Lookie here, another chapter!
We're moving on from all that funeral business, so the beginning's a bit of an explanation... and due to the lack of things I want to incorporate into this story between 1820 and 1840, there are some considerable year gaps. You have my apologies in advance.
First of all, thank you so much to RasalynnLynx, xxEu-chan, SpiritMusician, Oniongrass, WeAllFlyHigh, ShippudenFlower, SamanthaMeloes, Night's Flower, Ember Hinote, Sunako-s-wrath, and Jillo96 for your lovely reviews!
Also, thanks to PhantomMemories, booklover98, Xaria and Gelace and Dreampaw (all one person, apparently... or are you three in disguise?), SharinganWeasel, and WhitestormX, and again to SamanthaMeloes and Jillo98 for your favorites and alerts!
On with the story!
I disclaim, and own nothing.
1830
Alfred took one last look around his small room, checking that everything was in order. There were no objects on the shelves, no foodstuffs in the cabinets, no clothes in the closet, and no random things strewn about on the floor.
Bending down, he deposited the last of his books into a crate that his landlady had been kind enough to lend him. Smiling almost fondly down at them, he knew that that crate would be the heaviest of the lot. Law textbooks were not light by any stretch of imagination.
Hefting the full crate up with one arm, he hoisted it onto his shoulder. Grabbing the trunk that held his clothes and more important personal belongings with the other, he trundled down the stairs.
"Alfred! Put those boxes down this instant, you'll surely break your back!"
Glancing sideways at his landlady, Alfred flashed a cheerful grin. "Oh, I'm fine Ms. Spencer! They're not all that bad!" But at her twittering insistence, he put them down on the wood-paneled floor of the main dining hall.
He'd been staying in the same Boston apartment since the start of his first term at Harvard. It had started out as a one-week stint at the bed-and-breakfast, but Ms. Spencer (being the motherly type) had offered him a discount to stay on. When he explained that almost all of his savings were going towards paying the expensive Harvard tuition, she let him stay anyway, as long as he helped cook in the evenings.
And now, after so long in that now-familiar routine that he had centered his whole life around, he was leaving.
"Are you sure you have all of your things? If you left anything behind, I'll keep it for you, don't worry. Do you have a future address I could send it to you at? Speaking of which, you simply must write, Alfred dear, I can't stand the thought of never hearing from you again! And when you come back to Boston (do not give me that look, I know you will!), make sure to visit me, or I'll set Rupert on you!"
Alfred glanced over at Rupert. The dog in question was lying on the floor beside the door, most likely sleeping. He'd been quite energetic when Alfred had first arrived, but he was getting on in his years now. "Rupert would never agree to that, he's my buddy!" Alfred retorted.
"Quite right dear, quite right… now let me get you a hand with those things of yours. Truly, you've done a very good job of moving in!"
"I have lived here for ten years."
"I know, I almost can't believe you're leaving… And I still don't understand why you must! Boston isn't good enough for you, I suppose?"
Alfred sighed and looked away, having told the story hundreds of times already. After he'd finished up getting his degree at Harvard, he'd gone on to a paid internship-style job at the law firm of a man named Richards. He'd enjoyed working there enough, and he made enough money to get by fairly comfortably (helped by the fact that Ms. Spencer never did demand any rent). But right on cue, just as he'd settled down, he realized that he'd spent too long in one place. People at the firm had started whispering, and Alfred wasn't as oblivious to their comments as he pretended. Ms. Spencer was far too kind to say anything, but it was clear from her sidelong glances that she wondered.
And right now, rather than making him feel at home, Boston was making him jittery. It was a very different place from when he'd first lived there; the buildings were larger, the town itself had expanded beyond its original borders, and even the ships coming in to the port had undergone a change for the bigger. The sheer volume of cargo and the speed at which it was transported never ceased to amaze him.
Sometimes, he wished that the city would never change, had never changed.
But even America was changing, at a remarkably rapid pace. Since the War of 1812 had ended, Indiana, Mississippi, Illinois, Alabama, Maine, and Missouri had all become states. Jackson (the man who had won the Battle of New Orleans) had become President just the previous year, already the seventh in a country that was becoming very successful very quickly. It gave Alfred an undeniable sense of pride whenever he thought about it, mixed with an equally undeniable sadness that it was passing him by so fast.
In his mind, it was all the more reason to get away from Boston.
"It's fine," Alfred said, for the millionth time. "I just need something different."
Ms. Spencer huffed again, her skirts settling about her thin frame as she did so. "Well, we can't have you breaking your back before you come to your senses and stay here." Turning toward the tables, she hollered, "Alfred needs help with his things, and there will be no dessert for any of you if he doesn't get some!"
Several men leapt up, making their way to the base of the stairs, where Alfred and Ms. Spencer stood. "Oh, you're all such dears," the woman said, watching as three men lifted Alfred's trunk with a great heave.
"What've you got in here, son? All the bricks in the Boston shipyard?" one gasped.
Alfred laughed cheerily. "Oh, nothing like that! Just some law books and my scrap metal collection!"
Two of the men laughed at the attempted joke, while the third looked at them with mild confusion. Together, they carted his trunk out to Alfred's rented wagon, heaving it into the back before dusting their hands and returning to the dining hall. "Where're you off to anyway?" the talkative one asked.
"I haven't really figured that out yet," Alfred said with a grin. "Probably somewhere out west. I've already been everywhere there is to go out here!"
The man's eyes widened. "Out west, as in, Oregon territory?"
Alfred shrugged. "It's a possibility, I guess."
The man gave a low whistle. Then he thumped Alfred on the back and said, "Well, best of luck to you, son! You're going to need it."
_V~-~-~V_
Sitting at a small restaurant in Independence, Missouri, Alfred realized that he was an awful optimistic person.
In his opinion, it wasn't his fault, really. It was just that, with America doing such great things and all its amazing forward progress, it was hard to believe that he too couldn't follow in his country's footsteps.
Reluctantly, he now had to admit that it wasn't so easy. He'd been travelling for ten years, and it had been one unhappiness after another, it seemed, starting with the Indian Removal Act when he'd first arrived.
v~v
"Indians to be removed from the South!" the headline screamed. "New Jackson legislation put into effect!"
The article went on to describe the "voluntary" departure of the Five Civilized Tribes. All of them, Alfred thought bitterly, were recognized as autonomous nations. Washington had said so, all those years ago. Jefferson had agreed, and had followed in Washington's footsteps to help make those tribes into practical, agriculture-based societies that could coexist with the European immigrants living nearby. And Jackson thought he had the right to just… throw them out.
The first thing that came to Alfred's mind was that he really, really needed to have a chat with this new President.
The second thing was the thudding realization that he didn't actually know this President. He'd never even met him (he'd never met Monroe either, but that hadn't stopped him from dropping everything to go "visit" when he'd gotten wind of the Missouri Compromise). This man was someone he'd respected for the Battle of New Orleans. And with no means (or desire) to get to Washington, Alfred felt decidedly sick.
And the third thing was Nek.
Alfred almost groaned into his hands as he buried his face. Nek would be absolutely furious. She'd been furious, and every single square inch that the Europeans claimed from her people made it worse. But she'd gone with it, she'd agreed, her people falling under the might of the much more unified and rapidly expanding foreigners.
Looking back up, he dared to pick up the newspaper again. He forced himself to find the article (second page, top right) and read.
"The Indian Removal Act, signed by President Andrew Jackson on the 28th of May, year 1830, allows for the creation of treaties that, when signed by the leaders of the Indian tribes affected, will cede the lands currently owned by said tribes to the government of the United States of America, in exchange for money and proper resettlement west of the Mississippi River. This is a voluntary decision, asked by the government of the Cherokee, Chickasaw, Creek, Choctaw, and Seminole peoples, also known as the Five Civilized Tribes. The President assures that compensation shall be fair for the removal of such a large number of people, a decision that he has advocated making for several years."
Alfred snorted. He decidedly did not like this Jackson fellow anymore. Voluntary, my left big toe, he thought disparagingly, but he continued.
"Despite the high level of support received from Southern delegates, the President encountered an unexpected level of opposition to this Act from Congress, notably from Congressman Davy Crockett of Tennessee and Senator Theodore Frelinghuysen of New Jersey. The southern support stems from land debates currently raging (particularly in the state of Georgia) with the Indian tribes in question. However, nobody on either side refutes that this Act will surely spell the inevitable removal of all Indian tribes from American states."
Alfred felt a sudden surging of pride for Davy Crockett. The man was already something of a folk hero, likable in almost every way, and incredibly successful, but Alfred couldn't help but appreciate him even more.
Putting the paper down, he dimly remembered Nek mentioning that he had a sibling from the Cherokee tribe, and older brother named Mohe. He thought he'd visited once, but Alfred couldn't recall his face.
Alfred sighed again. He hated the government for doing this to Nek, hated not knowing what to do, and hated feeling so utterly powerless to help anybody.
v~v
Back in the present, Alfred sighed again. He'd gone through another President since then, and it was election year again, leaving him with the uncertainty that anyone good would actually run. Van Buren, following Jackson, had been no help whatsoever. They'd been through the Panic of 1837, the Aroostook War, and the Cherokee Nation's forced removal following Jackson's thrice-damned Act.
The Trail of Tears, they'd called it. An apt name if there ever was one.
Alfred looked despondently at his coffee mug, wishing that the creamy beverage would give him some answers.
"Why so down, son? Know someone in the obituaries?"
Alfred glanced up, startled. The man who had spoken was standing beside his table, peering at Alfred with small gray eyes though the steam of his coffee. Alfred could only muster a half-hearted glare before turning back to the paper he'd been holding for the past half hour, intent on both ignoring the man and not reading another word.
"Aw, don't be like that. Mind if I sit here?"
Normally, Alfred would have been thrilled at the prospect of meeting anyone, but he didn't think he could handle people in his dour mood. But the man didn't seem to care, and sat anyway, the chair creaking under his weight.
"So, what's the matter with you?"
Alfred scoffed lightly, thrusting the paper in the man's general direction. "Our government's being idiotic."
"Isn't it always?" the man asked. "But there's really nothing we can do, is there?" he continued, waxing rhetorical with a pondering expression on his face. Alfred just shrugged.
"Talk to me, kid," the man said, "it might help."
"Nope," Alfred replied, "I don't think it would."
"Humor me, a little. I'm leaving this week, you know."
"Going where?" Alfred asked absently.
"Oregon."
That caught his attention. "Oregon? By yourself?"
"Oh, no," the man said, chuckling. "My wife and her brother are coming too."
"But—but you can't go with a wagon! Haven't you heard what they say, about the trails only being accessible on horseback?"
"Someone made it just recently to the Colombia, a three-family wagon train. Besides, anything's possible in this country!"
Alfred raised an eyebrow. "And your wife actually agreed to this?"
The man had the decency to look chagrined. "Not really. But her brother has dreams of being a trapper, and she's always been a bit more open when it comes to his ideas. And she likes the thought of the land, out there. I hear the valleys in Oregon are beautiful."
Alfred shook his head. "I've been there, and believe me, for inexperienced white folk, you'll be lucky to get past Fort Hall. And it's rough country, 3,000 miles of it, all the way to the ocean. Completely unsettled except for the Natives and the trappers. You'll have a real tough time getting a farm started, if that's your goal."
But the man didn't seem to have heard any of it. "You've been? Really? With whom?"
Alfred attempted to wave the man off. "I went with an expeditionary group two years ago," he lied.
"That's fantastic! You can guide us!"
That took a moment to register. "What?"
"You've been before, so you can guide us there! We don't have anyone yet, but I like the look of you, son!" He paused. "How old are you anyway? Not over twenty…"
"Hey, I'm older than I look!" Alfred retorted. "And why do you think I want to go west anyway?"
"What's keeping you here?"
That stumped him. After a moment, he answered, "Nothing, really."
"Then come with us! Start a new life! There's free land, endless opportunity, and a chance to live a little, with nothing to do with the government or anybody out here! I even promise to help you get settled once we're there. It's the chance of a lifetime, son!"
Alfred had to admit, the offer sounded good. All he had to do was guide three people across the country, on a route he'd traveled before (thirty years ago, yes, but that was beside the point).
And as he'd said, what was holding him here?
Standing, Alfred held out his hand. "Alfred F Jones, at your service."
The man mirrored him, smiling ear to ear. "Sam Atkins. Pleased to be working with you, Mr. Jones."
Alfred returned his grin. "So, Mr. Atkins, when exactly are we leaving?"
_V~-~-~V_
"How much would it cost, per year to live in Canada, do you think?"
Matthew looked up from his desk. His government, not knowing what to do with him without wars to fight or diplomacy to be performed, had suggested that he take a temporary post at the Canadian citizenship bureau. Supposedly, it was so he could "come to know his potential countrymen." It had sounded like a good idea at the time, but since he was the new guy, he got all the difficult clients.
This couple clearly was no exception.
"For a family of two, I'd say around $400 a year, sir," Matthew replied. The man, who had done all of the talking thus far, sniffed irritably. He was dressed in an obviously expensive tailored suit, and wore a hat in the latest fashion of the day.
"In American dollars, how much is that?"
"Around $400, sir."
His wife (judging by her appearance, a woman twenty years his junior), decked out in jewels and a fur wrap, sat in a chair positioned just behind her husband's. She perched primly, her white-gloved hands folded in her lap, looking disdainfully at Matthew as her husband continued.
"Is that for," the man sniffed again, "common people?"
"Yes, it's what the average family of two, on median income, spends per year on necessary supplies."
"And how accurate are these… statistics of yours?"
Matthew forced a smile, a tic developing over his brow. "Very accurate, sir. We are the citizenship bureau, after all."
"I see. I don't trust surveys, do I, my darling?" he asked, turning to his wife.
"Of course not, dearest," she replied, and the simpering expression on her face made Matthew want to throw the nearest file folder at her head. Or run for the nearest waste basket.
"Well, ours are conducted by trained experts, Mr…?"
"Ah, yes, I never introduced myself!" the man exclaimed. Puffing up (his gray suit made Matthew think of park pigeons), he stood and offered his hand. "Mr. Terrence Westcott, owner and chairman of Westcott and Sons," he paused for emphasis, "Inc."
"Charmed," Matthew said, not bothering to stand as he accepted the offered handshake. "Out of curiosity, do you actually have any sons, Mr. Westcott?"
Westcott's smile faltered. "No, I'm afraid I don't. I inherited the company from my father, you see," he replied, stiffly sitting down again.
"Do you have an heir, then?" Westcott mumbled something incoherent. "I'm afraid I didn't quite catch that, sir," Matthew said, slightly louder just because. "Can you please speak up?"
"I have two daughters and a no-good slacker of a nephew, that's what I've got!" Westcott burst, his face turning an alarming shade of red in a matter of seconds. "But the company will never go to my brother's son, never! The boy's as much an idiot as his father!"
"I see," Matthew said calmly. "Now, getting back to the matter at hand, why is it that you wish to move to Canada?"
"I need to produce more products, and faster. Time is money, son, and do I look like I'm made of money?" Matthew bit his lip, because he did, in fact, look like he was made of money. You probably stuff your waistcoat with it every morning, he thought, but heavily ingrained politeness prevented him from saying so. Besides, his boss would be mad if Matthew deterred every potential tax-paying citizen sent his way.
"You do realize that Canada is under the influence of the British Crown?" Matthew inquired, a question customary for people moving from America. "Some Americans are uncomfortable with the idea."
"I just need cheap land for a factory and cheap labor to build myself one," Westcott said, waving a hand flippantly.
And that was when inspiration struck.
Smiling in a manner that only Matthew recognized as wicked, he asked, "Then what about the American West?"
"What about it?" the other asked suspiciously.
"The land out there is free, due to the American government's land grants for settlers. You can have up to 160 acres as a husband and wife, and more if you bring more relatives."
The man perked up at the sound of free land. "You wouldn't say? The poor settlers out there might be in need of some Westcott and Sons products…"
"And," Matthew supplied helpfully, "as the only major business in the area, they'd have no choice but to go to you!" Though Matthew really had no idea what the man actually sold, it sounded like good incentive to him.
"Excellent idea, my boy!" the man exclaimed, leaping up. "Can't get a deal like that in Canada, now can you? Come, Marietta, we're going west!"
With much blustering and hand-shaking, the wealthy couple was out the door. Matthew smiled as they left, happily disposing of their half-finished immigration papers in his desk waste bin.
Surely, he thought, today, he had done a good deed for all of Canada.
V/~-~-~\V
First off... yay for Matthew!
Okay, history time...
The Indian Removal Act was pretty much just as I described. Jackson signed it into law on May 28th, 1830, after sending it through the many heated debates of Congress. Georgia and the Cherokees had been fighting over land for a while before then, so he hoped that the legislation would end their disagreement (basically, by forcing the other party out). The Five Civilized Tribes (as they were referred to) had been slowly indoctrinated into European culture in hopes of coexisting, starting in Washington's time. Jackson basically ruined this with the Act, and though it was supposed to be voluntary, there was a lot of pressure put on the tribes to sign the treaty agreements that ceded their homeland away.
The Trail of Tears is the name given to the Cherokee Nation's forced migration from their homes to the Oklahoma area. Thousands of natives lost their lives during the journey, hence the name.
"The Panic of 1837" was an economic recession. In those days, they were called "panics," which amuses me.
The Aroostook War wasn't really a war, and it's sometimes referred to as "The Pork and Beans War". It was an undeclared, nonviolent confrontation between the US and Great Britain over the border between the state of Maine and Canada. Both sides armed troops and send them to the border, but the diplomats got there and a compromise was reached before anything happened.
Independence, Missouri was where the first wagon to use the Oregon Trail left from. I wanted to have Alfred go sometime in the early '30s, but as I researched, I learned that the first wagon train didn't head west until 1840... hence the large year gap. Oh, the things I do to be historically accurate...
In September of 1840, Robert Newell, Joseph L Meek, and their families reached Fort Walla Walla with three wagons, coming from Fort Hall. They were the first to reach the Colombia River over land, and opened the final leg of the journey (previously only taken on horseback) for wagons.
1841 was when the first party was officially credited with using the Oregon Trail to take wagons west. They originally were bound for California, but split up in Idaho, thus half wound up in the Willamette Valley in Oregon.
Anyway, random explanation time!
Alfred's strength came up in this chapter, as I promised one reviewer it would. I hope you took note.
He considers the other tribes' representations (they have them) his siblings. They've been briefly mentioned before, but this is the first one who's been named.
The folks Matthew talks to, the Westcotts, will return... they're not just there for no reason, you know.
I love Matthew.
And finally, because I get loads of questions in every review, I'd like to address the most commonly asked ones here instead, for the benefit of all those other people who read this story. So if you've got a question about anything that's happened in this story, or about the way any of the characters are portrayed, or even about the direction this story will take (no promises on this one), I'll try to answer them here!
Until next time! And, as always, if you have the time, any comments or reviews are greatly appreciated!