[Hetalia] "Ladies of Liberty"
Written for aph_historyswap
Original Link in Community
~*~
Title: "Ladies of Liberty"
Recipient: breagadoir
Characters: America
Rating: PG-13 for short depiction of the Civil War.
Summary: “I was just wondering about my Declaration. Where do women and other people fit into all this? Are they getting rights along with the rest of us?” Dr. Franklin merely stared at him and America started to wonder if he had said something wrong...
Notes: I felt like there is so much to the story of women's rights in the United States and tried to capture it! I wish I had even more time to work on it! I hope you enjoy it!
Spring 1776 - Near Boston, Massachusetts
“America! Show some propriety!” commanded Mrs. Abigail Adams with all the strength of a military commander. America immediately sat up straighter in his chair as she entered the room. He made a scramble to straighten up the many documents he was reviewing. He hadn’t been planning on being in Massachusetts but General Washington had insisted he take some time with his people. Mr. Adams requested that he check on his family for him and America was quite curious about the family that the man had always referred to. He had spent the last few days here, getting to know them, and swelling with pride that they were his people. He had taken an instant liking to Mrs. Adams, her intelligence and her strength. She picked up some of the documents and sat down in a chair to read them. He watched her face for her opinions.
“Mrs. Adams, I just wanted to say that I’m grateful for your husband’s dedication to me. He does so much and I know...” He wanted to apologize for taking her husband’s attention, for not allowing her to have the security of her husband’s presence. She quirked an eyebrow at him.
“Yes, well I hope John is not causing too much trouble.” she smiled at him, “And don’t worry about me, women can do just as well as men.”
“That’s not what everyone says.” he regretted his words instantly as she hardened her gaze at him, the motherly look turning slightly cold.
“America, you are the New World are you not? Should you not try to liberate yourself from the aged opinions of Europe as you try to liberate yourself from England?” she stood up and walked towards the window, gazing out at the farm, at all of the crops she was working so hard to grow along with her family as her husband fought for America’s independence with words and political action. “You have the opportunity to become something more than any of us can ever possibly dream. Do not forget the women, and do not forget the slaves or any other men or women. We are your people too. Should not freedom be for all of us?”
Summer 1776 - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
America sat in a daze in the sweltering heat of the room, listening to the Continental Congress declare their intentions for independence. His thoughts were dominated by what Mrs. Adams had said, his head spinning with the possibilities of what he could become, could it be possible for everyone to be equal as Mr. Jefferson was writing into his Declaration of Independence? A rap on the table next to him broke him of his thoughts. He looked up into the wizened face of Dr. Benjamin Franklin.
“Are you listening boy? We are deciding your future, I would think you to have more interest.” he said gruffly, tapping his walking stick against the floor to illustrate his point.
“I was just wondering about my Declaration. Where do women and other people fit into all this? Are they getting rights along with the rest of us?”
Dr. Franklin merely stared at him and America began to wonder if he had said something wrong. It didn’t seem all the unreasonable to him. “Are you trying to step on these men’s toes? Your independence will not be assured if you start coming up with such fanciful notions.”
“But...”
“What is important right now is separation from Great Britain. We can deal with the issue of women and slaves at a later time. You don’t want to rock the boat too much or we will all drown.”
America opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it at a wave of Franklin’s hand as the older man leant forward to listen to what the Congressmen were now discussing. He was not sure what to think, but he needed his freedom like he needed air. Although, sometimes, he was beginning to feel as though his dream was getting lost to politics. He didn’t like compromising, and that was exactly what they were asking him to do.
At the end of the meeting he walked along the pathway, getting some fresh air and listening to the sounds of his people going about their business. He was unable to get the swirl of words out of his head. Should fairness and equality be just for some? Was that what it meant? Many of the men of the Congress seemed to think that way, but he liked the idea of it being for everyone, and he knew the idea would not be leaving him alone.
March 1806 - Oregon Territory
America couldn’t believe it, here he was on the Pacific coast. He could feel it in his bones, this was right, he was supposed to be here. The land beneath his feet would become something, the wilderness he had crossed would be filled with his people. It was a beautiful dream and he wanted to get started on it right away. He was suddenly distracted by a tug on his pant leg and he smiled down at the toddler that was smiling up at him.
“Hey, little guy! Where’s your mother?” He picked up the young child and he burbled. America liked the kid a lot, his father was one of Canada’s people, his mother from a Native American tribe that lived on his lands. He heard the woman approach quietly and she smiled warmly at him when he handed her back her child. “Hello Janey.” He used the name Mr. Clark had given her, her Shoshone name difficult for him to pronounce, he felt as they he never got it right.
She asked him if he was happy in the language of her husband, French. He replied that he was quite happy, that this expedition would never be forgotten and that he could not wait to share what had been found.
“I am also grateful to you.” She looked a little surprised, “If it weren’t for you we would have had a much harder time of all this. You were greatly influential in making our journey a success. I won’t forget you.”
“I do not think I will forget you either, Alfred.”
“It’s a promise! Now let’s go check out that stuff down on the beach!” He grinned and headed down the hill, wanting to know the feeling of the surf beneath his feet, knowing it would have been an even greater challenge to get to this place without the brave woman coming down the sandy slope behind him.
December 1863 - Fredricksburg, Virginia
America couldn’t help but stare at the destruction, his body in complete and utter despair. The freezing mud soaked into his boots, wet with the blood of his people. He sank to his knees in the red snow, unable to process that over 18,000 of his people had been killed or wounded in the last four days. It had already been a bloody year and a half and he knew it still wasn’t over. The pain that wracked his body was nowhere near subsiding. His heart was torn asunder and he was beginning to wonder if he would survive. He was being filled with immigrants in the North and the South was fighting for their culture and way of life. He didn’t know what to think about any of it. The harsh reality of his Civil War overwhelmed him and he collapsed, sweet oblivion claiming him.
He awoke in the noise of a field hospital, unceremoniously thrown together in the middle of the battlefield. He hated the smells of them, he hated hearing the sounds of his wounded and dying and knowing he couldn’t really do anything to help them. He blinked a few times, willing his eyes open. It was cold.
“Good, you haven’t frozen to death.” said a young woman, her body completely obscured by a man’s coat and a large scarf around her head to ward off the winds. Her fingers were wrapped in blood stained cloth, an attempt to keep them from getting too cold. America sat up slowly and looked around, he suddenly wished he hadn’t. If he had just stayed down he wouldn’t have to see all of the bodies. All of them, Union or Confederate were his people, dead at the hands of each other. He looked into the girl’s sad eyes and smiled, trying to give her hope that he didn’t feel. He knew her life and the other women who rushed from bed to bed giving what aid they could, would never be the same. You couldn’t hold the hand of someone who was dying and not be changed. One bed caught his attention and he stared, the girl turned her head. “Surprising isn’t it?”
America nodded and got slowly off the blanket that he had been laying on, opening the space for another man. He walked over and looked down at the woman lying there on bunk. He could tell she was dying, the fire slowly burning out in her eyes. A field surgeon stood over her shaking his head.
“This one is a lost cause, poor woman, she should have been home. Take care of children and keep the home for the men to return. A battlefield is not her place.” he said as America walked over to stand beside him. The woman gave the man a sour smile as blood pooled at the edge of her mouth revealing the bayonet injury that was claiming her life hidden beneath the bandages.
“Women have just as much right as men to fight for what she believes in. I did all right too, killed more Southerners than some of the boys.” She tried to laugh, but it ended in a cough, “You would have been none the wiser if it wasn’t for this blasted wound.” She shuddered then, taking the last shaking breaths before the light went out of her eyes. The doctor shook his head and walked away. America came to the edge of the blanket and knelt down, brushing his fingers over her face to close her sightless eyes.
“Wait,” he said to the doctor as the man began to walk off, “Did she have a name?”
“No proper woman’s name, she was calling herself Samuel.” he said, heading off to attend to more soldiers. America nodded, looking down at a woman whose name he would never know. He wondered how many there were that were doing the same thing as her. How many were brave enough to leave and fight alongside men, concealing their own gender to do so? Her last words echoed in his head.
“You’re right, Sam, everyone has the right to fight for what they want.” Everyone can dream for themselves.
July 1890 - Wyoming
America smiled as the celebration began acknowledging Wyoming’s addition as a state. This territory was special, the first territory and now the first state to allow women the vote, among other things. Women in Wyoming had been voting since the late 1860s. America grinned at the excitement in the air, the feeling of accomplishment of the sparsely populated state. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the western air, he liked the west. Its challenges made everyone equal, everyone as important, both men and women toiled hard to make this part of the country work.
“Mister?” said a little girl dressed in her best dress, a simple cotton garment, modest compared to the elaborate fashions of the East.
“Yes, Miss?” he said, she giggled.
“Would you dance with me?” He nodded and skipped off with her to join the other people dancing, celebrating the statehood of the home they had been building here on the unforgiving frontier. America could tell the smiling little girl would grow up to join the people that he was so proud of. He grinned happily, here in a place where more of his dreams were coming true.
October 1917 - New York City, New York
America watched as the women marched past the small government office. He smiled as Old Glory passed the window, the colors reflected in the ribbons some of the women wore on their modest white dresses. They carried banners down the street, covered in the signatures of thousands of women that were petitioning for the right to vote nationwide. Women had been voting out in the western states for many years now, and these women were fighting for that right for all, political equality with men. They had been fighting for it for so long, and he could still see the same spirit that Mrs. Adams had possessed so long ago now. The bright, crisp colors of the women’s dresses contrasted heavily with the dark suits of the men in the dim, smoky building where America sat.
“What I fail to understand is why women feel the need for the vote, must we be at the mercy of the petticoat at every turn?” protested one man. Several of the other men laughed.
“It sounds like you need some apron strings cut.” The laughter increased. America frowned a little, it was an old argument, and an unfair one. He had seen great men that valued their wives use that as an excuse for not allowing them more, even though they could have done so. These women marching in the streets wanted him to be able to hear them and he wanted to hear them as well.
“Assuming women have the capability to vote, who says that they will use the privilege wisely? How do we know we are not just giving another vote to their husbands? I know I would want my wife to vote the same way I do. It would be improper for her to do otherwise.”
“Yes, and who says that women will know the correct direction for our country? Some women have a great deal of intellect, but most merely follow. Why would a woman assert herself in such a way?”
“Do you not see the crowd of women outside asserting themselves gentlemen? I do not see why we can not allow our wives and daughters have their voices heard. They could become a gentling influence on society.”
“Perhaps like Miss Rankin of Montana, she is certainly causing a stir.” The men nodded and launched into a discussion of the woman. America smiled fondly at the mention of her, the first woman in Congress, he had been excited to meet her and they had become friends.
“She seems to be doing an acceptable job.”
“Yeah, perhaps it’s not so bad.” America said, breaking into the conversation, and all of the men turned to look at him, surprise on their faces. “Maybe it’s time we gave them a chance to have the freedom that we all enjoy.”
He could feel it, the fight for his dream was not over, but it was certainly almost there.
Women add interest to many things, America. Abigail Adams had said to him once, and he knew it was true.
Original Link in Community
~*~
Title: "Ladies of Liberty"
Recipient: breagadoir
Characters: America
Rating: PG-13 for short depiction of the Civil War.
Summary: “I was just wondering about my Declaration. Where do women and other people fit into all this? Are they getting rights along with the rest of us?” Dr. Franklin merely stared at him and America started to wonder if he had said something wrong...
Notes: I felt like there is so much to the story of women's rights in the United States and tried to capture it! I wish I had even more time to work on it! I hope you enjoy it!
Spring 1776 - Near Boston, Massachusetts
“America! Show some propriety!” commanded Mrs. Abigail Adams with all the strength of a military commander. America immediately sat up straighter in his chair as she entered the room. He made a scramble to straighten up the many documents he was reviewing. He hadn’t been planning on being in Massachusetts but General Washington had insisted he take some time with his people. Mr. Adams requested that he check on his family for him and America was quite curious about the family that the man had always referred to. He had spent the last few days here, getting to know them, and swelling with pride that they were his people. He had taken an instant liking to Mrs. Adams, her intelligence and her strength. She picked up some of the documents and sat down in a chair to read them. He watched her face for her opinions.
“Mrs. Adams, I just wanted to say that I’m grateful for your husband’s dedication to me. He does so much and I know...” He wanted to apologize for taking her husband’s attention, for not allowing her to have the security of her husband’s presence. She quirked an eyebrow at him.
“Yes, well I hope John is not causing too much trouble.” she smiled at him, “And don’t worry about me, women can do just as well as men.”
“That’s not what everyone says.” he regretted his words instantly as she hardened her gaze at him, the motherly look turning slightly cold.
“America, you are the New World are you not? Should you not try to liberate yourself from the aged opinions of Europe as you try to liberate yourself from England?” she stood up and walked towards the window, gazing out at the farm, at all of the crops she was working so hard to grow along with her family as her husband fought for America’s independence with words and political action. “You have the opportunity to become something more than any of us can ever possibly dream. Do not forget the women, and do not forget the slaves or any other men or women. We are your people too. Should not freedom be for all of us?”
Summer 1776 - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
America sat in a daze in the sweltering heat of the room, listening to the Continental Congress declare their intentions for independence. His thoughts were dominated by what Mrs. Adams had said, his head spinning with the possibilities of what he could become, could it be possible for everyone to be equal as Mr. Jefferson was writing into his Declaration of Independence? A rap on the table next to him broke him of his thoughts. He looked up into the wizened face of Dr. Benjamin Franklin.
“Are you listening boy? We are deciding your future, I would think you to have more interest.” he said gruffly, tapping his walking stick against the floor to illustrate his point.
“I was just wondering about my Declaration. Where do women and other people fit into all this? Are they getting rights along with the rest of us?”
Dr. Franklin merely stared at him and America began to wonder if he had said something wrong. It didn’t seem all the unreasonable to him. “Are you trying to step on these men’s toes? Your independence will not be assured if you start coming up with such fanciful notions.”
“But...”
“What is important right now is separation from Great Britain. We can deal with the issue of women and slaves at a later time. You don’t want to rock the boat too much or we will all drown.”
America opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it at a wave of Franklin’s hand as the older man leant forward to listen to what the Congressmen were now discussing. He was not sure what to think, but he needed his freedom like he needed air. Although, sometimes, he was beginning to feel as though his dream was getting lost to politics. He didn’t like compromising, and that was exactly what they were asking him to do.
At the end of the meeting he walked along the pathway, getting some fresh air and listening to the sounds of his people going about their business. He was unable to get the swirl of words out of his head. Should fairness and equality be just for some? Was that what it meant? Many of the men of the Congress seemed to think that way, but he liked the idea of it being for everyone, and he knew the idea would not be leaving him alone.
March 1806 - Oregon Territory
America couldn’t believe it, here he was on the Pacific coast. He could feel it in his bones, this was right, he was supposed to be here. The land beneath his feet would become something, the wilderness he had crossed would be filled with his people. It was a beautiful dream and he wanted to get started on it right away. He was suddenly distracted by a tug on his pant leg and he smiled down at the toddler that was smiling up at him.
“Hey, little guy! Where’s your mother?” He picked up the young child and he burbled. America liked the kid a lot, his father was one of Canada’s people, his mother from a Native American tribe that lived on his lands. He heard the woman approach quietly and she smiled warmly at him when he handed her back her child. “Hello Janey.” He used the name Mr. Clark had given her, her Shoshone name difficult for him to pronounce, he felt as they he never got it right.
She asked him if he was happy in the language of her husband, French. He replied that he was quite happy, that this expedition would never be forgotten and that he could not wait to share what had been found.
“I am also grateful to you.” She looked a little surprised, “If it weren’t for you we would have had a much harder time of all this. You were greatly influential in making our journey a success. I won’t forget you.”
“I do not think I will forget you either, Alfred.”
“It’s a promise! Now let’s go check out that stuff down on the beach!” He grinned and headed down the hill, wanting to know the feeling of the surf beneath his feet, knowing it would have been an even greater challenge to get to this place without the brave woman coming down the sandy slope behind him.
December 1863 - Fredricksburg, Virginia
America couldn’t help but stare at the destruction, his body in complete and utter despair. The freezing mud soaked into his boots, wet with the blood of his people. He sank to his knees in the red snow, unable to process that over 18,000 of his people had been killed or wounded in the last four days. It had already been a bloody year and a half and he knew it still wasn’t over. The pain that wracked his body was nowhere near subsiding. His heart was torn asunder and he was beginning to wonder if he would survive. He was being filled with immigrants in the North and the South was fighting for their culture and way of life. He didn’t know what to think about any of it. The harsh reality of his Civil War overwhelmed him and he collapsed, sweet oblivion claiming him.
He awoke in the noise of a field hospital, unceremoniously thrown together in the middle of the battlefield. He hated the smells of them, he hated hearing the sounds of his wounded and dying and knowing he couldn’t really do anything to help them. He blinked a few times, willing his eyes open. It was cold.
“Good, you haven’t frozen to death.” said a young woman, her body completely obscured by a man’s coat and a large scarf around her head to ward off the winds. Her fingers were wrapped in blood stained cloth, an attempt to keep them from getting too cold. America sat up slowly and looked around, he suddenly wished he hadn’t. If he had just stayed down he wouldn’t have to see all of the bodies. All of them, Union or Confederate were his people, dead at the hands of each other. He looked into the girl’s sad eyes and smiled, trying to give her hope that he didn’t feel. He knew her life and the other women who rushed from bed to bed giving what aid they could, would never be the same. You couldn’t hold the hand of someone who was dying and not be changed. One bed caught his attention and he stared, the girl turned her head. “Surprising isn’t it?”
America nodded and got slowly off the blanket that he had been laying on, opening the space for another man. He walked over and looked down at the woman lying there on bunk. He could tell she was dying, the fire slowly burning out in her eyes. A field surgeon stood over her shaking his head.
“This one is a lost cause, poor woman, she should have been home. Take care of children and keep the home for the men to return. A battlefield is not her place.” he said as America walked over to stand beside him. The woman gave the man a sour smile as blood pooled at the edge of her mouth revealing the bayonet injury that was claiming her life hidden beneath the bandages.
“Women have just as much right as men to fight for what she believes in. I did all right too, killed more Southerners than some of the boys.” She tried to laugh, but it ended in a cough, “You would have been none the wiser if it wasn’t for this blasted wound.” She shuddered then, taking the last shaking breaths before the light went out of her eyes. The doctor shook his head and walked away. America came to the edge of the blanket and knelt down, brushing his fingers over her face to close her sightless eyes.
“Wait,” he said to the doctor as the man began to walk off, “Did she have a name?”
“No proper woman’s name, she was calling herself Samuel.” he said, heading off to attend to more soldiers. America nodded, looking down at a woman whose name he would never know. He wondered how many there were that were doing the same thing as her. How many were brave enough to leave and fight alongside men, concealing their own gender to do so? Her last words echoed in his head.
“You’re right, Sam, everyone has the right to fight for what they want.” Everyone can dream for themselves.
July 1890 - Wyoming
America smiled as the celebration began acknowledging Wyoming’s addition as a state. This territory was special, the first territory and now the first state to allow women the vote, among other things. Women in Wyoming had been voting since the late 1860s. America grinned at the excitement in the air, the feeling of accomplishment of the sparsely populated state. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the western air, he liked the west. Its challenges made everyone equal, everyone as important, both men and women toiled hard to make this part of the country work.
“Mister?” said a little girl dressed in her best dress, a simple cotton garment, modest compared to the elaborate fashions of the East.
“Yes, Miss?” he said, she giggled.
“Would you dance with me?” He nodded and skipped off with her to join the other people dancing, celebrating the statehood of the home they had been building here on the unforgiving frontier. America could tell the smiling little girl would grow up to join the people that he was so proud of. He grinned happily, here in a place where more of his dreams were coming true.
October 1917 - New York City, New York
America watched as the women marched past the small government office. He smiled as Old Glory passed the window, the colors reflected in the ribbons some of the women wore on their modest white dresses. They carried banners down the street, covered in the signatures of thousands of women that were petitioning for the right to vote nationwide. Women had been voting out in the western states for many years now, and these women were fighting for that right for all, political equality with men. They had been fighting for it for so long, and he could still see the same spirit that Mrs. Adams had possessed so long ago now. The bright, crisp colors of the women’s dresses contrasted heavily with the dark suits of the men in the dim, smoky building where America sat.
“What I fail to understand is why women feel the need for the vote, must we be at the mercy of the petticoat at every turn?” protested one man. Several of the other men laughed.
“It sounds like you need some apron strings cut.” The laughter increased. America frowned a little, it was an old argument, and an unfair one. He had seen great men that valued their wives use that as an excuse for not allowing them more, even though they could have done so. These women marching in the streets wanted him to be able to hear them and he wanted to hear them as well.
“Assuming women have the capability to vote, who says that they will use the privilege wisely? How do we know we are not just giving another vote to their husbands? I know I would want my wife to vote the same way I do. It would be improper for her to do otherwise.”
“Yes, and who says that women will know the correct direction for our country? Some women have a great deal of intellect, but most merely follow. Why would a woman assert herself in such a way?”
“Do you not see the crowd of women outside asserting themselves gentlemen? I do not see why we can not allow our wives and daughters have their voices heard. They could become a gentling influence on society.”
“Perhaps like Miss Rankin of Montana, she is certainly causing a stir.” The men nodded and launched into a discussion of the woman. America smiled fondly at the mention of her, the first woman in Congress, he had been excited to meet her and they had become friends.
“She seems to be doing an acceptable job.”
“Yeah, perhaps it’s not so bad.” America said, breaking into the conversation, and all of the men turned to look at him, surprise on their faces. “Maybe it’s time we gave them a chance to have the freedom that we all enjoy.”
He could feel it, the fight for his dream was not over, but it was certainly almost there.
Women add interest to many things, America. Abigail Adams had said to him once, and he knew it was true.