November 1, 1863

Chicago, Illinois

"All ashore!" Crowed the crewman, cupping his hands around his mustachioed mouth to better shout above the crowded deck of passengers. "All ashore. Welcome to Chicago, ladies and gentlemen."

"Oh excuse me, sir," the crewman stopped when a passenger tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to find a young man, perhaps seventeen or eighteen, who seemed to be traveling alone.

"Yes, sir?"

"I have a ticket for a ship operated by this same company, tonight, bound for Buffalo," the teen said, "the Endeavor. May I have my things moved to the right cabin there?"

"Of course, sir, may I see your ticket?"

"Yes, here," the boy handed it over, and the crewman reviewed it expertly.

"Matthew Wiliams, Cabin 14B." He looked up and gave a smile behind his formidable whiskers. "I'll let the crew know straightaway, sir," he handed back the ticket, tipped his hat and continued on his way. "All ashore! All ashore at the Port of Chicago!"

"Thank you very much," Matthew turned back to the railing, where passengers both American and Canadian were pressing against the railing all around him to watch the skyline of Chicago grow closer. After a year in British Columbia, Matthew was being sent back East. Toronto was his final destination, where Arthur and his governors had been begging for answers in what appeared to be Confederate seditionists stirring up trouble along the border. However, since no one had told him exactly when to arrive in Toronto, he'd taken the liberty of a detour south of the border.

Matthew had been to Chicago once before, but it'd been decades, and the city seemed to have exploded since then. Coat tightly buttoned against the lakeside winds, Matthew had to hold his hat onto his head as he jogged down the gangway. Once on street level, the world was a maze of buildings and carts, carriages and pedestrians. Matthew reached into his pocket for the pamphlet stashed there, holding onto the paper hard so it wouldn't fly away in the wind as he read the street directions. NORTHWESTERN SOLDIER'S FAIR—CHICAGO ILLINOIS—OCT. 27 THROUGH NOV. 7. COME SUPPORT THE BRAVE MEN OF THE UNION

Finding the fair was not difficult, getting into the fair was a bit more of a challenge. The grounds were swarming with people, largely women, girls, and older folks. Many had children running around underfoot, and all of them were crowding the tents so that Matthew had to jostle for a spot among the masses.

"Momma look, look, momma, momma, it's a sword!" A little boy was jumping up and down and pointing up at a weapons display. A longsuffering woman knelt by him and took his sticky hand in hers and drew it away from the display.

"Yes, dear, my how vicious it is!" She plucked the child up and held him up for a better look as Matthew squeezed past.

"Can I have a sword, momma?" This drew a laugh from his mother.

"Maybe when you're older, dear."

"You ought to hope he doesn't need them," Matthew whispered to himself solemnly, looking up and around at the lengthy displays. The curtained displays were replete with parade-worthy Union artillery: muskets, swords, trumpets, drums, even a few cannonballs—all polished and gilded and finely put out. And then, next to it, a display of spoils from the southern rebels: tattered battle flags, rusted swords, dirty and hideously chipped bowie knives, cutlasses, guns and bayonets.

"So savage," said a young woman, arm in arm with another young maiden and whispering as they passed.

"Truly, I've heard that all the Southerners are so."

"He's not your brother any more than I will be his slave," Matthew hurried past, letting the crowd's noise drown out the sounds of his memory.

"Fresh iced cream and strawberries," called a matronly woman from a stand nearby as she hoisted a new bucket onto the table. "Fresh iced cream and strawberries!"

"Excuse me, miss," Matthew went over, "how much?" he indicated the freshly scooped bowls.

"Twenty-five cents," she told him, and while Matthew's eyebrows raised at the exorbitant price, he didn't hesitate to fish around in his pockets for the coins. Just as he was about to deposit them in her upturned palm, he hesitated.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, glancing at the coins, "I only have Canadian—do you take…?"

"We take all kinds, dear," she assured, and he handed over the money. She whisked it away into an apron pocket and smiled at him. "Thank you, sir, for supporting our brave boys. Enjoy."

Matthew found a quiet corner where he could enjoy his iced cream and strawberries and watch the people mill around. Circus performers, Indians, musicians, hawkers and craftspeople hurried from place to place, surrounded by a sea of everyday people braving the brisk Chicago winds for the fair. The grand parade had been back in October, but with only a week left open, the fair was still packed to capacity, all money piling up in coffers bound for the Union Army. There were booths and tables packed with foods for sale, drinks, sugar treats and handmade goods. There was artwork and needlepoint, some depicting American heroes. The tent itself was bedecked in Union colors and flags galore, dripping from the tent poles and across every booth.

He knew that some of his people, much like many of Arthur's, wanted the Confederacy to claim victory and shatter the monolith of the United States. He knew that, intellectually, part of him should want it, too. After all, the United States could not annex Canada if it were beaten down by war and broken in half. Yet despite all logic of self interest, Matthew's heart went out to these Union families and all their men were fighting for. He shared too much in common with Alfred and his people to ever truly despise them, even when he knew he should.

"Oh, Al," Matthew said amid the noise. "I wish you could see this."

"And what about you?" snapped someone.

"Mother, no,"

"Huh?" Matthew looked up. A young woman—a widow, by the looks of her dress—was trying to shepherd away an older woman, who was glaring at Matthew at pointing with her thin walking cane.

"Pardon?" He said politely. "Can I help you, ma'am?"

"I'm so sorry," the widow began, hands full and eyes apologetic. "My mother-in-law is excitable, please forgive us, sir,"

"I said what's your excuse, hmm?" Said the matron to Matthew, fighting her way over. "My boys, my sweet boys, they signed up, they fought for their country, they died for their country, even before there was a draft. And you?" She jabbed her cane again. "A fit young man like you, standing here, eating strawberries and cream, what are you, a coward?"

"Not a coward, ma'am," Matthew told her firmly, holding his treat aside. "Only Canadian." The young widow turned red up to her ears, Matthew could see it even through her veil.

"I am so sorry, sir," she pulled on her mother-in-law's arm. The older woman wilted in sudden embarrassment, but there was a sheen of deep hurt in her face that drove Matthew to pity.

"My brother," he said, before they could retreat too far. "He's an American. He's… he died in the war, too," he said. It wasn't a lie, after all. The widow's embarrassment turned to sympathy.

"Where?" She asked.

"Antietam." He glanced at the older woman, who had averted her eyes, looking sad. "I'm very sorry for your loss, both of you. I know it's not easy." Hesitantly, he raised his iced cream. "Victory to the Union," he said. The ladies smiled, gave a demure 'thank you', and quietly shuffled away.

Matthew spent the rest of the day milling about the fair, spending all seven dollars and fifty cents he'd packed into his coat pocket. He'd bought enough food for lunch and dinner, a tin of huckleberry sweets, a small handmade American flag, a gorgeous embroidered handkerchief set, and half a dozen other little treats, bits, and bobs that he did not need but could not pass up upon seeing the beseeching faces of their creators. If Arthur found out, he'd surely reprimand him for such extravagance, but Arthur was the furthest thing from his mind that day.

He returned to the port at dusk, laden with an empty wallet and pockets stuffed with knickknacks. All of his luggage was, thankfully, waiting for him aboard cabin 14B on the propeller ship Endeavor. Buffalo was two weeks away at best, and Toronto several days beyond that. Still, Matthew wasted no time. He went to the cabin's small writing desk and fished out stationary, a pen, and twine. He carefully packed together the huckleberry sweets, a handkerchief embroidered with a flourished blue "A", a handmade American flag—with all of its stars sewn back on—and wrapped them up in the fair pamphlet. He tied this up in twine, and in turn wrapped the whole package in the short letter he'd written:

You people love you, Alfred. They even took my Canadian dollars!

I pray every day for an end to this war and your full recovery.

Quickly, he wrapped up the package in more twine and scribbled out Alfred's Washington townhome address before he could think twice. Buffalo's post office was weeks away, and there was no telling when Alfred would next receive mail, but Matthew couldn't lose his nerve. It was the first time he'd written to Alfred since his visit the previous year. Seven dollars and fifty cents Canadian was not much, but he hoped that all the love and support of Alfred's people would see him through his hardships, even as Matthew himself was busy with his own worries north of the border. Perhaps, Matthew dared to hope, he would be fully himself again when he ate the sweets.

It was dark out by the time the ship's whistle shouted above. As the vessel pushed away from Chicago and set a course for Lake Erie, Matthew rose and dressed for bed.

Historical Notes:

1. The Northwestern Soldiers Fair in Chicago from October 27—November 7, 1863 was the first but definitely not the last fair of its kind. Put on by the United States Sanitary Commission, the fair was a fundraising event meant to purchase food and supplies for the bedraggled Union Army. It is of note that these events, which sprung up all over the Union, were put on almost entirely by women. The entertainment present at the events were arranged by society ladies, and the goods sold at the fair were usually handmade by homemakers, not unlike a modern bakesale or county fair. This first fundraising fair in Chicago raised around $100,000 USD, which in today's money, is somewhere in the neighborhood of $2,060,000! Never underestimate the power of 19th century housewives!

2. The Soldiers Fair (and other 'Sanitary Fairs' as they were called) did indeed involve huge parades, often of Union soldiers or veterans, musicians, etc. The displays of weaponry is also something that happened—fine, wonderful, 'civilized' Union armaments, and tattered, unkempt, 'savage' Confederate spoils of war. I think most people can agree that, all things considered, the Union was in various ways the morally superior belligerent of the Civil War, but that doesn't mean that they weren't guilty of some serious 'othering', massive biases against Southerners, and also, lest we forget, absolutely rampant racism. Mentioned in this chapter very briefly because I do not have the guts to get into it was the fact that, particularly in the midwest and on the plains, these fairs often involved artifacts of "Indian curiosities", a.k.a. stolen or purchased goods from local tribes that were put on display to gawk at. Some even put people on display, hiring or coercing members of local tribes to become involved in a kind of freak show. It's all very disgusting, really.

3. Oh, yes, the Confederates really did send people to the US/CAN border to stir up trouble in Toronto and other places! After Gettysburg and Vicksburg, the Confederates worked to do whatever they could to distract the U.S. Army from their southern enemy and provoke a fight between Canada and the Union. Not many people today know about this, which is in and of itself proof that their plan failed miserably.

4. It's worth noting that at this point in time, $1 USD = $1 CAN, which is a lucky exchange rate for Matthew. However, his measly little $7.50 in 1863 would today be worth somewhere around $150, so don't go thinking Matt is a cheapskate! He's really trying to help his brother out with what pocket change he has.

5. The Endeavor is an entirely fictional ship, but it is worth noting that by this time, propeller ships had at least partially replaced steamers ships in popularity for navigating the Great Lakes due to their more slender profiles, which allowed them to move more freely through all of the locks that connect the Lakes.

6. Huckleberry is a variety of berry native to North America. Though more prevalent in western regions, these berries can be found all around the Great Lakes and are common in both the U.S. and Canada. Dark red or purple in color and tart in flavor, these berries make excellent jams and jellies, and pleasantly tart candies. If you ever get the chance to try some huckleberry confectionaries, I recommend it!