America's World

Chapter Twelve: Civil War Trauma Two

Gonna be honest I wasn't very sure what to do for this chapter, but then decided that I should do a second part to the last chapter except from Alfred's point of view.

 I do apologize for not updating, my aunt died and work has been dragging me by a thread. I've been tired, so this one is gonna be a long one...

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England tossed and turned in his bed, France trying to snuggle with him and get him to finally sleep. But the father couldn't, he couldn't sleep knowing what could have happened. France sighed and sat up in bed, looking at his lover.

"Jou won't feel 'appy until jou see ze memory," Francis groaned and left the room, coming back a minute later with the memory stone. England looked at his lover and nodded to him, "Memoja Maska," Francis said to the orb. It pulsed white and the world went black.

When the two awoke they found the other nations, other than Russia and America, were all looking around as well. Norway sighed and looked at England with pity. Catori appeared to them and the crowd of nations looked to her.

"I was summoned by France, which memories would you like to see?" Catori asked and the rest of the nations looked to the fathers.

"We want to see America's point of view during the Civil War and Alaska's pregnancy," England demanded. Catori nodded and the world faded, the scene was in a mansion on a cotton plantation.

"It really does please me that Mr. President enjoys our cotton," a young adult had spoken. He was wearing a white dress shirt, a pair of jeans, and a cowboy hat. Next to him was a younger Alfred, who was wearing pretty much the same thing.

"He loves the way you grow it. Your production rate is 20 percent more than most other southern plantations. You must take care of a lot of workers," Alfred replied smiling. The boy grew tense, "Clayton?"

"I try my best to make them comfortable, but pa is a different story. He's still stuck in the old ways, ya know? Feels the slaves aren't really the same as him. There have been plenty of times where I had to restrain pa myself so he wouldn't kill nobody. Really is a darn shame how he doesn't listen to the opinions of others, he'd probably have a lot fewer enemies," Clayton explained, Alfred nodding. That's when they heard yelling, a very angry yelling. Alfred immediately stood up and ran to the porch, "ah shit," Clayton cursed following.

Alfred went to the porch and saw a little eight-year-old black girl in tears, her hand bleeding. Then there was the owner, a fat scraggly looking man with white hair and a bald spot.

"That cotton supply was supposed to be headin to France by tomorrow! Now because of that damned hand of yours, it's gonna get delayed! You filthy creatures better pick double-time if you want any supper!" the man's face was red from yelling. Alfred gritted his teeth and knelt beside the girl, "who in the hell are you?" Alfred ignored him.

"Here, let me see your hand," he said softly, the girl trembling as she let him hold her wounded hand. He got out his red handkerchief and wiped the wound, grabbing his black handkerchief and wrapping the wound.

"Boy, I'm talkin to you!" the man yelled angrier than before.

"I know you are, I'm choosing to ignore you while I treat your worker. We can speak once she is taken care of," Alfred sent a glare to the man, the man froze like a rattlesnake had bitten him. Alfred continued to ask the girl questions quietly, making the owner impatient.

"She's my slave! I should be answering the questions! I don't know who the Hell you think you are coming in here and treatin my slaves!"