.

And then he took another breath and opened his mouth once more.

Before shutting it again.

At this point, Lincoln had an amused smile on his face, his eyebrow raised in contemplation. "Well?"

"I'm getting there, hold on!" Alfred retorted, wondering why it was so hard to look the man in the eye and complete his well prepared lie. It had not been the first time he had to lie to his government officials about his identity, in fact he had done it several times over. Washington had thus far been the only president who had known before his election, as it was rather difficult to lie to a man who had been your brother-in-arms for the better part of ten years.

Sometimes he really wished being a personification was a bit easier.

"Well, when you feel that you are ready I will be awaiting your answer. While I wait, would you mind terribly if I read that letter you mentioned earlier?" Lincoln queried, holding his hand out.

"The letter? Oh yeah, sure." Alfred responded absent-mindedly, handing him the letter before returning to his thoughts.

While the country pondered his position and the best possible story to give the Republican, said man returned to his desk to read the contents of the message that was delivered to him. The two stayed like this for what could only be assumed was the next half hour, both men engrossed in their current task at hand. At some point, Lincoln had finished reading his note, and pulled out a piece of spare paper in preparation for a response. Soon, the soft scratch of pen on paper could be the only thing heard in the study, save for the occasional mumbling from Alfred.

From his corner of the space, the host suppressed a smile to the best of his abilities. However curious it was that Jones would deny all connections to himself, Lincoln was amused by the failed attempt to do so. He is undoubtedly a strange boy, he thought to himself as he searched for a spare envelope. But there is something different about him. Something he is hiding in plain sight.

What would later be confirmed to be 42 minutes and 18 seconds since the blond's arrival into the office, the silence was finally broken by the more likely of the two. "I've got it!" Alfred exclaimed, his eyes lighting up as if he had solved a very complicated puzzle. "It was a dream!"

The politician had been halfway through sealing his response letter when he was spoken to and lifted his head with a look of sarcastic inquiry. "A dream, you say?"

"Yes! You dreamed that you met someone like me, so you think you met me- but you really just heard my name somewhere and took a wild guess. Am I right?" Alfred questioned, as if he were not the one trying to convince the other of his story.

Lincoln had a inquisitive look upon his face before turning his attention back to his letter. "A very likely scenario, Jones. It is surely what transpired." he folded the paper in his hands once more, "While we are on the subject of sleep, I find the act eluding me as of late. Have you had much success?"

Still delighted that his explanation had been accepted, Alfred allowed his answer to come out with a single thought to his facade. "Sleep? Please, I'm lucky if I get more than a few hours a week with all those stupid nightmares!"

With the envelope sealed, the senior of the put away his pen with a composed indifference. "Nightmares?"

"Yeah, my maid's been on my back for ages now. Says I need to take it easy with the politics for once. Jimmy's been sending people to check on me every once in a while, but with everything going to hell and the election in November I just can't relax as much as I used to, you know?" Alfred prattled, recognizing that his weariness was taking a tole on his energy.

"I'm sure that every man upon this land is worried for the days to come in politics. It is not healthy to fret over an uncontrollable future, you must remember this Jones. I cannot say the situation of this nation will improve from this day forward, but I can promise you that what will transpire was meant to happen." Lincoln insisted, his eyes fixed on the teen's troubled expression.

"I guess, but-" Alfred began, before he was interrupted by a hand resting on his shoulder. Not even noticing he had lowered it, he raised his head and met the troubled gaze of the man he hadn't even heard rise from his seat and make his way across the room.

Giving the youth's shoulder a soft squeeze, the once lawyer gave a soft look of understanding that Alfred had not seen in centuries. "There are many things that not even the highest of men can prevent. If I become the president of this country, no matter the risk it possesses, I do not wish to be remembered as a man who did not do what he believed was right. Nor would I wish any man to suffer from the opposition between what is right, and what is better for the whole.

"Alfred Jones, there are moments when man must decide what he is willing to choose- equality or order. Whatever choice he may make must not be out of what he thinks will please others, but what he feels is right in his own heart."

If Lincoln took notice of the way Alfred's eyes looked far too old for a boy of his age, he said nothing as he placed the response letter into the latter's hands. There was a heavy stillness to the room as blue eyes searched brown for a solution to a silent fear, an unspoken message being relayed to the other.

It was the taller of the two to break the moment, as he gestured to the door with a smile before turning back to his desk and the nearly forgotten book he had been reading earlier. "But priorities ought to be sorted out first. Go get some rest my boy; tomorrow will wait until you are ready to face it."

Alfred spoke only a few words to Mary as he was escorted out of the home, vaguely remembering bidding the lady a good day before making his way back to the carriage that awaited him outside.

To say Alfred's mind was silent would be a lie, but to say it was cluttered would not be the truth. It was as if long lost conviction that had once made the nation who he was was returning to him; each bump in the road on his way back to his home bringing new light upon the situation.

Perhaps he could not do what was best, but he could do what was right. And hadn't that been the way it always had been?

It was at the intersection of East Adams and Cressey Street that America laughed a shaky yet relieved chortle; the last time anyone would hear the sound for years to come.

Historical Explanation in the Order in Which They Appear:

1. The term 'mudsill' is actually an outdated name that Southerners used to use for Northerners during the time of the Civil War. While they were known to use the word 'Yankee' quite commonly as their main derogatory name for the people from the North, the name 'mudsill' was among this various nicknames developed among the South; 'mudsill' being the equivalent of a lowlife.

2. Mini Story: As I was selecting a date for the meeting to take place between Alfred and Lincoln, I chose the date August 23rd for no other reason than the fact that I was lacking inspiration at the beginning and selected my mother's birthday as a place holder. However, as I conducted research on the date (August 23, 1860), imagine my surprise when I discovered something actually occurred on that date! Here it is: on August 23, 1860 Lincoln wrote a reassurance letter to a Mr. Samuel Haycraft in response to the implication that Lincoln was too afraid to travel to Kentucky to campaign due to the threat of violence- which Lincoln denied in his letter.

3. Mary Ann Todd Lincoln was the first and only wife of Abraham Lincoln and would have his four children during her lifetime. The youngest at the time, William Wallace Lincoln, was mentioned briefly by Lincoln during the meeting. Now, Mary Ann Todd Lincoln was nothing like the women of her time, as she was known to be not only ill-tempered, but high-strung, assertive, mercurial, and overall badass. Of course, she loved her children dearly and cared for her husband more than anyone else; it just didn't always show under the slew of not-so tact remarks she had a hard time keeping under control.

4. If you wish to have more info on the Caning of Charles Sumner, I direct you to the prologue.

And now, for our moment of thanks!

Amy Kitty Katz: I'm glad someone still reads the historical explanations for any of my easter eggs! (I was beginning to think people just skipped that part.) I'm glad you enjoy my story!

Youngbountygirl: I appreciate that you recognize the deeper aspects of my story! Not many Hetalians tackle the true meaning of what being a national personification really entails, and even fewer write stories based off it - much to my dismay. Hima does this surprisingly a lot, his most notable example being his France strip of 'Je m'en vais, mais l'état demeurera toujours'. The fact that you took notice my efforts to historical play and more serious topics instead of shipping makes me very happy!

(And remember, all reviews, comments, and corrections are loved and appreciated)