Giant Men and Violent Women

Dum Dum Da-Dumm

ASHLEY

Louisiana is missing. Charlotte's house is burned down, and I can't find either one of them. If things happened the way I assume, they both got word that New Hampshire's independence was about to be declared from someone back at home, probably Dallas, and they ran from Boston to come back to Darling. Charlotte's brownstone was likely burned at random, as all the other homes on Charlotte's street are seared. Louisiana is on her way back with Mercer's former love in tow. They are sure to prove a hindrance to me. Charlotte might be a friend when she has none, but there's no telling how she'll act when she's back home and reinstated into The House. There's no telling how Louisiana will act once she has reinforcement. This will be fun.

Tonight has to be the foggiest it's ever been. Mercer and I ride through Darling, toward The Governor's mansion, barely able to see ten feet in front of us, as we pass by Righteous Brook. Mercer drives slowly. The fog loosens about a mile away from The Brook, allowing us to see homes that line the roads.

Darling is busy tonight. I can hear the chatter of residents from one house to another. Illuminated kitchens show neighbors gathered and gossiping over Black Honey and blackberry tarts. Living room windows showcase lit fireplaces and children in slumber bags. Their parents have permitted them to stay up for almond milk and chocolate scones.

Slaves stand on the porches of their log cabins, talking with each other, faces grave and confused at times. So, what about the slaves who aren't from New Hampshire? They're still American, but they must serve their time in New Hampshire for the crime they committed on its soil. They way any American would be treated overseas. So, what about the prisoners who are from New Hampshire? They're no longer Americans? No, they aren't. But no one in New Hampshire needs to worry. The House has been planning for this day since Chap thought of the slavery program. We planned what we would do if the federal government told us to abolish the program. We planned what to do if the prisoners started a revolt. We planned what to do if anti-slavery groups planned riots. We planned what to do if New Hampshire was sent into a state of emergency.

What about fuel? What about cars? What about food? The answer is easy. Do you know what sits on top of New Hampshire? Chartierville, Quebec. Do you remember who's from Quebec? My brother's wife. Do you remember who her father is? The head councillor of Chartierville, Quebec. New Hampshirites are proud people. We can survive on our own. Trust me, we can, winters and all. But, if we were ever to encounter desperate times, we'd use our good friend Quebec as a backup plan. Mercer's mother was right; don't marry for love.

What about utilities? New Hampshire will run its telephones and electricity from its own networks and power sources. When the United States shuts us down, like a generator, New Hampshire will immediately boot its people back up.

What about war? The United States Congress is the only body that can authorize war. The president can suggest it, but Congress declares it. Congress will never approve it. Congress is a conservative majority at the moment. Conservatives believe in states' rights. They would never force New Hampshire to give up its rights to the president of the United States. Yet, if war is authorized, New Hampshire won't be surprised. We'll always have the inside scoop. We have one of our own in Congress. Remember, Mercer's marrying Reagan. Do you remember who her father is? A congressman from Maine. So, even if you don't follow the advice of Mercer's mother, even if you do marry for love, it can still all work out.

There is nothing we need the United States for. Nothing. We can be and will be self-sufficient. And, if we have to fight to keep our sovereignty, we will. We will prepare our men to fight. We will ready our women to heal. We will prepare our children to lead. We will prepare. Better yet, we have already prepared.

I pull in front of the gates of The Governor's mansion and watch the guards open the black iron gates for me. Mercer sits quietly at my side. Gas lanterns light the roadway to the front steps of the mansion. But, with the fog now thick, almost creamy, we can't see when the road ends. The journey to The Governor's mansion seems never-ending.

As I come closer to the mansion, eventually, prisoners can be seen on the estate, lingering on the porches of their cabins. The Governor's allowing them outside past curfew tonight. Guards patrol the grounds, guns on their hips. Every light in The Governor's mansion is on. Kitchen slaves busy themselves inside, preparing a small meal for The House, knowing that it'll be a long night for us. the House of New Hampshire is gathered at the bottom of the front steps, talking.

"Doesn't look good," Mercer says as I pull up behind my father's truck.

He's right. Presley Ann, Louisiana, and Hunt—I notice that they're missing. Sure, Charlotte's missing, too, but no one's looking for her. The rest of the members of The House are here—my parents; my brother, and his wife; the governor, his wife, and their son, Dallas; Pop and Dainty; Presley Ann's mother, father; and Hyacinth. I know the missing three are the topic of conversation tonight.

Pop, noticing my headlights, raises his arms to me. Did you find Louisiana or Presley Ann?

I hop out of my truck and shake my head. Mercer and I make the walk to the bottom of The Governor's steps, and though it's cold in New Hampshire, I've never felt warmer. It's the energy. The feeling that I belong to a government that is now self-governing. I belong to a state that now belongs to no one.

New Hampshire's making news, national and world. We're heroes—a group of people expressing themselves according to the original intent of our founding fathers.

The Southern states are lighting fireworks and toasting each other with whiskey. By golly, those Yankees have heart.

We sure do.

One of our own gets finished, and the president doesn't condemn it? Fuck him. He doesn't condemn the shooter and instead condemns the program Chap created. Fuck him. He sent his army into our territory when we told him not to. Fuck him. We don't need the president's approval to attack those who finished us. We don't need his permission to free those in cages so that they might feel human again. We don't need the president's support to end this Sweet Water epidemic. The president doesn't tell us what to do. New Hampshire is nobody's boy.

I walk to the House of New Hampshire and see The Governor and First Lady. They look sick from worry. Both of their daughters are missing, even the one they couldn't care less about. I look to Cherokee and her Love Doctor and see that they're whispering to each other. I'm sure it's about Presley Ann and Hunt. Both of her children are missing, yet something tells me that they aren't worried.

"They know where she is," I quickly whisper to Mercer, hoping he'll know what I'm talking about.

"Thinking the same thing," Mercer, always in tune with me, says.

Pop starts to walk up to us. "He wants to talk," Pop says to me.

I know he's talking about the president.

"And?" I ask as he stands in front of me. "Our talking days are over." Good.

I thought that Pop, who has lived among the DC politicos since he was eighteen, would have a change of heart and back out of this. He's proving to us that he's New Englander first, American second.

"We're ready for the worse; no need to worry," he says.

"Who's worrying?" I ask with a smile. "I'm not worried. I'm ready."

He smiles back at me and reaches out his hand for me to shake. The rogue has come home after being trained by the United States of America to fight for her freedom, and now, he's leading New Hampshire to fight for ours. Just hours ago, Pop was named New Hampshire's Secretary of War. He's ready.

"So the next step—" he begins, but his train of thought is interrupted by the glare of headlights.

We all look to the road leading to the mansion and see nothing but lights slowly approaching us through the fog. The moment of reckoning. I look at The Governor and First Lady. They both look hopeful. I look at Cherokee and The Doctor. They both look expectant.

"Dum, dum, da-dumm," Pops says, singing the bridal march.

And we all look toward the headlights, wondering which woman is approaching us.

"Here comes your bride."