Poem: "Dealing with Historical Events and Characters"
This poem is spillover from the April 4, 2023 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by prompts from ng_moonmoth and DW user See_also_friend. It also fills the "Damsel / Gentleman in Distress" square in my 4-1-23 card for the Gothic Bingo fest. This poem belongs to the Iron Horses thread of the Polychrome Heroics series.
This microfunded poem is being posted one verse at a time, as donations come in to cover them. The rate is $0.25/line, so $5 will reveal 20 new lines, and so forth. There is a permanent donation button on my profile page, or you can contact me for other arrangements. You can also ask me about the number of lines per verse, if you want to fund a certain number of verses.
So far sponsors include: zianuray, general fund
1042 lines, Buy It Now = $260.50
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Verses posted = 194 of 295
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"Dealing with Historical Events and Characters"
[Saturday, October 8, 2016]
Alicia was excited to explore
the Great East-West Faire.
She had gotten the idea to look
for Reconstruction Era festivals after
watching East Is East with Shiv
and his family, which had been fun.
It reminded her how much she had
enjoyed that time in history, when
so many new and exciting things
were happening around the world.
Admittedly America had been
a bit of a mess after the Civil War,
but they'd done a good job patching up.
Alicia's search for events had turned up
a few possibilities, but they were struggling
with the aftermath of the Big One -- which
inspired her to throw in her support through
donations, because that was such a parallel
to the war damage that it might actually help.
People needed a reminder that, no matter
how bad things were now, the nation had
come through worse before and survived.
It worked, and the Great East-West Faire
had rented a large event field not far from
Urbanburg, Illinois to set up its attractions.
So today, she and Judd had come to
the faire with Nanette, Cheval, and Lorry --
all of them clad in perfect period outfits.
Alicia's dress was a spectacular confection
of pale yellow silk festooned with yards of
bobbin lace, gold embroidery, bows, and
gold silk tulle. Her matching hat was
the height of fashion, and the slippers
were covered in tiny crystal beads.
Judd's costume featured a set of
elaborate period tack of black leather
with sterling silver decorations including
a hand-tooled sidesaddle and horse brasses
in assorted designs catching the sunlight.
He'd had to take off his fancy, modern,
candy-colored horse boots to wear
period horse shoes, and he was still
grumbling under his breath about it.
"Damn rocks," Judd said, pawing
at the edge of the parking lot.
"We'll groom your hooves with
extra care tonight," Alicia promised.
Nanette had chosen a nanny's uniform.
Her deep blue dress was fastened with
about a zillion tiny buttons up the front
and down the sleeves, topped by
a white apron trimmed with rows
of ruffles and fairly simple lace.
Cheval wore butler livery of
fine black brocade adorned with
ornate buttons of sterling silver,
and a blue waistcoat peeking out.
The implication, to anyone who knew
enough history, was that his character
was educated and skilled enough to land
the top-ranked, highest-paid, and most-trusted
serving position in a rich household ... even over
white competitors and supervising white staff.
Lorry, like Alicia, had chosen to portray
an upper-class persona and based his outfit
on old pictures of dandies riding velocipedes.
He was currently riding a penny-farthing
while clad in a dapper white suit topped
by a figure-hugging jacket of blue silk.
"You're going to kill yourself on that thing,"
Nanette scolded as he circled around them.
"I know what I'm doing," Lorry insisted.
"Besides, if I start to fall off, I can always
just teleport myself to a safe landing."
Alicia remembered how damn dangerous
those high-wheel bicycles had been, but
well, Lorry was having so much fun that
she didn't have the heart to deny him.
At least if he wound up coming a cropper
over the handlebars, she could just heal
whatever he managed to do to himself.
They made their way to the entrance,
where Nanette waved their backer tickets
whose gold embossing flashed in the sun,
then picked up enough maps for everyone.
Just inside, the Living History booth had
displays up regarding the proportion of
authenticity to artistic license at the faire.
When the venture has been made
of dealing with historical events and
characters, it always seems fair towards
the reader to avow what liberties have
been taken, and how much of the sketch
is founded on history, read the banner.
After all, the main inspiration for the event
had been a television show, but that was
based on the worldbuilding by a pair of
famous historians and their teammates,
so it added up to an interesting mix
Since this event was so large,
they had all decided to spend
Saturday exploring the East,
Sunday exploring the West, and
Monday for the Period Powwow.
There were, of course, tribal booths
already scattered around the faire,
roughly aligned to their geography,
but the best native activities would
appear later for the powwow.
Alicia was eager to investigate
the East side of the faire, but she
looked forward to the West later.
She had a whole different dress for
tomorrow, blue calico decorated with
ruffles and yards of braid trim. Simpler
than her Eastern dress, that one was
a practical choice for a wealthy girl
in a dusty frontier environment.
Alicia unfolded her map, which
showed the layout of the faire.
Several attractions crisscrossed
the faire. These included mail routes,
the temporary telegraph lines that hung
shimmering overhead between posts, and
a steampowered ridable miniature railway.
Each of those had an East-West line
and a North-South line. You could send
a telegram or a letter from one part of
the faire to another. Alicia could see
letter-carriers on foot and on horseback,
the black ones clearly portraying freedmen.
A steam engine chugged past, towing
a line of railcars that had either benches
for sitting or docks for holding wheelchairs.
"Okay, who wants to send a message?"
Nanette asked. "Letters or telegrams
should make excellent souvenirs."
"I do," Cheval said, and faked up
an excellent letter that bragged to
his fictional family about his 'new job.'
Of course, then everyone else wanted
to send their own letters in character.
They did a batch of telegrams too.
They could pick up the messages
on the far side of the faire tomorrow.
"Hey, look!" Lorry said, pointing. "It's
the League of American Wheelers."
They had a whole array of velocipedes
in various period styles, along with a sign
advertising bicycle history, riding lessons,
an old-time photography booth, and
a table piled with free handouts.
"Go on, you know you want to,"
Alicia said, shooing Lorry away.
"You can catch up to us later."
Once they got past the entryway,
they could see where the center road
cut through the faire from north to south.
Smaller lanes ran parallel and perpendicular,
dividing the area more-or-less into a grid.
"The Northeast quadrant is to our left,
and the Northwest is to our right,"
Cheval said, reading his map.
"Left today, then," Nanette said,
turning them onto the lane that
ran just inside the perimeter.
The Eastern part of the faire
focused on the arts and crafts of
civilization such as public education,
the press, fine arts, and entertainment.
Signs advertised attractions such
as concerts, historic photo booths,
polite vaudeville shows, and theatre.
Upcoming competitions included debates,
memory club recitals of period documents,
spelling bees, and similar challenges.
Craft booths featured elegant creations
such as flower pressing, embroidery,
glassblowing, jewelry making, tatting,
lacemaking, paper quilling, and quilting.
Shops offered books, period clothes,
sheet music and musical instruments,
parlor games, and Mild East souvenirs.
Alicia was all for hitting the parlor games,
but Judd skidded to a stop in front of
an engraver's booth full of shiny metal.
"Excuse me, miss?" said the shopkeeper.
"You're blocking the entrance to my booth."
"He's shopping," Alicia said, patting Judd.
"He's allowed to shop like the rest of us.'
"Well then, tie your mount and come --"
"He won't fit inside, you ninny," she said.
"Judd, who is a horse, is shopping. Have
you seriously been staring at my costume
so much that you haven't even noticed his?
He's wearing enough metal to sink a ship."
Judd snorted a laugh. "One table, two row,
three piece," he said, pointing with his nose.
"Oh come on, you can't wear -- that thing
is the size of my hand," Alicia protested.
"Your tiny hand," Cheval said. "That
should fit between his eyes, or if not,
it'd make a great chestpiece. It's pretty.
Imagine what the pony club will say."
It was probably meant as a dessert plate
or just a decoration to rest on a shelf, and
it had a sailing ship etched in the center.
"Sure, why not," Alicia said. "We can
always ask Shiv to slot the sides so
it'll fit onto the tack as a horse brass."
Nanette paid the shopkeeper, who was
still staring at the talking horse. Jerk.
They checked the game booth next,
which offered various historic games.
"Look, they have Halma!" Alicia squealed.
"I haven't seen that board game in ages."
"What's a Halma?" Cheval asked. "I've
never even heard of that one before,
and I've played a lot of board games."
"It's like Chinese checkers but with
more legitimate moves, which makes
the strategy more complex," Alicia said.
The game booth lady lit right up, and
they went off on a discussion about
the evolution of board games and
why people liked different ones.
Alicia looked over the Halma sets
with an experienced eye. They were
all made from fine wood, but one style
was just a flat board while the other
included a storage drawer underneath,
so of course she bought the latter.
A few booths later, Cheval stopped
at one about abolitionist history.
Delaney Wright was lobbying
to get more black actors, writers,
and directors into the production of
historical movies, TV shows, and books.
"The true story is that black people
need to tell our own history," he argued.
"Very few films are made by black people
about slavery. That itself is a crime because
slavery is a very important historical event
that has held our people hostage."
"That's hard when white people get
all of the attention," someone said.
"Forget about white people's role in it!"
Delaney barked. "In the end what's
important is black people remain and live
with the scars and psychological issues."
"Yeah, but whenever I try to write about
black characters, my lit teacher gives me
lower grades," another girl pointed out.
"Here, try these lists of black publishers
and black film production companies,"
Delaney said, passing her a pamphlet.
"Nothing embarrasses bad teachers like
selling something they downgraded! Just
make sure you show your classmates
a copy before the starting bell rings."
"Get me one of those," said Alicia,
and Nanette picked one up for her.
"We can send them some support."
Judd was humming "Tribes of the Draft"
under his breath, and well, he was black too
and horses had pulled humanity's weight
throughout a majority of known history.
They moved on to the next booth,
which featured freedom papers, from
the historical ones to modern remnants.
The front display had big signboards
about the importance of literacy in
achieving freedom, lists of past and
present black newspapers, as well
as biographies of black journalists.
There were coffee-table books
about black publishers and titles,
along with smaller books about
using historic newspapers for
genealogical or slavery research.
Inside the booth stood racks of
pages for sale, going all the way
back to the Reconstruction Era.
Alicia slid off of Judd so she could
look at the old newspapers, and
then she burst out laughing.
"Look, it's me!" she exclaimed.
"Letisha Black, 'The Sedition of
Literacy,' in the Better Era from
Baltimore, Maryland. Still true."
Nanette came up beside her. "Yes,
I remember you mentioning that you
used to write for abolitionist papers,"
she said. "Let me see if we currently
have that article in our records."
She took out her smartphone
and keyed in the title, author,
date, and newspaper name.
"Not at present," said Nanette.
"The database says that you had
a complete run of the Better Era until
the Great Chicago Fire, but didn't renew
the subscription and replaced only a few
issues since then, but not this one."
The shopkeeper looked at Alicia,
looked at the big black horse outside,
and then said quietly, "Alicia Martins,
living historian from early 1300s?"
"Yes, that's me," said Alicia.
"Professor Phillis Rivers from
Urbanburg University, pleased
to meet you," she said. "I would
love to chat with you about history,
if you have the time to visit someday.
Especially if you can give provenance
for any of your past contributions."
"Yeah, I wrote a lot of this stuff,
under various names," said Alicia.
"I've tried to record what I can, but ...
well, there's just so much of it."
Nanette checked the schedule
and said, "You're not booked
solid for November, yet, so we
could fit in an appointment or two."
"I look forward to that, Alicia,"
said Phillis. "So, you've been
an abolitionist for quite a while?"
"All along," said Alicia. Then she
waved a hand at her tiny body.
"How do you think I got this way?
I certainly didn't volunteer for it."
"My sympathies," said Phillis.
"Slavery is an atrocity, and
I know it still happens even
though it's technically illegal."
"For humans," Judd said,
making Phillis stare at him.
"Soups have the same problem,
because not all countries grant us
human rights," Alicia added. "They
don't care about the global ban on
slavery, and most other countries
don't care enough to pick a fight."
"The Maldives cares," said Phillis.
"I've been following their news on
taking in all kinds of refugees."
"Yeah well, their navy consists
of two whales, one of whom really
doesn't like landers," said Alicia.
"Plus they have Somali pirates
to deal with, which is never fun --
unless you ask Steel, who thinks
of them as his favorite stress toys."
"I can't say I blame him," said Phillis.
"Say, did you know that some of
the freedom papers currently serve
trafficking survivors and families?"
"No, I hadn't heard that," Alicia said,
leaning forward. "I remember that
most died out ... oh, about a century
or so ago, but a few hung around."
"The Fayetteville Seeker and
the Upriver Report are still
working to end slavery for real,
everywhere," said Phillis. "Also
the Cherokee Flame presently
focuses on missing and murdered
indigenous girls and women."
Alicia snapped her fingers.
"I want subscriptions to all
of those," she said. "We can
throw them money, and network."
"I'll get right on that," Nanette said,
using her smartphone to look up
the websites for the newspapers.
"Paper and digital both, right?"
"Max out whatever packages
they offer," Alicia replied.
Cheval leaned over a case.
"Miss, I have just found
one of your seeking ads for
Sylvester Magee," he said.
"Lord, it took me years to find
Uncle Syl after the slavecatchers
kidnapped him," Alicia mourned.
"He was such a mess by then,
I had to wind him back decades."
Phillis boggled at her. "We've had
records putting his age at 130 years
when he died, but almost nobody
really believed them," she said.
"You mean those are accurate?"
"Well, yeah," Alicia said, then
shrugged. "Only a hundred of
those were his naturally, though.
The other thirty I ripped out of
slavers to heal the damage
they did, because payback."
Phillis gave a sharp-edged smile.
"I never get tired of hearing stories
of how slavers came to a bad end."
"A very bad end," Alicia said.
"There was so much screaming."
She tapped her chin. "That was,
let me think, Georgia. Couple of
old goats bought their way out
of justice after the war, but
they couldn't outrun me."
"Do you recall their names?"
the historian wondered.
"Yes, but technically there's
no statute of limitation on
that sort of thing," said Alicia.
"Best not to stir trouble."
She might cite the names
anyway, though ... just with
a rather more roundabout route.
They deserved to rest in infamy.
"Understandable, of course,"
said Phillis. "Did you want
to shop for more pages?"
Alicia sighed. "Not if we're
going to finish the East today,"
she said regretfully. "We
should probably check out."
"Maybe just one more thing,"
Nanette said. "See what I found."
She pointed to a page from
the Virginia Reader that had
adinkra symbols along with
their meanings in English text.
Alicia recognized some of
the ones that still appeared on
black-owned businesses, like
the dono drum for music stores
and the duafe comb for hairdressers.
"Oh, he'd love that," she said, smiling.
Shiv was what people currently called
visual-native, meaning he thought
more in images than written words.
It would be nice to give him
a reminder that he wasn't alone
in that particular way of thinking.
So they stacked up their purchases,
and Nanette gave Phillis a card so they
could set up a history appointment later.
Lorry caught up to them just as they
approached a clockworks booth.
"I need a pocketwatch, I didn't have
time to find a good one," he said,
hopping off the penny-farthing.
Cheval smirked, opening the one
fastened to his butler livery. "Don't
forget to buy a chain, too," he said.
It didn't take too long for Lorry
to pick out something suitable.
The big stage that hosted
the blackface minstrel shows
was hidden behind a potted hedge
and a fence of signs that explained
the importance of not forgetting history.
Beyond that, incongruously, was
a county-fair-style dunking booth.
The sign in front of the booth read,
Our ancestors were slave owners.
Have fun mocking them in effigy!
All proceeds go to support survivors
of human trafficking and their families.
Currently on the seats were a blond man
in a Speedo and a redheaded girl in
denim shorts and a very wet T-shirt.
Both were making funny faces at
the large audience watching them
as two black kids threw balls.
One hit the target, dropping
the man into the water tank and
drawing a cheer from the crowd.
"Good shot!" he called as he surfaced
and clambered back onto the seat.
"We should play," Alicia said, grinning.
"This event looks like so much fun."
Nanette paid the attendant and
they each got a basket of balls.
None of them missed. They
did target practice regularly
with all sorts of projectiles.
"Can play too?" Judd asked,
tossing his head at the booth.
"Yeah, but we'll need to find a way
to put handles on these," Alicia said,
looking at the round balls. They were
just a little bit too big for his mouth.
"No problem, we have handle balls
for guests with grip impairments,"
said the attendant. "Very popular
with pitchers of a certain age."
She brought out a basket and
let Judd choose a set of balls
that he could mouth comfortably.
He shuffled around, looking forward
and sideways at the booth targets.
Then he grasped the handle and
flipped his head, tossing the first ball
right into the target, followed quickly
by the second ball, so the two volunteers
hit the water within seconds of each other.
The crowd cheered, and Judd gave them
a graceful parade bow while he waited
for people to climb back on the seats.
Then he dunked them both again.
"I caught a picture of him doing that,"
the attendant said. "I don't suppose
we could keep a copy for publicity?"
"Judd, what do you think?" Alicia said,
looking at it. "I think it's pretty funny."
"Uh huh," Judd said as he nodded
his big black head. "Want copy."
"Of course," the attendant said,
touching her phone to Nanette's.
"Thank you for your donation."
They wandered past several shops
and displays, just enjoying the day.
Lorry spotted a maple sugar shop
between the Haudenosaunee and
the Narragansett cultural displays.
"They have Three Sisters snack mix
in plain or maple flavors," he said.
"Get some of both," Alicia said.
"We can pass the bags around."
It was good stuff, with chewy bits
of dried candied squash along with
crunchy dry-roasted corn and beans.
There were a few more food booths
with New England cuisine, but Alicia was
frankly holding out for the Southern food.
Big tents covered two portable dance floors,
one of which advertised ballroom dancing
and the other quadrille which was sort of
like square dancing for Easterners.
"Let's go dancing!" Alicia said
as she slid off Judd's back.
"Boring," Judd grumbled.
"Hey, we watch you dancing
at pony club," Nanette pointed out.
Alicia looked around and spotted
a booth selling Indian corn and
pumpkins. "Lorry, go buy a snack
for Judd, then he'll have something
to do while the rest of us dance."
Judd's ears flipped forward.
"Punkin? Corn?" he said,
then trotted to the booth.
The shopkeeper stared as
he picked up a pumpkin and
a bundle of corn, laying them
neatly beside the cash register.
"Pay, please," Judd said politely,
and Lorry bought them for him.
Judd pinned his snacks between
his front feet so he could munch
while watching his people dance.
Alicia whirled gracefully over
the floor, swept up in memories.
She got plenty of opportunities
for ballroom dancing, but it had been
years since she'd done any quadrille.
Maybe she should come to faires
like this more often, to keep
memories and skills fresh.
After that, they sat in
the shade for a while,
sipping iced cider.
There was a row of
competition stages.
Alicia did quite well at
the spelling bee, Lorry won
a debate, and then they all got
trounced at the recital by a kid
who had Memory Powers.
It was fun anyhow.
As they moved into
the Southeast quadrant
of the faire, the air shimmered
with Cajun and Creole music,
blues and zydeco and spirituals.
A booth offered dulcimers along
with sheet music and recordings,
and a girl sold bouquets of flowers.
Another dance floor was set up for
Southern Appalachian square dance,
but they didn't have the energy for that.
A row of food booths gave rise to
mouth-watering aromas that drew
people in from up and down the lane.
Alicia spotted the Gullah Geechee one
advertising Carolina Gold rice, and
made a beeline for that. She wanted
the combination platter of Hoppin' John,
Limpin' Susan, and Sweet Plantains.
Lorry was all for following her, but she
pointed him toward a different booth.
"The Seafood Boil comes in buckets,"
she said. "Get as much as you want."
Nanette wanted Jambalaya, and
Cheval went for Seafood Gumbo.
They found a picnic table under
a tree and ate lunch while Judd
lazed around in the shade.
Then they browsed a row
of Appalachian craft booths.
Some of the woodcarving
was really beautiful, and
the handspun yarn was
colored with natural dyes.
They stopped to watch
a black minstrel show,
the kind whose players
actually came out of
the African diaspora.
That was one of several
antecedents that went into
later jazz and blues music.
The Cherokee had a booth
pitching their language,
alphabet, and books.
The Seminoles had
gone all out by offering
lessons on how to make
and live with a chickee.
Alicia walked slowly around
the hut, noting its open sides,
raised floor, and thatched roof.
She was familiar with thatch
and had seen open huts before.
The raised floor intrigued her,
though, and the whole thing
looked ideal for climate change.
Plenty of places would be getting
warmer, and those near coasts
would be getting wetter as
the water levels crept up.
Signs explained about
the shapes, materials,
construction, and lifestyle.
There was even a pamphlet
on how to build a chickee,
which showed variations such
as higher or lower platforms,
partial wooden walls, and
roll-up panels for the sides.
Another table held artwork
of Seminole people and crafts.
Alicia picked out a big picture
that showed a chickee in detail.
"I should memorize this," she said.
"It looks sturdy and versatile, it's
well suited to climate change,
and it uses all natural materials."
A Seminole man in a colorful outfit
stepped forward. "My name is
Patrick Tustenuggee and I can
teach traditional building skills,"
he said. "The next workshop
starts in about an hour, if
you would like to join us."
"I'm hardly dressed for that,"
Alicia said, flicking a hand at
her silk dress. "Do you give
private lessons? I could put
together a group of students,
and we would pay handsomely."
"Can help carry," Judd offered.
"Drag logs, pull rope to lift roof."
Patrick dipped his head. "We
would be honored, spirit horse."
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its character ( Part 1, Part 2) and content notes appear separately.
This microfunded poem is being posted one verse at a time, as donations come in to cover them. The rate is $0.25/line, so $5 will reveal 20 new lines, and so forth. There is a permanent donation button on my profile page, or you can contact me for other arrangements. You can also ask me about the number of lines per verse, if you want to fund a certain number of verses.
So far sponsors include: zianuray, general fund
1042 lines, Buy It Now = $260.50
Amount donated = $168.50
Verses posted = 194 of 295
Amount remaining to fund fully = $92
Amount needed to fund next verse = $0.50
Amount needed to fund the verse after that = $1.50
"Dealing with Historical Events and Characters"
[Saturday, October 8, 2016]
Alicia was excited to explore
the Great East-West Faire.
She had gotten the idea to look
for Reconstruction Era festivals after
watching East Is East with Shiv
and his family, which had been fun.
It reminded her how much she had
enjoyed that time in history, when
so many new and exciting things
were happening around the world.
Admittedly America had been
a bit of a mess after the Civil War,
but they'd done a good job patching up.
Alicia's search for events had turned up
a few possibilities, but they were struggling
with the aftermath of the Big One -- which
inspired her to throw in her support through
donations, because that was such a parallel
to the war damage that it might actually help.
People needed a reminder that, no matter
how bad things were now, the nation had
come through worse before and survived.
It worked, and the Great East-West Faire
had rented a large event field not far from
Urbanburg, Illinois to set up its attractions.
So today, she and Judd had come to
the faire with Nanette, Cheval, and Lorry --
all of them clad in perfect period outfits.
Alicia's dress was a spectacular confection
of pale yellow silk festooned with yards of
bobbin lace, gold embroidery, bows, and
gold silk tulle. Her matching hat was
the height of fashion, and the slippers
were covered in tiny crystal beads.
Judd's costume featured a set of
elaborate period tack of black leather
with sterling silver decorations including
a hand-tooled sidesaddle and horse brasses
in assorted designs catching the sunlight.
He'd had to take off his fancy, modern,
candy-colored horse boots to wear
period horse shoes, and he was still
grumbling under his breath about it.
"Damn rocks," Judd said, pawing
at the edge of the parking lot.
"We'll groom your hooves with
extra care tonight," Alicia promised.
Nanette had chosen a nanny's uniform.
Her deep blue dress was fastened with
about a zillion tiny buttons up the front
and down the sleeves, topped by
a white apron trimmed with rows
of ruffles and fairly simple lace.
Cheval wore butler livery of
fine black brocade adorned with
ornate buttons of sterling silver,
and a blue waistcoat peeking out.
The implication, to anyone who knew
enough history, was that his character
was educated and skilled enough to land
the top-ranked, highest-paid, and most-trusted
serving position in a rich household ... even over
white competitors and supervising white staff.
Lorry, like Alicia, had chosen to portray
an upper-class persona and based his outfit
on old pictures of dandies riding velocipedes.
He was currently riding a penny-farthing
while clad in a dapper white suit topped
by a figure-hugging jacket of blue silk.
"You're going to kill yourself on that thing,"
Nanette scolded as he circled around them.
"I know what I'm doing," Lorry insisted.
"Besides, if I start to fall off, I can always
just teleport myself to a safe landing."
Alicia remembered how damn dangerous
those high-wheel bicycles had been, but
well, Lorry was having so much fun that
she didn't have the heart to deny him.
At least if he wound up coming a cropper
over the handlebars, she could just heal
whatever he managed to do to himself.
They made their way to the entrance,
where Nanette waved their backer tickets
whose gold embossing flashed in the sun,
then picked up enough maps for everyone.
Just inside, the Living History booth had
displays up regarding the proportion of
authenticity to artistic license at the faire.
When the venture has been made
of dealing with historical events and
characters, it always seems fair towards
the reader to avow what liberties have
been taken, and how much of the sketch
is founded on history, read the banner.
After all, the main inspiration for the event
had been a television show, but that was
based on the worldbuilding by a pair of
famous historians and their teammates,
so it added up to an interesting mix
Since this event was so large,
they had all decided to spend
Saturday exploring the East,
Sunday exploring the West, and
Monday for the Period Powwow.
There were, of course, tribal booths
already scattered around the faire,
roughly aligned to their geography,
but the best native activities would
appear later for the powwow.
Alicia was eager to investigate
the East side of the faire, but she
looked forward to the West later.
She had a whole different dress for
tomorrow, blue calico decorated with
ruffles and yards of braid trim. Simpler
than her Eastern dress, that one was
a practical choice for a wealthy girl
in a dusty frontier environment.
Alicia unfolded her map, which
showed the layout of the faire.
Several attractions crisscrossed
the faire. These included mail routes,
the temporary telegraph lines that hung
shimmering overhead between posts, and
a steampowered ridable miniature railway.
Each of those had an East-West line
and a North-South line. You could send
a telegram or a letter from one part of
the faire to another. Alicia could see
letter-carriers on foot and on horseback,
the black ones clearly portraying freedmen.
A steam engine chugged past, towing
a line of railcars that had either benches
for sitting or docks for holding wheelchairs.
"Okay, who wants to send a message?"
Nanette asked. "Letters or telegrams
should make excellent souvenirs."
"I do," Cheval said, and faked up
an excellent letter that bragged to
his fictional family about his 'new job.'
Of course, then everyone else wanted
to send their own letters in character.
They did a batch of telegrams too.
They could pick up the messages
on the far side of the faire tomorrow.
"Hey, look!" Lorry said, pointing. "It's
the League of American Wheelers."
They had a whole array of velocipedes
in various period styles, along with a sign
advertising bicycle history, riding lessons,
an old-time photography booth, and
a table piled with free handouts.
"Go on, you know you want to,"
Alicia said, shooing Lorry away.
"You can catch up to us later."
Once they got past the entryway,
they could see where the center road
cut through the faire from north to south.
Smaller lanes ran parallel and perpendicular,
dividing the area more-or-less into a grid.
"The Northeast quadrant is to our left,
and the Northwest is to our right,"
Cheval said, reading his map.
"Left today, then," Nanette said,
turning them onto the lane that
ran just inside the perimeter.
The Eastern part of the faire
focused on the arts and crafts of
civilization such as public education,
the press, fine arts, and entertainment.
Signs advertised attractions such
as concerts, historic photo booths,
polite vaudeville shows, and theatre.
Upcoming competitions included debates,
memory club recitals of period documents,
spelling bees, and similar challenges.
Craft booths featured elegant creations
such as flower pressing, embroidery,
glassblowing, jewelry making, tatting,
lacemaking, paper quilling, and quilting.
Shops offered books, period clothes,
sheet music and musical instruments,
parlor games, and Mild East souvenirs.
Alicia was all for hitting the parlor games,
but Judd skidded to a stop in front of
an engraver's booth full of shiny metal.
"Excuse me, miss?" said the shopkeeper.
"You're blocking the entrance to my booth."
"He's shopping," Alicia said, patting Judd.
"He's allowed to shop like the rest of us.'
"Well then, tie your mount and come --"
"He won't fit inside, you ninny," she said.
"Judd, who is a horse, is shopping. Have
you seriously been staring at my costume
so much that you haven't even noticed his?
He's wearing enough metal to sink a ship."
Judd snorted a laugh. "One table, two row,
three piece," he said, pointing with his nose.
"Oh come on, you can't wear -- that thing
is the size of my hand," Alicia protested.
"Your tiny hand," Cheval said. "That
should fit between his eyes, or if not,
it'd make a great chestpiece. It's pretty.
Imagine what the pony club will say."
It was probably meant as a dessert plate
or just a decoration to rest on a shelf, and
it had a sailing ship etched in the center.
"Sure, why not," Alicia said. "We can
always ask Shiv to slot the sides so
it'll fit onto the tack as a horse brass."
Nanette paid the shopkeeper, who was
still staring at the talking horse. Jerk.
They checked the game booth next,
which offered various historic games.
"Look, they have Halma!" Alicia squealed.
"I haven't seen that board game in ages."
"What's a Halma?" Cheval asked. "I've
never even heard of that one before,
and I've played a lot of board games."
"It's like Chinese checkers but with
more legitimate moves, which makes
the strategy more complex," Alicia said.
The game booth lady lit right up, and
they went off on a discussion about
the evolution of board games and
why people liked different ones.
Alicia looked over the Halma sets
with an experienced eye. They were
all made from fine wood, but one style
was just a flat board while the other
included a storage drawer underneath,
so of course she bought the latter.
A few booths later, Cheval stopped
at one about abolitionist history.
Delaney Wright was lobbying
to get more black actors, writers,
and directors into the production of
historical movies, TV shows, and books.
"The true story is that black people
need to tell our own history," he argued.
"Very few films are made by black people
about slavery. That itself is a crime because
slavery is a very important historical event
that has held our people hostage."
"That's hard when white people get
all of the attention," someone said.
"Forget about white people's role in it!"
Delaney barked. "In the end what's
important is black people remain and live
with the scars and psychological issues."
"Yeah, but whenever I try to write about
black characters, my lit teacher gives me
lower grades," another girl pointed out.
"Here, try these lists of black publishers
and black film production companies,"
Delaney said, passing her a pamphlet.
"Nothing embarrasses bad teachers like
selling something they downgraded! Just
make sure you show your classmates
a copy before the starting bell rings."
"Get me one of those," said Alicia,
and Nanette picked one up for her.
"We can send them some support."
Judd was humming "Tribes of the Draft"
under his breath, and well, he was black too
and horses had pulled humanity's weight
throughout a majority of known history.
They moved on to the next booth,
which featured freedom papers, from
the historical ones to modern remnants.
The front display had big signboards
about the importance of literacy in
achieving freedom, lists of past and
present black newspapers, as well
as biographies of black journalists.
There were coffee-table books
about black publishers and titles,
along with smaller books about
using historic newspapers for
genealogical or slavery research.
Inside the booth stood racks of
pages for sale, going all the way
back to the Reconstruction Era.
Alicia slid off of Judd so she could
look at the old newspapers, and
then she burst out laughing.
"Look, it's me!" she exclaimed.
"Letisha Black, 'The Sedition of
Literacy,' in the Better Era from
Baltimore, Maryland. Still true."
Nanette came up beside her. "Yes,
I remember you mentioning that you
used to write for abolitionist papers,"
she said. "Let me see if we currently
have that article in our records."
She took out her smartphone
and keyed in the title, author,
date, and newspaper name.
"Not at present," said Nanette.
"The database says that you had
a complete run of the Better Era until
the Great Chicago Fire, but didn't renew
the subscription and replaced only a few
issues since then, but not this one."
The shopkeeper looked at Alicia,
looked at the big black horse outside,
and then said quietly, "Alicia Martins,
living historian from early 1300s?"
"Yes, that's me," said Alicia.
"Professor Phillis Rivers from
Urbanburg University, pleased
to meet you," she said. "I would
love to chat with you about history,
if you have the time to visit someday.
Especially if you can give provenance
for any of your past contributions."
"Yeah, I wrote a lot of this stuff,
under various names," said Alicia.
"I've tried to record what I can, but ...
well, there's just so much of it."
Nanette checked the schedule
and said, "You're not booked
solid for November, yet, so we
could fit in an appointment or two."
"I look forward to that, Alicia,"
said Phillis. "So, you've been
an abolitionist for quite a while?"
"All along," said Alicia. Then she
waved a hand at her tiny body.
"How do you think I got this way?
I certainly didn't volunteer for it."
"My sympathies," said Phillis.
"Slavery is an atrocity, and
I know it still happens even
though it's technically illegal."
"For humans," Judd said,
making Phillis stare at him.
"Soups have the same problem,
because not all countries grant us
human rights," Alicia added. "They
don't care about the global ban on
slavery, and most other countries
don't care enough to pick a fight."
"The Maldives cares," said Phillis.
"I've been following their news on
taking in all kinds of refugees."
"Yeah well, their navy consists
of two whales, one of whom really
doesn't like landers," said Alicia.
"Plus they have Somali pirates
to deal with, which is never fun --
unless you ask Steel, who thinks
of them as his favorite stress toys."
"I can't say I blame him," said Phillis.
"Say, did you know that some of
the freedom papers currently serve
trafficking survivors and families?"
"No, I hadn't heard that," Alicia said,
leaning forward. "I remember that
most died out ... oh, about a century
or so ago, but a few hung around."
"The Fayetteville Seeker and
the Upriver Report are still
working to end slavery for real,
everywhere," said Phillis. "Also
the Cherokee Flame presently
focuses on missing and murdered
indigenous girls and women."
Alicia snapped her fingers.
"I want subscriptions to all
of those," she said. "We can
throw them money, and network."
"I'll get right on that," Nanette said,
using her smartphone to look up
the websites for the newspapers.
"Paper and digital both, right?"
"Max out whatever packages
they offer," Alicia replied.
Cheval leaned over a case.
"Miss, I have just found
one of your seeking ads for
Sylvester Magee," he said.
"Lord, it took me years to find
Uncle Syl after the slavecatchers
kidnapped him," Alicia mourned.
"He was such a mess by then,
I had to wind him back decades."
Phillis boggled at her. "We've had
records putting his age at 130 years
when he died, but almost nobody
really believed them," she said.
"You mean those are accurate?"
"Well, yeah," Alicia said, then
shrugged. "Only a hundred of
those were his naturally, though.
The other thirty I ripped out of
slavers to heal the damage
they did, because payback."
Phillis gave a sharp-edged smile.
"I never get tired of hearing stories
of how slavers came to a bad end."
"A very bad end," Alicia said.
"There was so much screaming."
She tapped her chin. "That was,
let me think, Georgia. Couple of
old goats bought their way out
of justice after the war, but
they couldn't outrun me."
"Do you recall their names?"
the historian wondered.
"Yes, but technically there's
no statute of limitation on
that sort of thing," said Alicia.
"Best not to stir trouble."
She might cite the names
anyway, though ... just with
a rather more roundabout route.
They deserved to rest in infamy.
"Understandable, of course,"
said Phillis. "Did you want
to shop for more pages?"
Alicia sighed. "Not if we're
going to finish the East today,"
she said regretfully. "We
should probably check out."
"Maybe just one more thing,"
Nanette said. "See what I found."
She pointed to a page from
the Virginia Reader that had
adinkra symbols along with
their meanings in English text.
Alicia recognized some of
the ones that still appeared on
black-owned businesses, like
the dono drum for music stores
and the duafe comb for hairdressers.
"Oh, he'd love that," she said, smiling.
Shiv was what people currently called
visual-native, meaning he thought
more in images than written words.
It would be nice to give him
a reminder that he wasn't alone
in that particular way of thinking.
So they stacked up their purchases,
and Nanette gave Phillis a card so they
could set up a history appointment later.
Lorry caught up to them just as they
approached a clockworks booth.
"I need a pocketwatch, I didn't have
time to find a good one," he said,
hopping off the penny-farthing.
Cheval smirked, opening the one
fastened to his butler livery. "Don't
forget to buy a chain, too," he said.
It didn't take too long for Lorry
to pick out something suitable.
The big stage that hosted
the blackface minstrel shows
was hidden behind a potted hedge
and a fence of signs that explained
the importance of not forgetting history.
Beyond that, incongruously, was
a county-fair-style dunking booth.
The sign in front of the booth read,
Our ancestors were slave owners.
Have fun mocking them in effigy!
All proceeds go to support survivors
of human trafficking and their families.
Currently on the seats were a blond man
in a Speedo and a redheaded girl in
denim shorts and a very wet T-shirt.
Both were making funny faces at
the large audience watching them
as two black kids threw balls.
One hit the target, dropping
the man into the water tank and
drawing a cheer from the crowd.
"Good shot!" he called as he surfaced
and clambered back onto the seat.
"We should play," Alicia said, grinning.
"This event looks like so much fun."
Nanette paid the attendant and
they each got a basket of balls.
None of them missed. They
did target practice regularly
with all sorts of projectiles.
"Can play too?" Judd asked,
tossing his head at the booth.
"Yeah, but we'll need to find a way
to put handles on these," Alicia said,
looking at the round balls. They were
just a little bit too big for his mouth.
"No problem, we have handle balls
for guests with grip impairments,"
said the attendant. "Very popular
with pitchers of a certain age."
She brought out a basket and
let Judd choose a set of balls
that he could mouth comfortably.
He shuffled around, looking forward
and sideways at the booth targets.
Then he grasped the handle and
flipped his head, tossing the first ball
right into the target, followed quickly
by the second ball, so the two volunteers
hit the water within seconds of each other.
The crowd cheered, and Judd gave them
a graceful parade bow while he waited
for people to climb back on the seats.
Then he dunked them both again.
"I caught a picture of him doing that,"
the attendant said. "I don't suppose
we could keep a copy for publicity?"
"Judd, what do you think?" Alicia said,
looking at it. "I think it's pretty funny."
"Uh huh," Judd said as he nodded
his big black head. "Want copy."
"Of course," the attendant said,
touching her phone to Nanette's.
"Thank you for your donation."
They wandered past several shops
and displays, just enjoying the day.
Lorry spotted a maple sugar shop
between the Haudenosaunee and
the Narragansett cultural displays.
"They have Three Sisters snack mix
in plain or maple flavors," he said.
"Get some of both," Alicia said.
"We can pass the bags around."
It was good stuff, with chewy bits
of dried candied squash along with
crunchy dry-roasted corn and beans.
There were a few more food booths
with New England cuisine, but Alicia was
frankly holding out for the Southern food.
Big tents covered two portable dance floors,
one of which advertised ballroom dancing
and the other quadrille which was sort of
like square dancing for Easterners.
"Let's go dancing!" Alicia said
as she slid off Judd's back.
"Boring," Judd grumbled.
"Hey, we watch you dancing
at pony club," Nanette pointed out.
Alicia looked around and spotted
a booth selling Indian corn and
pumpkins. "Lorry, go buy a snack
for Judd, then he'll have something
to do while the rest of us dance."
Judd's ears flipped forward.
"Punkin? Corn?" he said,
then trotted to the booth.
The shopkeeper stared as
he picked up a pumpkin and
a bundle of corn, laying them
neatly beside the cash register.
"Pay, please," Judd said politely,
and Lorry bought them for him.
Judd pinned his snacks between
his front feet so he could munch
while watching his people dance.
Alicia whirled gracefully over
the floor, swept up in memories.
She got plenty of opportunities
for ballroom dancing, but it had been
years since she'd done any quadrille.
Maybe she should come to faires
like this more often, to keep
memories and skills fresh.
After that, they sat in
the shade for a while,
sipping iced cider.
There was a row of
competition stages.
Alicia did quite well at
the spelling bee, Lorry won
a debate, and then they all got
trounced at the recital by a kid
who had Memory Powers.
It was fun anyhow.
As they moved into
the Southeast quadrant
of the faire, the air shimmered
with Cajun and Creole music,
blues and zydeco and spirituals.
A booth offered dulcimers along
with sheet music and recordings,
and a girl sold bouquets of flowers.
Another dance floor was set up for
Southern Appalachian square dance,
but they didn't have the energy for that.
A row of food booths gave rise to
mouth-watering aromas that drew
people in from up and down the lane.
Alicia spotted the Gullah Geechee one
advertising Carolina Gold rice, and
made a beeline for that. She wanted
the combination platter of Hoppin' John,
Limpin' Susan, and Sweet Plantains.
Lorry was all for following her, but she
pointed him toward a different booth.
"The Seafood Boil comes in buckets,"
she said. "Get as much as you want."
Nanette wanted Jambalaya, and
Cheval went for Seafood Gumbo.
They found a picnic table under
a tree and ate lunch while Judd
lazed around in the shade.
Then they browsed a row
of Appalachian craft booths.
Some of the woodcarving
was really beautiful, and
the handspun yarn was
colored with natural dyes.
They stopped to watch
a black minstrel show,
the kind whose players
actually came out of
the African diaspora.
That was one of several
antecedents that went into
later jazz and blues music.
The Cherokee had a booth
pitching their language,
alphabet, and books.
The Seminoles had
gone all out by offering
lessons on how to make
and live with a chickee.
Alicia walked slowly around
the hut, noting its open sides,
raised floor, and thatched roof.
She was familiar with thatch
and had seen open huts before.
The raised floor intrigued her,
though, and the whole thing
looked ideal for climate change.
Plenty of places would be getting
warmer, and those near coasts
would be getting wetter as
the water levels crept up.
Signs explained about
the shapes, materials,
construction, and lifestyle.
There was even a pamphlet
on how to build a chickee,
which showed variations such
as higher or lower platforms,
partial wooden walls, and
roll-up panels for the sides.
Another table held artwork
of Seminole people and crafts.
Alicia picked out a big picture
that showed a chickee in detail.
"I should memorize this," she said.
"It looks sturdy and versatile, it's
well suited to climate change,
and it uses all natural materials."
A Seminole man in a colorful outfit
stepped forward. "My name is
Patrick Tustenuggee and I can
teach traditional building skills,"
he said. "The next workshop
starts in about an hour, if
you would like to join us."
"I'm hardly dressed for that,"
Alicia said, flicking a hand at
her silk dress. "Do you give
private lessons? I could put
together a group of students,
and we would pay handsomely."
"Can help carry," Judd offered.
"Drag logs, pull rope to lift roof."
Patrick dipped his head. "We
would be honored, spirit horse."
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its character ( Part 1, Part 2) and content notes appear separately.