A day later than I meant for it to happen, but here's a new chapter!
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Moving on to the good stuff... I hope you enjoy!
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For not the first time, Alfred could feel the stares of the townsfolk of San Francisco as he strolled through the cobblestoned streets, but for an utterly unfamiliar reason. He hadn't done anything strange, wasn't representing anyone important, and certainly wasn't dressed in anything outlandish like that dress-tunic Yao always insisted on wearing. And yet, the eyes still followed him as he pushed open the door of that little
"Where's the rest of you, Jones?"
Alfred gave the shopkeeper a mildly acidic half-smile, keeping himself composed because this was the man who'd first sold him and George those spades all those months ago, and he'd gotten to know the man quite well in the months since. His name was Dirk, a man who'd seen immediately the pitfalls of mining and the benefits of being a merchant.
"They booked," Alfred said, keeping his tone cheerful. "Can't keep any of them around when there's life to be had elsewhere and no more gold in the mountains."
The shopkeeper nodded sympathetically, the expression at odds with his gruff exterior. "What can I say, Jones. My business is sure to drop, what with the mountains mined out, and pretty soon I fancy myself on a boat back east."
"You?" Alfred laughed. "That's something I can't see."
The shopkeeper chuckled in agreement, but Alfred sobered quickly, because something was definitely missing. The other man seemed to notice it too, studying the air beside Alfred with a piercing gaze.
"Still, you look mighty odd without that Catron fellow," he said, pinpointing exactly Alfred's thoughts, "or at least that bonkers Chinaman… Yao, was it?"
Alfred only nodded. It was still unsettling, to wake up after ten years and not have that familiar curly head somewhere in the immediate vicinity. But George was up and gone, despite having been as close to a brother as he'd ever had, leaving just like everyone else did eventually.
He thought he'd gotten used to it, but goodbyes were just as hard as ever.
"That Catron fellow ran off to get married to that gal who came in to sell me a handkerchief awhile ago, didn't he? Olivia or something?"
"Olive," Alfred corrected, deciding to ignore that she'd been selling him stolen goods. "And yes, they moved back to Oregon."
"Shame. San Francisco's a nice enough place."
Alfred shrugged. "George has family, and it's still too much of a mining town here, I think. Even with the pending statehood and all that." He stood, deciding that he didn't want to spend his morning being questioned about his friends. "I've got to get to the shipyard, Dirk. I'll see you."
"Take care, Al!"
On his way out, Alfred knocked into a young man who looked about his age, another blond head nearly bumping his own. "Sorry," he muttered, adjusting his glasses from where they'd slipped and pushing past as the man entered the store. Alfred's thoughts, though, were with his friends far away.
_V~-~-~V_
"I still say George and Olive should get more. They're the ones getting married," Alfred grumbled, hefting his money bag in his hand, the cash rewards of their mining success finally tangible. It was their last night as a group together at their now mined-out campsite, and no one was quite ready to go to sleep yet.
"Nonsense, Al," George scoffed. "Ya need it more, if anythin', off on yer own an' all."
"Besides," sniffed Olive, "what makes you think I am anything less than perfectly capable of… procuring any necessary funds?"
Alfred couldn't help but grin at the truth in that. Oh, Lucretia was going to have a field day with Olive Rush.
Yao, meanwhile, was cackling in an almost disturbing manner as he tossed his share of the gold into the air, catching the nuggets deftly as they fell. He'd declined to exchange it for American money, which would be of no use to him back in China, preferring to keep it in its original form.
"I bet your boss'll wish he'd come with you," Alfred said. Yao turned, his eyes flickering.
"Oh, no, that boss is sick. Most likely, he will die before I get home. And then I will have a new boss, fourth son of old boss, and Prince Yizhu will not know, as you say, 'what hit him...'"
"That's nice," George agreed, looking a touch nervous, before facing Cornelius instead. "What're ya plannin' on doin', now that you've got gold?"
"I'll be headin' fer Nevada!" the big man declared. "That's where the silver is, after all!"
"Silver?" Olive inquired faintly, as George just chuckled faintly.
"Minin's in me bones, little miss! I'm gonna make me rich!"
Olive sighed, twirling a strand of hair around one delicate finger. "Disregarding that hopeless case, what of you, Alfred Jones? Will you be returning to Oregon with us?"
Alfred shook his head. "I left on less-than-great terms with Lucretia. And besides, I sort of miss the east coast. Big things are happening out there, you know."
"Yes," she snapped, but there was little venom in her words, "and none of it good. They're speaking of war, Alfred Jones. It would be best to stay far away from all that tosh and nonsense, in my opinion."
Alfred merely shrugged. "We'll get through it, whatever it is. Nothing shakes this country."
Yao lifted an eyebrow, finally done with his strange bilingual monologue. "Your country has a long way to go before it is strong, Alfred. China has lasted four thousand years and still we are not truly united."
Giving an exaggerated eye roll, Alfred replied, "Yes, but that's China, and this is America."
Cornelius laughed, a deep, booming sound. "Hear, hear!"
"Because manifest destiny will keep us together, surely," Olive grumbled, sarcasm lacing her words, but her lips quirked upwards as she spoke.
"Exactly," George put in, "manifest destiny an' folks like us!" He threw an arm around Olive, and Cornelius laughed again, tiny eyes twinkling.
The night had passed peacefully after that, but the following morning had arrived all too quickly for Alfred's taste, bringing with it a parting of ways.
Cornelius was gone first just after sunrise, crushing each of them in turn in a bear hug, sniffling in a decidedly tough manner. "I'll be sure t' find all o' ye some silver. If the silver doesn't work, I'll be back lookin' fer copper!" he called, before turning and marching southeast, his pickaxe and satchel slung over his broad shoulders.
Yao went next, dragging them all to the harbor where one of the strange Chinese ships was preparing to leave. "I will miss all of you," he said, oddly subdued for once, with nothing adorable in sight. "You have been very good friends, aru."
"So've you," George declared, wrapping an arm around Yao's shoulders. "For a foreigner with too much 'aru', you're a pretty good guy."
"And for ignorant American, so are you," Yao retorted. Then he turned to Alfred, his head tilted slightly upwards to meet the taller man's gaze.
"You have much before you, Alfred Jones, if you are who I think," he said in a voice clearly meant for only Alfred to hear, his words almost drowned out by the bustle of the pier. "Many good things, yes, but many bad things as well. Take care of your country."
Alfred's brow knitted, but something seemed to click. "Yao, what—"
But Yao had already backed off, bowing to George and Olive as he hefted his satchel onto his back. "George Catron, Rush-xiaojie." He turned, meeting Alfred's confused gaze once more with a small smile. "Alfred Jones. May we meet again."
Then Yao was gone, his red dress-tunic lost in the crowd on the pier. Moments later, Alfred caught sight of him mounting the gangplank to the Chinese ship before he disappeared for good, and it was just the three of them.
George and Olive had a stubborn mule and a cart piled with nearly as many trunks as Lucretia had brought west. "I dunno where we're gonna keep all of 'em," George had confided in Alfred. "And I can't decide if Luce is gonna love Olive for her clothes or hate 'er for stealin' her spot."
Alfred managed a grin, thinking along the same lines. "I don't know either, but I wish I could see it."
George's smile slipped off, a serious demeanor so unfamiliar taking its place. "Ya can come back, ya know. I'm sure Luce didn' mean half of what she said, and you've been such a great help all these years—"
"Sorry, George, but I'm going east. I just… need to be there now." Though the thought of that little cabin he'd helped build in the beautiful Willamette, Sam's quiet encouragement as they worked the fields, even Lucretia's patronizing humor and multitude of hats, was tempting indeed.
After ten years, they'd gotten as close to family as Alfred allowed.
"Well…" George said, hesitating as he spoke, "if ya ever change your mind, ya know where to find us." Alfred just nodded, before wrapping his nearly-brother in a hug.
"I'll miss you, George."
"I'm gonna miss ya too, Al."
_V~-~-~V_
Alfred caught himself as he once again glanced sideways, hoping to find George there, only to have empty air stare back.
"I need someone to talk too, or I'm bound to go insane," he muttered.
To compound the problem, that certain part of his brain that always was cataloguing what was happening in the world kept expressing a need to go east, but unlike those needs to go somewhere that happened from time to time, it wasn't being specific.
But he'd seen the papers. President Taylor was dead after the shortest presidency in history, replaced with his vice president, a man named Millard Fillmore. It was a shame really. Alfred had respected Taylor, war hero that he was, and was rather surprised when he'd run for President. The man had reportedly never been into politics.
Alfred wondered vaguely why he'd been feeling so dispassionate about his Presidents lately, despite his continued use of the possessive when speaking of them. Perhaps it was because he was so far from Washington, in the no-longer-so-lawless California?
Perhaps it was because he'd seen too many.
But now that Taylor was dead, the heavily debated Compromise that had been all over the political part of the newspapers was even more uncertain. Despite owning slaves, Taylor had never liked slavery, but Alfred had no idea about the new President.
Slavery. That was becoming the main issue, across the country. Though politically unsure of what would be best, Alfred knew where his morals lay, but the fate of the country was in a precarious position.
"The one time it would help to be a damn current-events-psychic, and what…?" he grumbled. "Not the faintest of what's happening."
"Stop talking to yerself, Jones, there're ships to be loaded!"
Alfred glanced up, meeting the stern gaze of his latest employer (the captain of a small fleet of trading ships) as he shouted down from the deck of a nearby vessel. "Sure thing, sir!" he called back, before hefting another crate and making his way up the gangplank.
It was all part of his grand plan to get back to the east coast: by working for a month loading ships, he was going to earn his passage, something not necessary with the gold he'd acquired, but Alfred thought it might be better to save that money for a later date.
He wondered when he'd become so reasonable. Peter always said he'd never get a head for finance.
"And you, new boy! Follow Jones!"
"Yes, sir!" piped a new voice, one Alfred hadn't yet heard on the pier. Turning, he was startled to see a young blond man shakily lift one of the smaller crates and wobble his way up the gangplank after Alfred. He had almost reached the top when one of his shaky steps took him precariously close to the edge.
"Hey!"
Alfred dropped his crate on the deck with a bang and grabbed the man's arm, hastily pulling him forward, sending them both crashing onto the deck and the crate flying. It landed in a splintery wooden heap, spilling its contents across the deck.
Abalone. That was unexpected.
"Jones! What in blazes are you doing?!"
Alfred looked up into the set face of his employer. "Saving new boy here," he replied, gesturing at the other man, who was slowly picking himself up.
"New boy can fend for himself, I'm sure," the man retorted. "Do yer own work, Jones, and then next time it happens you won't be addin' three days of work t' yer list."
"Anytime, sir."
His employer gave him a sharp look before spinning on his heel and marching to go oversee a group of men collectively carrying a rather large crate. "Faster, boys!"
The man beside Alfred still looked uncertain, but he offered Alfred a quick smile, one that briefly lit his brown eyes. "Thanks for that. Sorry about the extra work, though."
"It's no trouble. Watch out for yourself." The man looked pleasantly surprised at Alfred's response, but collected himself quickly, flashing one more smile before getting back to work.
As Alfred watched him, it became clear the other wasn't particularly used to much physical labor, if his thin frame wasn't already a giveaway, but he didn't fall again, so Alfred figured he'd be safe enough. When they were dismissed for the day, sometime in the late afternoon, Alfred approached the man, because something about him was definitely familiar.
An introduction on Alfred's part and a few exchanged remarks later, the pair was off to find food.
_V~-~-~V_
"So your name's Alfred, then?" the man asked.
Alfred nodded. "Yours?"
"Charlie. But my middle name's Alfred. Funny coincidence, eh?"
"Sure." Alfred poked his pot pie, still unsure of why the other was so weirdly familiar. He was quiet but quick-tongued, an odd combination but it seemed to work, oddly well-spoken for a dock worker, and wholly unlike anyone Alfred had met.
"You wouldn't happen to be that man I crashed into walking out of the mining goods store a week ago, would you?"
Charlie was scrutinizing Alfred, his eyes a dark walnut color, but he was definitely right. "I think I was," Alfred said slowly.
The other grinned. "I seem to be making a habit of that, the whole crashing business."
"You need healthier habits."
Charlie laughed. "So… from what I heard, you're going back to the east coast?"
Alfred nodded. "Not much left for me out here."
"I know what you mean." A scowl graced the other's features. "No gold left in the mountains, a city full of foreigners and no decent people… present company excluded."
"Oh, I found gold—"
"Then why on earth would you be working for your passage back?"
"Saves money?"
Charlie gave an odd little half-shrug. "I can see that. I'd be doing the same, if I had money to be saving…"
"I guess you didn't find any gold, then?"
"Not anything worth much," Charlie grumbled. "I had grand plans, you know… find gold, bring my fiancée out here, that sort. But Marcy was right, I've got more opportunity back in Illinois." He glanced sideways at Alfred, taking a bite of his potatoes. "I'm a lawyer, you know, trained and all."
"Really? I was a lawyer once!" Alfred exclaimed. "Or at least, I went to law school… never had much use for that education, though."
"We're in the same boat, then, quite literally," Charlie replied, a wry smile on his face. "Marcy will be so pleased to have someone else to prove her point—she's my fiancée, you know." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. "I got this at the shop I ran into you at, as a sort of… 'please do not be angry with me' present."
Alfred took it, and his breath caught at the sight of the familiar embroidery in the corner, the looping cursive MW that was so distinctive to one uptight almost-Canadian wife.
"Marietta Westcott," he whispered, running his thumb over the stitches, wondering how her custom handkerchief had made it all the way to San Francisco. Had she sold it, perhaps lost it?
Charlie didn't seem to have heard, because he was still talking. "Of course, those aren't her initials yet, so I was wondering if it might be a bit preemptive to buy such a thing, but it was too pretty to pass up."
"What's the W stand for?" Alfred asked absently, still staring at the handkerchief, almost reluctant to return it.
"For the future Mrs. Wetherby, of course."
_V~-~-~V_
Sure enough, Minning had been dead for a few months when Yao returned. He stood in the new Emperor-to-be's chambers just before the coronation ceremony, studying the young prince before him while the prince looked caught between haughty superiority and awe.
"You are the advisor, then?" the prince asked, using Yao's more commonly known business title, but one in the court always knew who was being spoken of when the advisor was mentioned.
"Your grandfather's, the previous dynasty's… every Emperor before you, Prince Yizhu, and after." The prince was barely twenty years old. Such a young ruler, but he'd had younger.
The prince still looked awestruck for a moment, before composing himself. "My father said you were away in America, gone with all the southern peasants. Why?"
Yao shrugged. "I was bored. If you want to be a better Emperor than your father, hold more parades."
"Really?"
"I am the advisor, aru."
The prince looked thoughtful. "Maybe that can be arranged… did anything else interesting happen?"
Yao smiled faintly, thoughts of gold-tasting and shouxiling and lady thieves filling his mind. Oh, yes, it had been an interesting journey, but more because of the blue-eyed, bespectacled American boy who seemed something more. The consequences of such a thing though, would stagger the world of Nations; how had he gone missing for so long, if he was, in fact, what Yao's experience told him he was?
But the prince certainly wasn't ready for all that yet. Perhaps in ten years, the world would be ready. Yao was patient; he certainly could wait that long.
"No, nothing too interesting. But Americans really are fascinating people. I do not think we give them enough credit."
The prince waved a hand, suddenly back in the royalty role he'd been born to play. "China already has everything it needs," he said, an eerie parrot of his father and nearly every emperor before him.
"I suppose it does, Prince Yizhu."
A servant rapped on the door, then slid it open, head bowed respectfully. "The ceremony is about to begin, sirs. If you would please…?"
Prince Yizhu, soon-to-be the Xianfeng Emperor, stood in a rustle of cloth, Yao standing at the same time, his own formal robes falling gracefully about him. The Prince followed the servant and Yao followed him, just as he had followed nearly every Emperor for four thousand years, standing in their shadows as he watched his country move forward.
He hoped that America, and Alfred F Jones along with it, could do the same.
V/~-~-~\V
A lot of dialogue and wrapping up, but I promise it'll get more exciting in the next few chapters.
Historical first:
Around the early 1850s, gold was no longer so plentiful in the mountains (as in, any inexperienced wannabe couldn't just go out and pick some up). Strip mining, chemical mining, and all sorts of other environmentally-damaging practices (the evidence of which is still around today) began, and the days of the get-rich-quick wagoner were over.
Zachary Taylor was a Louisiana planter and slaveholder with a 40-year military career before running for President as a member of the Whig party (though he wound up upholding little of their views while in office). He actually had the third-shortest tenure of any President, dying 16 months after his inauguration, and was succeeded by his Vice President, Millard Fillmore (whose birthday is, incidentally, also January 7th, an excellent day if I do say so myself).
The Compromise of 1850 was briefly mentioned, and will be gone over further next chapter, along with slavery and all that as precursors to the Civil War.
Prince Yizhu, who later became the Xianfeng Emperor, was the fourth son of the Daoguang Emperor, Yao's former boss. He rose to the throne after his father died in February of 1850, becoming the 9th Emperor of the Qing Dynasty.
Pretty sparse chapter overall, but I hope to have the next out shortly. I told you the handkerchief would be back!
The greater plot also begins to move soon, that elusive outside one that has less to do with history and Alfred and more with Hetalia. I'm looking forward to it, grand plans and all that...
See you all soon!