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madnessr · 1 year ago

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Vagabond

Vagabond — wandering from place to place without any settled home

Poly Lost Boys x GN Reader Synopsis: Forgiveness is a fickle thing. When four souls find each other, the world finds its equilibrium once more; until the absence of another tips the scale forever. What happens when a familiar face shows itself back at the boardwalk after twenty years of absence?

Warnings: slight angst, lots of historical information in the beginning

Word Count: 3k

By issuing the Declaration of Independence, adopted by the Continental Congress on July 4th, 1776, the 13 American colonies severed their political connections to Great Britain.

You had been ten during the conflicts between America and Great Britain, young and impressionable. Your family came with Puritans, who set sail to America back in 1630. Unlike the Pilgrims, who had left ten years earlier, the Puritans did not break with the Church of England but sought to reform it. All that happened before you were born; your ancestors had settled down and spread their roots into American soil.

You recalled little of the American Revolution; after all, you were very young back then, but you remember December 15th, 1791, vividly. Your mother couldn't stop crying that day, and your father had pulled out the oldest whiskey they had that day. America was finally severed from the tyrannical rule of George III.

You came to understand the significance of those dates more as you aged, growing into a strong individual as you helped your family on their farm. You never intended to marry; it wasn't something you had ever desired or looked forward to. The same year you had gotten married was the day you lost your immortality; both events are related but not necessarily connected. You were introduced to the vampiric community in New Orleans, a city that used the day to sleep off the mistakes you made throughout the rambunctious night.

You had lived through the formation of the Constitution of the United States of America in 1787 when the founding fathers sought to implement more structure into the now independent country.

The infamous whiskey rebellion. American drunks apparently were not too keen about Alexander Hamilton implementing a liquor tax to try and raise money for the national debt; asserting the federal government's power back in 1794.

Only nine years later, the Louisiana Purchase happened in 1803. The small land purchase for only $27 million created room for the states of Louisiana, Missouri, Arkansas, Iowa, North Dakota, South Dakota, Nebraska, and Oklahoma, along with most of Kansas, Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, and Minnesota.

Throughout the 1810s and 1830s, you had moved on from New Orleans and left for New York, seeking human connections and reconnecting with the younger generations. During that time, the Battle of New Orleans in 1815 and the Monroe Doctrine in 1823 seemed to fly past you.

Then, signed on February 2nd, 1848, the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo finally brought closure to the Mexican-American war. At this time, you were no stranger to political conflicts anymore, and the stench of blood and sweat staining battlefields was, unfortunately, no stranger.

Life moved on regardless, no matter the horrid realities life provided. For a short while, life had finally come to a stand-still, guns tucked away as the world in America resumed its development. Until April 12th, 1861, Confederate troops fired on Fort Sumter in South Carolina's Charleston Harbor at 4:30 A.M., A day that changed America forever, the beginning of the American Civil War.

The Emancipation Proclamation, The First Conscription Act, The Battle of Chancellorsville, The Vicksburg Campaign, The Gettysburg Campaign, The Battle of Chickamauga, The Battle of Chattanooga, The Siege of Knoxville. The list continued, and the coppery smell of wasted humanity tainted the air, the wind carrying the cries of victims throughout the nation.

The war ended in the Spring of 1865. Robert E. Lee surrendered the last major Confederate army to Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox Courthouse on April 9th, 1865.

The number of soldiers who died throughout those four years eventually got estimated to be around 620,000.

Only 47 years later, on July 28th, 1914, the Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated, beginning the cruel trench warfare of World War I. In early April 1917, America aided the effort to join a war to end all wars. You had entered the war effort, like everyone capable at the time; from soldiers to nurses, everyone gave aid.

On November 11th, 1918, the war ended. Although the Allies won, you found no reason to celebrate. Not when mothers sold their homes since there wasn't a reason to have a multiple-bedroom house anymore, when graveyards overflowed with the dead, when people mourned their losses, when mothers' only answer to their missing sons was a notice declaring their child missing in action.

The stock market crashed in 1929, kicking off the Great Depression that would last for more than a decade.

On September 1st, 1939, Germany invaded Poland. Kicking off World War II and beginning one of the most brutal warfare's, Blitzkrieg. On May 8th, 1945, Germany surrendered. After the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan surrendered on September 2nd, 1945, and the Second World War came to an end.

The war ended, and the surviving soldiers returned with missing limbs and broken spirits. You were a firm believer that humans were not meant to witness so much death; it tainted them; it dulled them. Although you were a vampire, a creature supposedly made for horror, you could not forget what you had witnessed in only the span of 21 years.

You were 201 years old now, relatively young in the grand scheme of time, but you had lived through a few of the greatest horrors the world had ever seen.

189 years of traversing the lands, you watched grow in a desperate search to find one of your own. Since you were turned and left New Orleans, you had not met a single vampire. You watched with sorrowful wisdom in your eyes as the world passed through you, virginity in people's expressions you wish you had. A gaze untainted by warfare, civil unrest, and brutality.

Although you have met the occasional human to brighten your own world, it did not cure you. Your search was desolate—fruitless.

Your feet had carried you to Santa Carla, the year now being 1963, and just as the five stages of grief had settled on acceptance. You bumped into a group of four rambunctious bikers that would change your life forever. That had been the first time you had met, and you had continued to live together, going on to live through the Civil Rights movement and grieving the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr.

But on August 12th, 1967, you left Santa Carla. Your absence is only justified by a delicately written letter standing in your place. You had grown to love the boys, but you had lived differently compared to them.

Marko and Paul were younger vampires than you, having been turned while The Great Depression was bulldozing America. Dwanye had been older, abandoning his immortality in the 18th century along with David. All of them possessed the innate ability to move on from the past, a talent you, unfortunately, did not possess.

No matter how hard you tried, you could not find peace or excitement in the future. The uncertainty corrupted you, tormented you and your experiences, so you left. Not with the intent to abandon but to sort out whatever you had to sort out. Away from the prying eyes of those you loved, those who you did not want—couldn't disappoint.

Santa Carla, the town you had never been able to forget. It was 1987 now; twenty years had passed since you had seen the four vampires. You had missed them—a melancholic weight having nestled its way into your heart ever since you left. You regretted the way you had left through a simple letter. A cowardly move; you were wise enough to understand that. But at the time, you couldn't bring yourself to say it to them. How could you? Look someone in the eyes, someone like you—your own pack that never did anything but love you—and tell them you were leaving?

You didn't have the heart, and if you were a little more honest, you didn't have it now, either. But you missed them more than your hurt pride by walking what felt like a walk of shame as you wandered around the busy boardwalk. One thing you never could get used to was the constant shift in fashion, it felt like the ins became the outs overnight, and you never were able to keep up with it.

Bright colors were the most fashionable now, with teased hair and loud makeup. You enjoyed it, your knowing eyes watching over the crowd. The smell of hairspray permeated the air, wafting towards you as you passed people. Bulky and oversized clothes were spotted throughout the crowds, some men and women wearing specific member-only jackets. Ah, it seems the surfer nazis still haven't given up on Santa Carla yet.

The amusement park was new; back in 1867, the boardwalk had small shops littered around—like a market. Originally it mostly sold food and groceries, fish caught fresh from the sea, and farmers selling their produce.

How has the pier changed so significantly? If it wasn't for the bold, attention-seeking sign that said Santa Carla Boardwalk; you would've thought you were at the wrong address. But stepping on those old wooden floorboards of the pier that occasionally creaked or sunk under your feet was an all too familiar feeling. The smell of salt, rotting seaweed that had washed onto the shore, and the fresh street food made you feel all too at home.

It felt like you had never really left.

Your appearance had changed quite a bit since you left Santa Carla, so you didn't expect either the boys or Max to really recognize you. But although you were willing to stay under the radar for the boys, Max was another story. He was a head vampire, a coven leader, and therefore needed to be notified of your presence.

Entering Max's video store made you feel nostalgic, the same old grimy bell still hanging atop the doorframe signaling your arrival; you had been the one to put that there to originally annoy Max. You were surprised he kept it. The wooden floorboards and furniture gave off a distinct, homey smell. You had been there when the store was built, and the shiny coating across the floors now had grown mat, occasional wood panels brighter in color than before.

"I never thought I'd meet the day I saw you walk through those doors again."

Turning around, you met the stern gaze of Max. His outfit made you smile, a desperate attempt at blending in with the crowd. Max was always a stickler for blending in; if he had no intention of turning you; you had no business knowing who; or rather what, he was.

"It's good to see you."

"I'm flattered, but I doubt that I am the sole reason you returned." Max always carried that knowing tone, as if he's watched out every move you'd make before you made them. It reminded you that Max had a coven before the boys and you, one he rarely conversed about. Perhaps Max really had seen this turn out before, but analyzing that surprised expression, you could only assume who had left never did come back.

"How right you are," You sighed, shoulders dropping as you hopped onto the cashier counter. It was before opening, meaning you and Max had some time to chat privately.

"Twenty years is a long time," Max hummed, a low and almost chiding tone. "What made you come back?"

"To us, it isn't," You weakly argued back. The cumbersome feeling, or rather an awareness that you were in the wrong, was nearly unbearable. You were smart enough to understand that denial was a fruitless endeavor, and yet you couldn't help but let those desperate attempts escape you.

"For people waiting for you, it's an eternity." Max sighed in a calm but chiding tone. Although Max never did have to scold you the way he did with the boys, from not committing arson to preventing fights. Max instead focused his guidance towards you on a more emotional level, the morality; a bit ironic being taught by a vampire—but he did his best.

You glanced outside, through the glass walls of Max's shop, watching the bustling crowd pass you. Twenty years to a vampire was nothing, but somehow the short span of time felt arduous. Why did you come back?

"I never intended on staying away forever. I knew that when the time was right, I'd return." You explained, stealing a quick glance at Max. The older man had a frown etched onto his face, eyebrows furrowed as his own gaze lingered on the rambunctious humans outside. So unaware of the constant and unrelenting passage of time. It was cruel to be immortal; the passage of time no longer hindered you. But emotions are bendable and are the only aspect of ourselves that remains from who we were. Emotions were mortal.

"Santa Carla has changed, Y/N. It is not what you left behind; they are not the same as they were alongside you." Max recalled, his voice disapproving.

You knew Max was correct; you knew deep in your wrenching and twisting gut. You jumped off the counter, your feet hitting the floor like gravity had shifted around you, sinking your body into the floor. "I know," you knew; perhaps the boys didn't even want to see you; they could curse you out and send your name to hell for all eternity. They deserved to do it too.

But they loved you once, and perhaps you can't help shake the feeling that they might love you again this time too.

Max sighed, walking over to his front door and twisting the closed sign around, and pronouncing the store now open. Each tap of his foot, synced with his steps, was like a thundering echo inside you. It prompted you to get up and to provide closure for the others. You reach the door, opening midway before Max leaves you with some parting advice.

"I hope you find what you came here for, Y/N. But the time might be right for you now, but it might not be for them."

You nodded, not looking back as you walked out of the store. The air was warmer, humid from the ocean breeze mixing into the air, the notorious assassin for any styled and teased hair due.

Laughter was one of your favorite sounds. As cliche as that might sound, it felt rejuvenating to hear. Whether it was a loud cackle mimicking the call of a hyena or a high-pitched wheeze or whistle. There was a beauty in people's expressions, how their noses tended to scrunch up, or how others held their stomachs and nearly doubled over. Laughter was infectious, and you loved observing the dopamine spread to others. Strangers connecting over a similar sense of joy; there was a beauty in it.

The boardwalk was filled with it, people brushing shoulders against shoulders as they walked. Groups cackling and shoving each other as they enjoyed the youngness of the evening. Music booming from different directions, punks blasting the newest rap or metal music, hippies tuning out to a gentle jam, but the loudest seemed to be a distant concert down the boardwalk and closer to the pier. Like a bee sensing some honey, you followed. Dodging the occasional passerby, ducking out of the way from shop owners lugging their merchandise around.

The music got louder, and a small thread of excitement seemed to push you further, faster. Your small stroll transformed into a quickened step, your ears guiding you and your eyes following the crowd. The music was loud; a tight smosh-like pit had formed before the stage where people grind and brushed against each other to the beat of the music.

Looking around, you scanned the faces of teenagers and young adults. There was an eager but dreaded nervousness to your gaze at the thought of seeing a face that looked familiar. But it wasn't your eyes that caught their presence, but rather your sense of smell.

Copper.

Although it was harder to pick up when the wind stills its prancing, the occasional breeze led you further towards the pier. Away from the smosh pit, and where people stood to enjoy the music but not risk getting mulled over by a hormonal teenager.

There they stood, strikingly familiar. Although some of the fashion had changed, most of their originality stayed intact. That tiny red flag tied around Dwayne's waist was something the two of you had stolen from a stingy bar owner back in 1964; Markos jacket still had all too familiar patches sewn into its denim fabric; Paul still wore those bracelets you gave him, and David wore the most prominent reminder of you, his oversized coat.

The wind picked up around you, a cold and mocking breeze flowing through your hair and betraying your presence to the four men you had left behind all those years ago. One by one, heads lifted, smiling ceased, and laughter died. Although you had spent years preparing yourself for this moment, nothing felt so gut-wrenchingly real than standing before them.

How do you look someone in the eyes after you've abandoned them?

How do you move past that moment when the world around you stills and halts. When you lose yourself in the blear of the world when mortality reaches its hand around your heart and squeezes. A vice-like grip, a feeling blooming within your chest so heavy–so unspeakable. When you see those eyes, recognize the sorrow behind them and realize you were the perpetrator. You were the one who put that agony, that sadness there.

The burden of your actions ties itself around your throat like a noose, tight and unyielding, as you realize the cruelty was done by none other than yourself. And there is no way, in any shape or form, you could reverse the damage you've done. Pain is immortal, it might yield to its throbbing, but it never forgets.

A world with your boys back in 1967 exists now only in your memory. The four men, cold as the autumn waters, were your reality now.

"Hello, boys."

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ross-hollander · 2 months ago

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The least usual positions...

...in each of the Successor States' military forces:

The armies of the Lyran Commonwealth have an official position for 'war poet', responsible for composing elegies, triumphal inscriptions, or lamenting the fallen. They claim this position is a holdover from the Star League days, except there is no record of the Star League ever having anything of the sort.

The DCMS must have, per planet, a single officer- typically a last-born son, or a disgraced official from another unit put on this duty as punishment -designated as the 'coward-in-chief' to any forces present there. The DCMS, after all, never surrenders, but a hopelessly gutless officer may, without official sanction, go and present terms of treaty to the enemy.

The Marik military still uses drummer boys. This was actually a stopgap during the Crisis when patriotic fervor drove many youths to the front; recruiters were loath to send them back- volunteers were volunteers -and so out of every ten or twelve, one was drawn to see action first-hand, although as a drummer, and the rest were usually stuck on logistics duty in some warehouse.

The soldiery of the Confederation has the unique post of strategic zoologist. These are a corps of fearless officer-rangers who are trusted to either keep or obtain knowledge on the local fauna, and its chances for disrupting operations, on any planet in the Sphere. (Nobody wants to be the last to find out about the dinosaurs.)

The AFFS' ranks include, for every officer of Major General and higher, a military Fool. The post was literally created to ensure a plan was fool-proof. If a clown detected a problem in your strategy, it definitely needed some revising. Besides, they serve as great entertainment in the long hours of shelling or dread and anticipation.

#3151posting #battletech #mechwarrior #rh.txt #battletech memes #battletech meme

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victusinveritas · 7 months ago

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Happy Confederate Surrender Day to all who celebrate!!!

#us civil war #fuck the confederacy #confederate states of america #suck it losers

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mariacallous · 4 months ago

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The advice I used to impart to young correspondents arriving at the BBC’s bureau in Washington was to remember that the United States had fought a civil war in the mid-19th century and was still arguing over the terms of a fractious peace.

Much like the modern-day phrase “sorry but not sorry,” which is used sarcastically to indicate a lack of remorse, the brief ceremony at Virginia’s Appomattox Court House in April 1865, which brought the armed fighting to an end, was a surrender but not a surrender. White supremacists in the states of the old Confederacy wanted still to reign supreme. Little over a decade later, following the collapse of Reconstruction—an attempt to make good for African Americans the promise of emancipation—enslavement was replaced by segregation. Across the American South, Jim Crow was in the chair.

Now, though, I would amend my advice. I would urge young reporters to reach back even further into history. The roots of modern-day polarization, and even the origins of former President Donald Trump, can be located in the country’s troubled birth. Division has always been the default setting. Victory over the British Redcoats at the Battle of Yorktown paved the way for independence but did not mean U.S. nationhood was a given.

Between the end of the Revolutionary War in 1783 and the start of the Philadelphia Constitutional Convention in 1787, it seemed as if the states might enter into two or three confederations rather than a singular nation as the former British colonies struggled to overcome their antagonisms. “No morn ever dawned more favourable than ours did,” a melancholic George Washington wrote to James Madison in November 1786, “and no day was ever more clouded than the present!”

The Constitution that Washington pushed for, and which was eventually hammered out in Philadelphia, was in many ways an agreement to keep on disagreeing. Compromises that prolonged and protected the institution of slavery—a Faustian bargain that became the price of national unity—created a fault line that was always likely to rupture and explode. It rumbles to this day. Even a Black presidency could not repair the breach.

So many contemporary problems can be traced back to those founding days. U.S. democracy has become so diseased because for most of the country’s history, it has not been that healthy. “We the People,” the rousing words that opened the preamble to the Constitution, was not conceived of as an inclusive statement or catchall for mass democracy. Rather, this ill-defined term referred to what in modern terminology might be called the body politic. Much of the deliberations in Philadelphia focused on how that body politic should be restrained in an intricately designed straitjacket, hence the creation of countermajoritarian mechanisms such as the Electoral College and Senate.

To describe the outcome as an experiment in “democracy” is misleading: The Founding Fathers did not care for the word, which is nowhere to be found either in the Declaration of Independence or the Constitution. When the country’s second president, John Adams, used the term “democratical,” it was intended as a slur. The fear of what some of the founders called an “excess of democracy” explains the thinking behind a quote from Adams that has resurfaced during the Trump years: “Remember, democracy never lasts long. It soon wastes, exhausts, and murders itself. There never was a democracy yet that did not commit suicide.” Adams’s fear was not of unchecked presidential power, the meaning projected onto the quote in relation to Trump. More worrying for him was unchecked people power.

The right to vote was never specifically enshrined in the Constitution, an omission that continues to astound many Americans. To this day, there is no positive affirmation of the right to vote. It is framed negatively—it should not be denied, rather than it should be granted. With good reason, voting is often called the missing right.

Not until the mid-1960s, with the passage of the 1965 Voting Rights Act, did the United States finally achieve what could truly be described as universal suffrage. In the South, Black people could finally cast ballots without being subjected to humiliating “literacy tests,” where they would be asked unanswerable questions such as how to interpret arcane clauses of state constitutions.

No sooner had this landmark legislation become law, however, than efforts to reverse it cranked into gear. So began what has turned out to be a decades-long campaign of de-democratization. It was spearheaded by the Republican Party, which needed to restrict minority voting rights because the demographic trend lines, and the transition toward a minority-majority nation, were thought to favor the Democrats.

These efforts were aided to a disconcerting degree by the conservative-dominated Supreme Court, with rulings that drastically weakened the provisions of the Voting Rights Act. For example, in 2013, Shelby County v. Holder gutted the act’s all-important Section 5, which forced jurisdictions with a history of racial discrimination to “preclear” with the Justice Department any proposed voting changes. In a 5-4 judgment, the conservative justices decided that preclearance was now obsolete because voter registration had shown such dramatic improvements. Yet as the liberal justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg pointed out in an unusually strong dissenting opinion, ending preclearance was akin to “throwing away your umbrella in a rainstorm because you are not getting wet.”

The insurrection on Jan. 6, 2021, then, should not be seen in isolation. It was the culmination of a prolonged assault on democracy that predated the rise of Trump. The attack continued, moreover, after the insurrectionists had been dispersed and the floors of Congress scrubbed clean of excrement. That night, 147 Republicans returned to the chambers to cast votes to challenge or overturn Joe Biden’s presidential victory.

Political violence is a core part of the U.S. story, although much of this history has often been buried and concealed. At the end of the 1960s, a commission appointed by President Lyndon B. Johnson to investigate why the United States was so prone to political assassination concluded that the country suffered from “a kind of historical amnesia or selective recollection that masks unpleasant traumas of the past.” It also noted that “the revolutionary doctrine that our Declaration of Independence proudly proclaims is mistakenly cited as a model for legitimate violence.”

Indeed, the Jan. 6 insurrection showed how political violence is still seen as legitimate and even rendered glorious. Many of the insurrectionists chanted “1776” as they stormed the Capitol. “We’re walking down the same exact path as the Founding Fathers,” claimed Stewart Rhodes, a former Army paratrooper with a Yale University law degree. (Rhodes helped establish the Oath Keepers, a militia group launched on April 19, 2009, the anniversary of when rebels and Redcoats first exchanged fire.) The day before the insurrection, Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene described it as “our 1776 moment.”

Many far-right extremists are inspired by words from Thomas Jefferson that, unlike the poetry of his Declaration of Independence, never made it into high school textbooks or onto the teleprompters of modern-day presidents. “I hold it that a little rebellion now and then is a good thing, and as necessary in the political world as storms in the physical,” Jefferson wrote in 1787, a quote that has now become a far-right meme. “The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots” is another of Jefferson’s sayings that has been co-opted by modern-day militias.

Often I recall the day of Biden’s inauguration, which took place on a platform that only two weeks earlier had been used as a staging post for the insurrection. It was festooned with red, white, and blue bunting, but it still felt like a crime scene that should have been sequestered with yellow tape. As I made my way to my camera position on the press stand, I noticed that technicians were testing the giant teleprompter in front of the presidential podium. And I recognized the words on the screen: “Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure.”

The teleprompter had been loaded with the 272 words of Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address in November 1863. Maybe it was some kind of sick joke. A rogue technician, perhaps, with a dark sense of humor. But these passages from the country’s most celebrated sermon could hardly be described as out of place. The question at the heart of the speech, and which had also been posed at the country’s founding, was being asked anew: Can this nation long endure?

My sense—my ardent hope—is that the conditions do not yet exist for all-out armed conflict, a second civil war, partly because the United States has accumulated so much muscle memory in coping with its perpetual state of division. But nor do the conditions exist for reconciliation and rapprochement. Nowhere near. So the United States occupies a strange betwixt and between: close to abyss, but a step or two back from the edge. Going to hell, as the wit Andy Rooney once observed, without ever getting there.

The U.S. historian Richard Hofstadter, famed for identifying what he called the “paranoid style in American politics,” put it well: “The nation seems to slouch onward into its uncertain future like some huge inarticulate beast, too much attainted by wounds and ailments to be robust, but too strong and resourceful to succumb.” The fact that Hofstadter published those words at the start of the 1970s speaks to how the United States remains stuck in a rut—revisiting the same arguments, going over the same ground. Americans remain tethered to their contested past. The news cycle is the historical cycle in microcosm. As Lincoln put it in his message to Congress in December 1862: “We cannot escape history.”

So even if the United States does not descend into civil war, it is hard to envision it ever reaching a state of civil peace. The forever war will continue: America’s unending conflict with itself.

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workingclasshistory · 1 year ago

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On this day, 13 July 1921, the Tennessee state holiday Nathan Bedford Forrest Day was first observed, celebrating the 100th birthday of the first Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan who was also a war criminal responsible for the murder of hundreds of mostly Black Union soldiers during the American civil war. Confederate forces under Forrest's control carried out the Fort Pillow massacre of 1864, when they slaughtered hundreds of unarmed Union soldiers who had surrendered. They murdered most of the Black soldiers and roughly one third of the whites: burning some alive, crucifying others and hacking people to death. One Confederate soldier described events in a letter to his family: "The slaughter was awful. Words cannot describe the scene. The poor deluded negroes would run up to our men fall upon their knees and with uplifted hands scream for mercy but they were ordered to their feet and then shot down. The white men fared but little better. Their fort turned out to be a great slaughter pen. Blood, human blood stood about in pools and brains could have been gathered up in any quantity." After the war Forrest became the first national leader of the white supremacist terrorist group the Ku Klux Klan, helping lead a wave of terroristic violence, torture and murder against Black people and white Republican voters. In June 2020, the Tennessee state government voted to continue to observe his birthday as a holiday, although under pressure from a national wave of Black-led anti-racist protests, they did amend the law slightly so that the governor does not have to personally sign a proclamation to him each year. More information, sources and map: https://stories.workingclasshistory.com/article/8483/tennessee-celebrates-kkk-leader Pictured: A completely real statue dedicated to Forrest. Courtesy Brent Moore. https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=661307086042510&set=a.602588028581083&type=3

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cartermagazine · 1 year ago

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Today We Honor Oluale Kossola, Renamed Cudjo Lewis

Zora Neale Hurston tells the story of Cudjo Lewis, who was born Oluale Kossola in what is now the West African country of Benin in her book “Barracoon: The Story of the Last “Black Cargo.”

A member of the Yoruba people, he was only 19 years old when members of the neighboring Dahomian tribe invaded his village, captured him along with others, and marched them to the coast.

There, he and about 120 others were sold into slavery, after the “Act Prohibiting the Importation of Slaves" took effect in 1808 slavery was abolished, and crammed onto the Clotilda, the “last” slave ship to reach the continental United States.

The Clotilda brought its captives to Alabama in 1860, just a year before the outbreak of the Civil War. Even though slavery was legal at that time in the U.S., the international slave trade was not, and hadn’t been for over 50 years. Along with many European nations, the U.S. had outlawed the practice in 1808.

After being abducted from his home, Lewis was forced onto a ship with strangers. The abductees spent several months together during the treacherous passage to the United States, but were then separated in Alabama to go to different owners.

“We very sorry to be parted from one ’nother,” Lewis told Hurston. “We seventy days cross de water from de Affica soil, and now dey part us from one ’nother.”

“Derefore we cry. Our grief so heavy look lak we cain stand it. I think maybe I die in my sleep when I dream about my mama.”

“We doan know why we be bring ’way from our country to work lak dis,” he told Hurston. “Everybody lookee at us strange. We want to talk wid de udder colored folkses but dey doan know whut we say.”

Confederate General Robert E. Lee surrendered in April 1865, Lewis says that a group of Union soldiers stopped by a boat on which he and other enslaved people were working and told them they were free.

He and a group of 31 other freepeople saved up money to buy land near Mobile, which they called Africatown.

CARTER™️ Magazine

#carter magazine #carter #historyandhiphop365 #wherehistoryandhiphopmeet #history #cartermagazine #today in history #staywoke #blackhistory #blackhistorymonth #Instagram

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ausetkmt · 1 year ago

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Freedmen Seek Their Fair Share of Billions of Dollars in Federal Aid and Why We Should Care/Rise UP and Support Them

By Eli Grayson Eagle Guest Writer

Eli Grayson is a Creek Citizen and unabashed supporter of the Freedmen descendants of the 5 Civilized Tribes and the 1866 Reconstruction Treaties.

This past week, we celebrated our Nation’s 244th year of Independence with family and friends over BBQ and fireworks, we should all stop to reflect on its significance, particularly in light of the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement.

The protests that have swept the country by those outraged over the death of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and far too many others, most of whose names have not garnered national attention, has sparked a long-overdue National dialogue about the treatment of Black Americans in the United States, a reckoning with this country’s past, the many vestiges of slavery that continue today, and what we as a country can and must do to address racism. [It also reminds ALL of us that we have a long way to go.]

Not only have the egregious deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Ahmaud Arbery led to a growing chorus of voices calling for criminal justice reform, it has prompted many to reflect upon racism in both its subtle and overt forms today. It has prompted many to learn about events long celebrated by Black Americans such as Juneteenth (even the NFL recently recognized Juneteenth as an official holiday). And it has prompted many to consider what steps we as individuals, and as a society, can take to affirmatively address it. Here in Oklahoma, attention has focused on Black Wall Street and the 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre.

Well known is the U.S. Government’s abhorrent treatment of Native Americans, which included abrogation of countless treaties, appropriation of land, and forced removal to Western territories, including what is today Oklahoma.

Less well known, however, is the fact that the Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Muscogee (Creek) and Seminole Nations – collectively known today as the Five Civilized Tribes – enslaved Africans. Like Southern plantation owners, they bought and sold slaves and treated them as chattel property. Indeed, slaveholding was such an integral part of the daily life of these tribal nations that each entered treaties with the Confederate States of America in 1861 to ensure its continuance.

Many Americans recently learned for the first time about the meaning and significance of Juneteenth, when nearly all remaining slaves in the United States and its territories were freed – a full 71 days after Confederate General Robert E. Lee surrendered at Appomattox on April 9, 1865 to Union forces led by General Ulysses S. Grant.

Enslaved Africans of Indian Territory

This was not the case for the enslaved Africans of Indian Territory. Even after Lee’s surrender, and even after General Granger read his Orders, the enslaved Africans of Indian Territory were kept in bondage.

Sadly, it was not until the Five Tribes of Indian Territory entered Treaties with the U.S. Government on March 21, with the Seminole Nation, on April 28, with the Chickasaw and Choctaw Nations, on June 14, with the Muscogee (Creek) Nation and on July 19, with the Cherokee Nation in 1866 – more than a year after Lee’s surrender – were these slaves granted freedom, tribal citizenship, and equal interest in the soil and national funds.

Each of these treaties (collectively known as the Treaties of 1866) contained provisions freeing the slaves and an express acknowledgement that the U.S. Constitution was, and shall remain, the Supreme Law of the land. Notably, there was no mention of tribal law or sovereignty insulating these slave holding tribes from full compliance with the U.S. Constitution, which includes all the Civil War reconstruction amendments.

Today, we find ourselves at a turning point in society. Similar to the country as a whole, the Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Muscogee (Creek), and Seminole Nations must take this seminal moment to carefully examine their slaveholding past, their prior allegiance with the Confederacy, enshrined through Treaties entered in 1861, and how they can make amends by fully adhering to both the letter and spirit of the 1866 Reconstruction Peace Treaties.

Congressional legislation

The three House bills are H.R. 2, the Invest in America Act, which includes $1 billion for the Native American Housing Block Grant Program to create or rehabilitate over 8,000 affordable homes for Native Americans on tribal lands; H.R. 6800, the HEROES Act, which includes $6 billion for housing and community development to respond to the Coronavirus; and H.R. 5319, the Native American Housing and Self-Determination Reauthorization Act (NAHASDA), which would authorize $680 million in grants to tribes in the first year and grow to $824 million in the fifth and final year.

Why is this important and why should you care? NAHASDA was originally passed by Congress in 1996 to address poor housing conditions in Indian country and last re-authorized in 2008. It is a flagship Federal law for Native American tribes and the vehicle through which approximately $650 million flows annually to the tribes. In Oklahoma, the Five Civilized Tribes receive more than $62 million annually in direct grants for housing and community development projects. These grants are based on a formula that takes into account various factors including the number of tribal members. Notably, these grants are supported by taxpayers.

For the 2021 Fiscal Year, the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD), which is responsible for administering NAHASDA, has informed the Five Civilized Tribes that they can expect to receive $62,223,462. Thus, nearly 10 percent of all NAHASDA grant funds will go to just these five tribes. By any measure, this is a significant sum, particularly when you consider that there are approximately 573 federally recognized tribes in the United States today, according to data from the federal Bureau of Indian Affairs. And, the final amount will be even greater as Congress has (appropriately) increased the amount of funds for NAHASDA far above the amounts requested by this Administration, including an appropriation of $825 million for this Fiscal Year.

Oklahoma Tribes receive millions in housing aid

Native American Tribes also receive other competitively awarded grants from HUD through a program known as the Indian Community Development Block Grant program. The Choctaw Nation was recently awarded $900,000 to rehabilitate 60 single-family homes while the Cherokee Nation received the same sum to construct a community building, which will house the Early Head Start program. The Chickasaw Nation was awarded $900,000 to construct a youth center in Ardmore, Oklahoma that will provide a safe and clean place for activities and services for Chickasaw tribal youth while the Muscogee (Creek) Nation will use its $900,000 award to construct a facility on the campus of the College of Muscogee Nation. The facility will include space for exhibitions and a lecture hall. These are worthy projects and it is vital that all those in need, including Freedmen descendants, can benefit.

Why Freedmen are concerned

Now if you have read this far, you must be thinking this is great news for these five tribes. And indeed, it is. However, for the Freedmen who are de facto members of the tribe, they may never see a dime of these funds if history is any guide.

Steps such as conditioning or denying the issuance of Citizenship Cards to Freedmen descendants, as well the disenrollment of Freedmen as tribal citizens, is what first led Congress in 2008 to include language in the NAHASDA re-authorization bill to link the receipt of NAHASDA housing grants to compliance with the treaty rights and benefits conferred on the Freedmen through the 1866 treaties.

That is why the efforts of House Financial Services Committee Chairwoman Maxine Waters, D-California, to fight on behalf of the Freedmen of all Five Civilized Tribes is so vital.

The committee she chairs oversees HUD and is responsible for periodically re-authorizing NAHASDA. A bi-partisan bill introduced in Congress last December would re-authorize NAHASDA. However, unlike the 2008 legislation, which contained language to prevent the Cherokee Nation from denying Cherokee Freedmen under the Act, the bill introduced by Rep. Denny Heck and co-sponsored by Reps. Scott Tipton (R-Colorado), Ben Ray Lujan (D-New Mexico), Tom Cole (R-Oklahoma), Deb Haaland (D- New Mexico), Don Young (R-Arkansas), Rep. Gwen Moore (D-Wisconsin), and Rep. Tulsi Gabbard (D-Hawaii), does not contain any protections for the Cherokee Freedmen nor the Freedmen of the other Civilized Tribes. Similarly, the version introduced in the Senate last week is devoid of such protections for the Freedmen.

Disturbed by the pattern of denying benefits to Freedmen, Chairwoman Waters is seeking assurance that descendants of Freedmen are not denied NAHASDA funds received by the Tribes. The Descendants of the Freedmen of the Five Civilized Tribes have been working to include language that would ensure that the Freedmen of all Five Civilized Tribes receive taxpayer funded NAHASDA benefits. A similar effort advanced by former House Financial Services Committee Chairman Barney Frank was successful and helped to ensure that Cherokee Freedmen received NAHASDA benefits. And in case, any question whether such protections were needed, one look only to the fact that HUD held up NAHASDA funds to the Cherokee Nation for noncompliance.

Native Americans keep fight against Freedmen

Given the harsh treatment of Native Americans at the hands of whites, one naturally would expect these Five Tribes and their supporters and defenders to be more sensitive to the plight of Freedmen who today make up more than 200,000 descendants.

The reality has been quite the opposite.

Despite knowing all this, tribal leaders and their supporters and defenders continue to maintain that such language is not needed and further argue that such language infringes upon the sovereign rights of ALL Native American tribes.

Both arguments could not be further from the truth.

Language ensuring that the Freedmen have access to federal housing benefits is urgently needed for the very reason that Freedmen have routinely been denied NAHASDA benefits for years. And let’s be clear – language we are seeking does not apply to ALL tribes, but rather only to the Freedmen of the Five Civilized Tribes.

And it does not stop at NAHASDA benefits. Freedmen have been denied tribal citizenship, benefits, and the right to vote as well. Regarding sovereignty, these are federal taxpayer dollars – as such, the federal government and, by extension, its American citizens, have a vested interest in ensuring that all tribal members, including Freedmen, benefit from the funds appropriated pursuant to NAHASDA.

If tribes feel so strongly about their sovereign right to continue to discriminate against Freedmen through denial of federally funded benefits, they can opt to refuse the funding, which would then be redistributed to other tribes. Indeed, it is the height of hypocrisy for any of the Five Civilized Tribes or their supporters to makes these arguments as they count the Freedmen when it comes to the allocation of federal housing grants from HUD yet turn around and deny those very same Freedmen from receiving such benefits.

Freedmen are equal, lawful Tribal citizens

And don’t be mistaken. While Freedmen should be treated as equal citizens under the respective 1866 Treaties, the language we are seeking to include in each of these three bills carefully avoids this ensuring Freedmen receive taxpayer housing and community development benefits on the same terms and conditions as their Native American sisters and brothers.

Indeed, in many instances, these truly are their sisters and brothers given the extensive intermixing of Freedmen and By Blood tribal members over the years. Ironically, this has resulted in some members of a family being considered by the Five Tribes as Indian and therefore citizens of the Tribe while other family members being considered by the tribe as non-Indian and therefore like black sheep.

Yet every time we make a further legislative concession and are led to believe that we are close to a final agreement on language, the Tribes and their supporters and defenders move the goalposts. Sound familiar? Yes, a sensitive issue. The Freedmen only seek to ensure that the Five Civilized Tribes comply with the Treaties of 1866.

Tribal Nations’ actions throw shade on BLM

Lastly, the Five Civilized tribes cannot have it both ways. They cannot on the one hand claim they are victims of discrimination and participate in BLM rallies yet discriminate against Freedmen by denying them suffrage and other rights of tribal citizenship under the guise of sovereignty.

And we are under no illusion that fighting this battle for justice and equality will not remain a challenge. The Five Civilized Tribes have wielded their extensive influence amongst the Nation’s 573 tribes to frame the debate and shape the position of the National tribal organizations in Washington, whom the Members of Congress look to when writing laws that affect the tribes. Adding to the challenge is the fact that the Five Civilized tribes have deployed their sizable resources to contribute to key Members of Congress with the dual purpose of keeping Americans in the dark about their slaveholding past and ensuring that these legal protections for Freedmen never see the light of day in Congress.

But just like our Nation, it is time for the Five Civilized Tribes to stand up and confront their past by taking immediate and affirmative steps to ensure that all descendants of Freedmen receive the federal housing benefits.

This they can do by supporting legislation being courageously advanced by Chairwoman Waters that would require the Five Civilized Tribes to both comply with their Treaty obligations of ensuring access to benefits for Freedmen and report on their compliance to Congress.

Featured Image (Top), Buck C. Franklin, Nashville, Tennessee, 1899, Calvert Brothers Studio Glass Plate Negatives Collection, The Tennessee State Library and Archives Blog

#Black Lives Matter for Freedmen Descendants of the Five Civilized Tribes #Black American Freedmen #Freedmen #indians #slavery

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 5 months ago

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LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

June 19, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

JUN 20, 2024

Today is the federal holiday honoring Juneteenth, the celebration of the announcement in Texas on June 19th, 1865, that enslaved Americans were free.

That announcement came as late as it did because, while General Robert E. Lee surrendered his Army of Northern Virginia to General Ulysses S. Grant of the U.S. Army on April 9, 1865, it was not until June 2 that General Edmund Kirby Smith surrendered the Trans-Mississippi Department, the last major army of the Confederacy, to the United States, in Galveston, Texas. Smith then fled to Mexico.

Seventeen days later, Major General Gordon Granger of the U.S. Army arrived to take charge of the soldiers stationed in Texas. On that day, June 19, he issued General Order Number 3. It read:

“The people of Texas are informed that, in accordance with a proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves are free. This involves an absolute equality of personal rights and rights of property between former masters and slaves, and the connection heretofore existing between them becomes that between employer and hired labor.”

Granger’s order was not based on the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution, which abolished enslavement except as punishment for a crime. Although Congress had passed that amendment on January 31, 1865, and Lincoln had signed it on February 1, the states were still in the process of ratifying it.

Instead, Granger’s order referred to the Emancipation Proclamation of January 1, 1863, which declared that Americans enslaved in states that were in rebellion against the United States “shall be then, thenceforward, and forever free; and the Executive Government of the United States, including the military and naval authority thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of such persons.” Granger was informing the people of Galveston that, Texas having been in rebellion on January 1, 1863, their world had changed. The federal government would see to it that, going forward, white people and Black people would be equal.

Black people in Galveston met the news Order No. 3 brought with celebrations in the streets, but emancipation was not a gift from white Americans. Black Americans had fought for the United States and worked in the fields to grow cotton the government could sell. Those unable to leave their homes had hidden U.S. soldiers, while those who could leave indicated their support for the Confederacy and enslavement with their feet. They had demonstrated their equality and their importance to the United States.

The next year, after the Thirteenth Amendment had been added to the Constitution, Texas freedpeople gathered on June 19, 1866, to celebrate the coming of their freedom with prayers, speeches, food, and socializing. By the following year, the federal government encouraged “Juneteenth” celebrations, eager to explain to Black citizens the voting rights that had been put in place by the Military Reconstruction Act in early March 1867, and the tradition of Juneteenth began to spread to Black communities across the nation.

But white former Confederates in Texas were demoralized and angered by the changes in their circumstances. “It looked like everything worth living for was gone,” Texas cattleman Charles Goodnight later recalled.

In summer 1865, as white legislators in the states of the former Confederacy grudgingly ratified the Thirteenth Amendment, they also passed laws to keep freedpeople subservient to their white neighbors. These laws, known as the Black Codes, varied by state, but they generally bound Black Americans to yearlong contracts working in fields owned by white men; prohibited Black people from meeting in groups, owning guns or property, or testifying in court; outlawed interracial marriage; and permitted white men to buy out the jail terms of Black people convicted of a wide swath of petty crimes, and then to force those former prisoners into labor to pay off their debt.

At the same time, those determined to preserve their power began to rewrite the history of the Civil War. The war had irrevocably undermined the institution of enslavement in the American South, moving it far beyond the ability of white southerners to reinstate it (although some historians argue that without the Thirteenth Amendment enslavement might have moved into the western mines). So white supremacists began to claim that secession had never been about slavery, despite the many declarations of secession saying the opposite. With the Freedmen’s Bureau, created by Congress in March 1865, defending the rights of Black Americans, certain white southerners began to claim that their “cause” had been to protect the rights of the states against a powerful federal government that was forcing on them a way of life they opposed.

In the 1820s, before he became president, Andrew Jackson argued that true democracy meant honoring the votes of those in the states rather than laws made by Congress. This idea justified minority rule. Under this argument, a state’s voters could choose to take the land of their Indigenous neighbors or enslave their Black neighbors even if the majority of Americans, speaking through Congress, opposed those policies, because what mattered was the local vote. Crucially, states also decided who could participate in voting, and before the Civil War, the body politic was almost exclusively white men.

The Black Codes were a clear illustration of what that system meant. Congress refused to readmit the southern states with the codes, and in 1866, congressmen wrote and passed the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution. Its first section established that “All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside.” It went on: “No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”

That was the whole ball game. The federal government had declared that a state legislature—no matter who elected it or what voters called for—could not discriminate against any of its citizens or arbitrarily take away any of a citizen’s rights. Then, like the Thirteenth Amendment before it, the Fourteenth declared that “Congress shall have the power to enforce, by appropriate legislation, the provisions of this article,” strengthening the federal government.

The addition of the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution in 1868 remade the United States of America.

But those determined to preserve a world that discriminated between Americans according to race, gender, ability, and so on, continued to find workarounds. Key to those workarounds has always been resurrecting the idea that true democracy means reducing the power of the federal government and centering the power of the state governments, where voters—registered according to state laws—can choose the policies they prefer…even if they are discriminatory.

In our era, those discriminatory policies are not just racial. They often center religion and include attacks on women’s healthcare and right to abortion, LGBTQ+ Americans, immigrants, and non-Christians. Just today, Louisiana governor Jeff Landry signed into law a measure requiring that every classroom in Louisiana public schools display the Ten Commandments. Those embracing the law hope to push the question of public displays of their faith to the Supreme Court, where they expect a warmer reception from this court than such discriminatory positions have gotten since the 1950s.

If states get to determine who votes and can pass discriminatory legislation without interference by the federal government, they can construct the kind of world Americans lived in before the Fourteenth Amendment. As several Republican-dominated states have already demonstrated, they can also rewrite history.

In 1865, Juneteenth was a celebration of freedom and the war’s end. In 1866 it was a celebration of the enshrinement of freedom in the U.S. Constitution after the Thirteenth Amendment had been ratified. In 1867, Juneteenth was a celebration of the freedom of Black men to vote, the very real power of having a say in the government under which they lived.

In a celebration of Juneteenth on June 10, 2024, Vice President Kamala Harris noted: “Across our nation, we witness a full-on attack on hard-fought, hard-won freedoms and rights, including the freedom of a woman to make decisions about her own body; the freedom to be who you are and love who you love openly and with pride; the freedom from fear of bigotry and hate; the freedom to learn and acknowledge our nation’s true and full history; and the freedom that unlocks all others: the freedom to vote.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#Heather Cox Richardson #Juneteenth #history #freedom #the Thirteenth Amendment #racism #Black people #American Civil war

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bossymarmalade · 2 years ago

Photo

- S. Ross Browne, “The Surrender of Lee (Reverse Mandala)” (2021)

Black-owned construction company Team Henry Enterprises dismantled and removed the last public Confederate statue on display in Richmond, Virginia, the city that served as the capital of the Confederacy during the U.S. Civil War.

The memorial to Ambrose Powell Hill, a Confederate general killed in battle days before the war ended in April 1865, was taken down as a small crowd of onlookers cheered.

The statue will eventually go to the Black History Museum & Cultural Center of Virginia. Hill’s remains, which had been reinterred at the base of the monument, were released to distant descendants.

[ x ]

#chromatic voice #we all make art #s ross browne #black lives matter #massa day done #usermarmalade

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 10 months ago

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Roosters and Re-enactment Day

Chapter Ten of Sweet Home Alabama

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd), Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd)

Description: As a final stop in what seems to be the Pigeon Creek reunion tour, you stop by the annual re-enactment ceremony. Now more than ever you feel like you need a moment with your dad. You need his advice, you need his calm capable presence and possibly one of his big bear hugs. Bradley Bradshaw's quite sure he would never come this far below the Mason Dixon line if it weren't for one person. Linley Floyd is worth it, if only partially, because she's way too countrified for his liking. Even if he could move past her connections to her chicken-fried steak roots, which he can, he's pretty sure it's better to have her in New York. Where she belongs. At least he can meet the dad she adores and gets him to come to New York for the wedding, right?

In the meetings that follow, both Bradley and Linley are left reeling. Because there are some secrets that have been kept from them both which rocks the bedrock of their relationship.

Themes: love, attraction, angst, sex, cheating, lying

Warnings: animal antics (there's dynamite and a cat)

Word Count: 2811

A/N: Wooohooo! We're finally going to see more of Bradley! It's not the best meeting for the affianced pair, and it leaves Linley reeling even more, but there are some secrets that have been kept which are revealed and very important for character growth.

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

You wake up the following day, sure that it’s time to go back to New York. Whether Jake leaves Pigeon Creek and when he does it, it really doesn’t matter. All you know is that if you’re in Pigeon Creek any longer, you’re going to make another stupid decision that you’re going to regret for the rest of your life. There must be something in the water in this town. Why else do you keep finding yourself in these situations? It has to be because of Jake, with his stupid dimples, his stupidly broad shoulders, and the stupid way his hair curls softly over his forehead.

But well, before you go, there is one person you have to say goodbye to. And you have to make him promise to come see you up in New York. Your dad hasn’t made the journey up even once in the seven years you’ve been up there, no matter how many tickets you send. He might be irritable and stubborn, but he’s still your dad. You want to share your life with him. It just figures that in order to find him so you can tell him that, you have to head out to the battlefield.

Re-enactment Day emphasized with a capital R and a capital D, is a big deal in Pigeon Creek and Greeneville. Every year for as long as you can remember, your daddy would wake up early in the morning in the middle of summer, wear his Confederate Soldier uniform, and make the drive out past Greeneville and to the battle site. At one point in time, it had been your favorite part of the summer, if only because it gave you an entire day where you had your dad’s full attention - when he wasn’t surrendering, that is.

The scent of gunpowder is on the hot summer breeze as you pull into the parking lot in your rental. It’s hot and dusty and crowded. The milling crowd makes it nearly impossible for you to see where your dad is, and well, thanks to him, it’s not like you’re the tallest person. But it doesn’t take you very long to find your dad in the makeshift Confederate embankment, especially considering how you could hear him from a mile away. His face lights up at the sight of you, and of course, the first thing he does is tell everyone about how successful you’ve been in New York. A part of you isn’t sure you deserve to know how proud he is of you, but you’re not going to say anything to dissuade him. You need all of the boosts to your reputation you can get at this point.

“C’mere, kiddo.” You walk right into your dad’s arms, and somehow, it makes you feel like you’re home. “What’s eating at you, huh? You’ve been back in Pigeon Creek for just a little while, and you’ve already been arrested once. I feel like I haven’t even seen you since that night. Is what’s going on so serious that even your dad can’t help you?”

In the quiet of the tent, you let everything spill, sobbing your heart out with all of the faith a child has in her father’s ability to solve any problem, no matter how serious.

“Kiddo, can you look at me?” There’s wet on your cheeks as you look into the green eyes that you knew would always protect you. “Heartbreak is the worst thing in the world. Take it from me: it’s the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. But I had you. Your sweet, gummy-toothed smile and how your eyes would light up at the sight of me.”

“You accused me of wanting Jake as a son more than I wanted you as a daughter, and well, kiddo, you’re wrong. I love you. I will always support you and care for you. I’m your dad, and it’s what I’m supposed to do. But can you honestly say that you’ve treated Jake exactly as harshly as he deserved?”

It’s something you’ve never thought of, and it makes the pit yawning in your stomach seem even deeper and darker.

“You left Pigeon Creek, kiddo. And you stole every bit of that boy when you did. You left behind a shell of a man. He gave up the football scholarship he’d deferred and gave up on all of his dreams because you weren’t there to cheer him on. He even came to me and apologized for not being able to take care of you the way he promised he would when you got married.”

You think your heart is breaking all over again at his words.

"How was I to know when he never told me anything, Dad?" You may once have known Jake Seresin better than you knew yourself, but you still can't read his mind.

"I know, kiddo, I know. Just maybe don't sell him short, okay?" At your aborted nod, he hands you his handkerchief and cheerily says, "Now, c'mon, we're just getting started. Time for you to see your old dad kick some butt, Linnie!"

Just like you did when you were a child, you hold onto his hat and powder horn, smiling as he takes his place in line with both items in their place. People from New York might need a passport to come down to Pigeon Creek, but sometimes, it's the best place in the world.

Floyd Plantation, Greeneville, Alabama

Even the air smells different in Alabama. It’s earthy and fresh, completely different from the usual smoke-filled, trash-scented air in New York. Being here, Bradley’s sure he knows exactly why Linley’s spoken so fondly about Floyd Plantation. If he closes his eyes a little, he can almost see the smaller, gap-toothed, glasses-wearing version of her sitting under a tree in the lush green grass with a notebook on her lap and coloring supplies spilled out around her. He's seen the rapt concentration on her face, after all, late at night in New York with neon painting her face.

God, he can't wait to see her again. It's not even been a week, and Bradley can't wait to have his beautiful fiancée in his arms again. He can't wait to meet her family, too. He just knows they're going to be all Southern charm the minute he knocks on the door. Maybe he’s dreaming a bit too much because he nearly ends up in a pileup when a disgustingly bright orange truck nearly bowls into him. The other man lets him continue down the road, and it’s a surprise to see him pull up in front of the same house he does.

“Afternoon.” Bradley’s truly in a good mood.

“How are ya?” The other man’s nearly surly, though apparently good manners still win out. There’s something that looks an awful lot like derision on his face as he scans over the tailored suit Bradley is wearing.

“Good, thanks. Yourself?” As Bradley walks up to the front door, so does the other man.

“No complaints.”

“That's a beautiful house.” It’s exactly like Linley described it.

“Sure. Yeah.” God, he hopes this man isn’t just a carpenter or something else equally pedestrian.

“So, uh, are you here to see Bobby Ray?” Who the hell is Bobby Ray?

“Actually, I'm, uh, hoping to surprise Linley.” Why is he explaining himself to this stranger?

“Linley?” He questions.

“My fiancée, Linley.” There’s something curious in the other man’s facial expressions.

“You got the wrong house, don't ya?” But why would Linley lead him wrong or give him the wrong address?

“This is, uh, the Floyd place, isn't it?” Bradley’s not sure he likes the confusion on the other man’s face.

“Are we talking about the same girl?” There is no way Linley knows this hick. No way.

“Linley Floyd.”

When this guy spits out a girl’s name, a name nearly identical to his fiancée’s but for a different last name, Bradley’s sure the universe is playing a merry trick on him.

“Linley Mitchell?”

Bradley’s not sure what he’s realized, but he has to say something. “Oh, well, that explains it.”

The other man definitely seems to know more than Bradley does, and he’s not sure he likes it, especially his tone as he says, “That sure does.”

“Bradley Bradshaw.” He murmurs, proffering his hand to the man.

“Jake Seresin.” He’s quick to blurt out as he shakes Bradley’s hand.

“Nice meeting you, Jake.” If the other man can’t tell, Bradley’s not pleased to meet him, not at all. But he rings the doorbell anyway.

As luck would have it, when the door opens, it’s not Linley but another man. Why is all of Greenville filled with handsome men and not Bradley’s very pretty brunette fiancé? The man on the other side of the door is bespectacled with an upturned nose, and the first thing he does is say, “Hey, Jake. What's goin' on?”

“Oh, you know, I'm just, uh, talkin' to Lin’s fiancé here.” The look the two men share sends a foreboding jolt through Bradley’s system. “Wondering if you might know where she is?”

“I’m Bradley Bradshaw.” Bradley’s quick to introduce himself, holding his hand out again. “You must be…”

“I’m Bobby Ray,” The bespectacled man mutters, “Linley’s uh, cousin?”

Now, why does that sound like a question?

But before Bradley can dig a little bit deeper, Bobby continues. “I see you’ve already met Jake…” Again, with the looks that speak volumes. “Her, uh…”

“Other cousin.” Jake pops a toothpick into his mouth and smiles charmingly at Bradley. Well, Bradley doesn’t trust the man, but if he is who he says he is, then family is family.

“It’s good to meet more of Linley’s family!” His smile is just as charming.

“Linley mentioned going to visit her daddy up at the, uh, battlefield.” Bobby blurts out, locking the door behind him and taking a few steps toward where Bradley is standing on the stoop.

“The battlefield? What would she be doing there?” His Linley’s not the battlefield type, much-preferring air conditioning and fabric to sweltering heat.

“You know us Southerners.” Bobby’s smile is sweet and a little disarming. “I mean, the minute the Confederacy died, it became a moral issue.”

“C’mon, let me give you a ride up there.” Bradley can only accept the offer because who knows where this battlefield is. It was hard enough finding his way to Floyd Plantation with the acres of land between Greeneville and the old stately home.

“That's great. Thank you.” His voice is all politician’s charm as he smiles at Jake. “Nice meeting you, Bob.” He follows the other man to his orange truck and settles in for a ride through town.

There’s music blaring faintly out of the truck’s speakers, some god-awful country tune. It’s as they’re riding down the dusty main street of some small town near Greeneville that Bradley finally breaks the uneasy peace.

“So…” He has to clear his throat, not sure he’s heard the name right. “Who’s Linley Mitchell?”

“Ah, she’s a…” Jake can’t seem to make up his mind for what to say. “Local hero around here.”

“Why is that?”

“She blew up the bank.”

“That made her a hero?” If anyone had done that in New York, they’d be rotting in prison for years.

“Well, notorious, anyway.” There’s a fond look on Jake’s face as he relays the tale of the notorious Linley Mitchell. “She was fortunate. Nobody was hurt except, maybe, the cat.”

“What cat?” God, if Bradley’s here much longer, he’s going to lose more brain cells than he cares to think about.

“The one with the dynamite on its back.”

“She blew up a cat?” Can you blame him for being confused?

“He was scheduled to die.” Jake sounds so flippant about all of this.

“From dynamite?” Talking to the people down here is like getting blood from a stone.

“The vet said it had cancer, so Eldon, he was the old cat’s owner, thought it'd be put in one of those chambers, you know, the ones that suck their lungs out. Little Lin, she couldn't bear the thought of that. She, uh, she wanted somethin' more humane.”

Since when is dynamite a more humane type of euthanasia?

“Yeah, sure.” Bradley shrugs, not sure what to think about what Linley’s cousin Jake is telling him.

“So, they were doing some blastin' out by the new highway. So, we, uh, we took old Fuzz, that’s the cat’s name, up there, taped him up. Used about thirty feet of fuse just to be on the safe side, said our prayers, and ran like hell.”

“Of course.” Is it bad that Bradley can almost see it? If only he could figure out why this Linley looks so much like his own in his mental image.

But before he can ask anything else about her, Jake continues the story. “So, there we were, sittin' in Virgie's Diner, feelin' pretty blue. When Lin looks up and sees that damn cat, trottin' down the road, searchin' for Eldon.”

Someone somewhere has it out for Bradley Bradshaw. "No shit." There's no way this story is real.

"Yeah, and we would have caught him, too..." Jake's laughing as he drives the truck, free hand gesticulating as he spits the words out in fond excitement. "But once that fuse hit his tail, boom, he took off like a shot."

"And into the bank." Bradley's getting wrapped up in this tall cat tale despite himself.

"Well... the theory is..." Jake smiles as he says the words, "He probably wriggled loose from the explosive. 'Cause, uh, people still see him from time to time, scorched tail and all. He's a little skittish around humans."

This guy sure can tell a good story. "That was quite a story."

"She was quite a girl." For the first time, Bradley sees something other than cockiness in Jake's face and hears something else in his tone.

"Whatever happened to her?" He's not sure he should ask this question, not when he sees the clear devastation on Jake's face.

"Oh, you know… wound up pregnant... married some loser right out of high school." The other man's trying so hard to sound nonchalant, but there's something more to this story. Bradley's almost debating calling Cyclone when he can, only so someone can do some more digging - into Jake, into Linley Mitchell, he's not sure who. He may hate his mom's Chief of Staff, but boy, is he good at digging up some dirt.

Thankfully Bradley's saved from responding to the dumb hick who'd driven him here when the truck lurches into the all-dirt parking lot. As the hot wind whips through his hair, it barely takes him any time at all to see Linley through a gap in the crowd. She's looking at the re-enactors raptly as taps play out over the silent field.

She turns around as the applause rings out, and Bradley can tell exactly when she sees him. "Are you surprised?"

She looks more stunned than surprised, but this is his fiancée so he kisses her anyway. She feels so perfect, so right in his arms.

Of course, the moment he lets her go, she's asking, "What're you doing here?" Her Alabama twang is so cute, stronger after a few days home than it's ever been in New York. He needs to get his jet-setting bride-to-be back where she belongs - as well as possibly in front of a tutor or vocal coach to train the twang out of her vocal patterns. The future First Lady of New York can't sound like she came out of bum-fuck nowhere after all.

But that's just a fleeting thought, especially when Jake pipes up, unasked, and supplies, "Well, I came to deliver your fiancé."

"I think she was talking to me." He's quick to snap out. But his attention is taken up by the short man who's walking up the slope in a white t-shirt, Confederate Army uniform jacket unbuttoned.

He's got green eyes and unruly dark hair, just like Linley's. A pair of aviators sits low on his nose. But there's something about the way he carries himself that Bradley has seen before. This man exudes a sense of ease, this imperceptible swagger that has nothing to do with how bowlegged he is after getting off of a horse. He shrugs the uniform jacket off and hands the garment to Linley.

"Hey, kiddo." He grunts, his voice playful as he kisses Linley's temple. "You got my leather jacket?"

It feels like a punch to the gut as he throws the jacket on, and Bradley sees patches he's seen all of his life come into focus. Then the aviators come off, and Bradley's face to face with a ghost he hasn't seen since he was four years old.

His voice is gravelly and gritty as he chokes out, "Hey, Uncle Mav."

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