Spirit of the Nation ★ Female America

1. Momentarily Yours

July 15, 1905

Cafe Milano

Ottowa, Canada

"England asked me to speak with you about something."

"What? When?"

"In a letter, just the other day."

"How often does he write to you?"

"Hmm. Every other week or so?"

"How...nice," I mumbled, glaring into my coffee cup.

For reasons beyond my comprehension, the nation of Canada remained within the Commonwealth of the British Empire. It was easy to forget with a friendship like ours—natural, breezy, and always just a telegram away. We had spent the entire morning chatting over coffee as people passed by the cafe window on the rainy street outside.

"Anyway," Canada continued, reaching for her purse, "it was incredibly specific so I copied it."

I leaned forward when she slid the note across the table.

Manifest Destiny—origins, motivations, political leanings, the public's sentiment

My eyes trailed over it again and again. "What is the context...?"

"Would you like to read the letter?" she asked innocently, her fork hovering over her cake.

I smothered a grin. "If you would be so kind."

She produced an envelope from her bag. I couldn't help but notice that it was addressed to her temporary residence in the United States, meaning it was sent very recently. As she leafed through the multiple pages, I set my jaw in annoyance. I had only read a single paragraph from him over the course of my life.

I began reading the moment the page touched my hand. The perfect handwriting and gentle manners bordered on nauseating.

Now, if you would allow me to bore you with politics, I shall update you on the goings-on in Europe. Though it pains me, I must admit that signing the alliance with France last spring has turned out to be a masterstroke in diplomacy. This is of course due to the ever-ambiguous aspirations of the German Empire. Their 'Weltpolitik' dogma continues to be a disruption in Europe and beyond, particularly the continued expansion of their naval forces. Seemingly, their victory over the Americans in Samoa has ushered in a new slew of colonisation.

"'Victory'?" I breathed.

Canada looked up, covering her mouth as she chewed. "Hm?"

German politicians gain popularity from the claim, 'We demand for ourselves a place in the sun.' Such statements remind me of the radical American politicians in the 1830s and 1840s. It was a time of rapid westward expansion, often at the cost of human life and liberty. If you would, when next you meet, please ask America to discuss with you Manifest Destiny—its origins, motivations, political leanings, and, particularly, the public's sentiment. I would kindly appreciate it.

On a brighter note, you'll be pleased to hear that His Majesty is well—

With a groan, I slid the letter across the table. Even in written form, he grated on me. "He's clearly obsessed with Germany," I concluded.

"That's sure and certain," she said with a hesitant laugh. She stole a glance at me. "So...would you like to talk about it?"

"I shall write to him directly, Canada," I said dryly, picking up my fork. "You need not shield him from my venom."

She laughed into her napkin. "Alright, then."

That evening, I took great pleasure in crafting my response. I wrote late into the night—so late that yawns became a frequent interruption. Our chance meetings in Venezuela and Samoa had whet my appetite for confrontation.

Hello England,

If you believe that you can exert your influence over me via Canada, allow me to disabuse you of that ill notion. There is no country that I care about more than my own—as such, trivial European politics do not concern me. However, given your pathologic interest in my nation's history, I have chosen to write to you today.

From 1821 to 1832, I dedicated myself to learning the trade of frontiering in the Missouri Territory. Moving out West was not the death sentence that many historians make it out to be, but it was by no means a simple feat...

My thoughts on Manifest Destiny, the dream and realization of a nation sprawling from sea to sea, filled six pages. By the end, my fingers were sore and stained with ink. I dedicated several minutes to coming up with a witty closing.

Momentarily yours,
America

~

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