October 28, 1886
French Embassy
New York City, United States
I smoothed the front of my skirt with my hands. Looking down at my work, I noticed a loose button on my boot. I reached down to fasten it.
"Are you well, madam?" asked the ambassador to France.
"Yes, Robert," I breathed as I straightened. I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "Yes...thank you."
The arrival of the French delegation was much anticipated. New York Harbor was draped in red, white, and blue from the tallest smokestack to the smallest boat. All over the city, French and American flags fluttered side-by-side in the autumn breeze. The colossal statue, a gift from the people of France, stood in the harbor awaiting her public reveal.
After the French withdrawal from Mexico, France and I reconciled via post. Letters became regular, but they were mechanical in nature. I knew not where to lay the blame—the three thousand miles of ocean between us, our tumultuous past, or the relentless march of time.
My heart rate accelerated when an aide announced the arrival of their carriage.
Many introductions and greetings were made. Since only their ambassador knew my identity, I was paid no particular attention. I eventually found France at the back of the crowd, enjoying similar anonymity. I floated to him with my heart in my throat.
"There you are," he said by way of greeting, stretching out his hand.
We exchanged a rather modern handshake. "Welcome, France," I said. "Thank you for coming."
His eyes immediately wandered to the faces around us, revealing his discomfort. I felt sadness weighing on my chest. Our reunions had once been joyous affairs. With a spark of determination, my eyes went back to his face.
I took his elbow with my hand, and he looked at me in surprise.
He didn't resist as I led us around a corner and out of sight. I was breathless when I turned to face him. My same emotions were suddenly reflected on his face.
We embraced. I sighed in relief as the dam of my happiness gave way, and I held him tighter. His arms encircled me completely, and his head fell to my neck. He breathed in deeply and sighed.
"How I've missed you," he whispered.
I smiled. "I as well."
He drew back and kissed both of my cheeks. Taking my hands, he held them tightly between us. "The ceremony—it is today?"
"Yes," I said breathlessly, beaming up at him.
He smiled with excitement. "Liberté...I cannot wait to see her."
I squeezed his hands as I bobbed on my feet. "Did you see the harbor?"
He threw his head back and laughed. "How is it? That Américains are so patriotic for France?"
"Well, it's like the old saying goes..." I felt a blush creep up my face. "'Every man has two countries—his own, and France.'"
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Spirit of the Nation ★ Female America
Historical Fiction''I shall never be as powerful as the likes of you.'' France gave a reproachful hum. ''𝘈𝘮𝑒́𝘳𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘦, you are but thirty years old. I am well over eight hundred. 𝘗𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘦...almost three hundred.'' My eyes drifted downward, where Prussia's ar...
