Amelia's Revolution

by Kim Flowers

  Amelia’s Revolution

  By Kim Flowers

  Published by Queerteen Press

  An imprint of JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2020 Kim Flowers

  ISBN 9781935753834

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America. Queerteen Press is an imprint of JMS Books LLC. This story was first published in 2012.

  * * * *

  Amelia’s Revolution

  By Kim Flowers

  Two-Spirit held a wooden bowl high and slammed it on the raccoon-hide blanket on the ground. The bone dice inside jumped. “I win!” He adjusted his soft brown robe, which was cut in a style that would befit either a man or a woman. His hair fell in black curtains to his shoulders. “Would you like to play again?”

  I didn’t know Two-Spirit’s real name, even though he was my best friend. Only his close family and name-giver knew. Like him, sometimes I didn’t dress according to normal gender roles. Today I wore a style that had first become popular across the ocean: black pants, a white, long-sleeved dress shirt with a high-stand collar, and a gray Mulrooney vest. My blonde hair was pulled back into a long braid.

  “Brother!” Two-Spirit’s sister Fawn appeared in the doorway of their longhouse, calling for him in the Lenapé language. He and I were playing mamandin just outside. “Father needs you.”

  He scratched around his newest tattoo, a turtle on his arm. “I’ll be right there.”

  I stood and switched to their native tongue, as well. “I should see what my own father is doing.”

  “Bye, Amelia.”

  I left the longhouse and passed several more. Some of the homes belonged to Lenni Lenape families, and others to those whose ancestors were from Europe, Africa, or Asia. I’d been raised in a true melting pot of the best features of many multicultural beliefs. We lived in Lewes, the capital of Delaware, a coastal city with a diverse mixture of those from Lenni Lenape tribes, people of European, African, or Asian descent, and younger generations which were uniquely American.

  My father was the governor, and Two-Spirit’s father the sachem, or chief. The position was not like that of a king, where a son would automatically inherit the position of his father, but it was likely that Two-Spirit’s father still might designate him as his successor one day. The sachem and governor worked together to make sure the cultures of not only our city, but our entire state, continued to flourish. Two-Spirit was a year older than I, seventeen, and had just completed training to be a healer. Sometimes he suggested I consider it, but I thought I would do better as a counselor. People like us were supposed to be especially good at those kinds of things. I was shocked when I learned that, across the ocean, people with spirits which did not always match their physical bodies were jailed, or even worse.

  The groups of longhouses I passed were mostly occupied by farmers, hunters, or those who simply liked to live close to Mother Earth. As I strolled down the dirt path towards the city proper, a steam-powered planter driven by an automaton rolled through a field to my left. I walked for almost a mile past several more engines working the fields until the surroundings became more urban than rural.

  The majority of buildings were now European-style. This is where Father and I lived, amongst cobblestone streets crowded with people, horses, and carriages. Merchants of all sorts preferred the crowded city to the longhouse communities. The fire engine rushed past; it was known to race blindly to fires regardless of anyone in its way. I jumped to avoid it, and bumped into a portly man.

  He grunted, barely glancing at me. “Watch where you’re going, boy.”

  I smiled. “That’s ‘girl,’ Mr. Pickett.”

  The man I’d hit had run against my father for election and lost. Mr. Pickett turned to face me, adjusting his eyeglass and top hat. “Oh, Amelia, I should have known. It’s so nice to see the daughter of the state’s leader dressed as a gent when she isn’t running round with the heathens.”

  I frowned. “If you don’t like it, go back across the ocean.”

  I stormed away, but soon pushed the encounter out of my mind. Most people here were not like Mr. Pickett. I honestly had no idea why he would bother staying in this country if he liked the tyrannical English way of life. Great Britain used to rule the U.S. colonies, but our country had been free for two generations now—no more persecuting the gender-queer, no more slavery, and no more slaughtering the natives.

  After walking a few more minutes, I reached the brick house where Father and I lived. As I walked in the front door, my automaton whirred down the hall at top speed holding a red dress that looked far too silky and ruffled and uncomfortable for my liking.

  “No, Nickey!” I stepped past his cylindrical body (as a child I had decided Nickey was a boy), but his box-like head spun round. Somehow the one black hole there was capable of following my every move. He raised the dress higher in his metal arms and rolled after me, gears clicking and whirring. He couldn’t speak. But it was obvious, once he latched himself to the banister and slid past me as I walked upstairs, that Father had programmed Nickey to put this dress on me come hell or high water.

  “Oh, hang it. Is something important going on?”

  Of course, I received no reply. In my bedroom, Nickey grabbed a hairbrush from the bedside table. I waved him away impatiently, and wondered why Father wanted me to dress so hideously today.

  I could never oblige myself to be suffocated in a corset, so I wore leather underclothes beneath my long, flowing dress. After transforming my hair into a mass of soft curls, Nickey was satisfied and rolled away, leaving me to squeeze into tight black shoes with three-inch heels and straps that wound up my calves.

  Father’s voice drifted upstairs. “Amelia, are you home?”

  I decided to rush happily to meet him instead of plodding. “Father!”

  “You look lovely. We have a very important function to attend.”

  I forced myself not to slump. “Do I really have to go? Two-Spirit’s initiation ceremony is tonight.”

  “I’m afraid his ceremony will have to wait.” It was only then I realized Father was sweating. He rushed past me to his library, still talking, so I followed as fast as my pinching shoes would allow. “A delegate from Great Britain arrived today with a message from Queen Victoria. I can only imagine what sort of message it might be, and we’ll need Two-Spirit’s father and all our other top leaders at the capitol building.”

  “Why on earth would they come here and not New York City?”

  Father chuckled. “They didn’t intend to arrive here first, but seem to have lost their bearings. It must be a common trait amongst our ancestors.”

  I shrugged and resigned myself to a boring evening. But as Two-Spirit’s father was considered just as important as mine, I knew at least I would be with my best friend.

  Father and I soon got into our ho
rseless carriage, foregoing the usual riding goggles. Father’s automaton, Hack, drove us across town to the state capitol. Father and I were supposed to live there, but we preferred the house where we’d been all my life. Mother’s memory was there. She died of cholera just before my eleventh birthday, two years before Father became governor. Father could potentially remain in office for years, and we didn’t want to leave Mother behind.

  * * * *

  The sun set as we arrived at the grand capitol building. A slew of other carriages, horses, people, and automatons crowded the front entrance. I didn’t think too often about the privileges of being the governor’s daughter, but in this case, we were spared the crowds and entered the building through a back door.

  Inside the spacious ballroom, I spotted Two-Spirit and his father, Eagle Eye, sitting at the head table. I passed many other tables to join them, swishing my skirt. Our table seated twenty people, and was filled with other office-holders. Two chairs remained empty; one for my Father, the other for our guest of honor.

  “You look delighted to be here,” I said, attempting a British accent.

  “Overjoyed.” If Two-Spirit was disappointed his night was ruined, he hid it well. He wore healer’s robes and his hair looked beautiful, adorned with feathers and beads.

  For several minutes Two-Spirit and I chatted in Lenapé while the room filled with local leaders. Father circled the room, shaking hands. Suddenly Mr. Pickett appeared at the door, and the entire room hushed.

  I looked closer and realized it wasn’t really Mr. Pickett, but someone who looked remarkably similar, right down to the eyeglass and hat.

  “Ah,” Father said. “I am Governor John Corn. Please, be seated at our head table.”

  The man frowned. “This is all very unorthodox. Is there no one here to announce me?”

  For once, my father looked flustered. “Why, we all know who you are. But if custom dictates…ladies and gentlemen, may I announce the emissary for Queen Victoria, Sir Joseph Pickett.”

  I smirked at Two-Spirit. This man didn’t look like a knight one whit. He was surely related to our loveable Mr. Pickett, though. As he moved into the room, I gasped. Several African people followed. Though dressed exquisitely, it was plain as day they were slaves.

  I lowered my gaze in shame. My ancestors were responsible for trying to bring this way of life to America, but we had overthrown it. How dare this man shove his immorality in our faces?

  When I looked up again, I lost my breath. The slaves were following the man to our table. They were male and female, and one of the girls looked about my age. I caught her eye, and thought I could happily drown inside it. Her eyes were rich brown, her braided hair adorned with flowers, her dress every bit as fancy and uncomfortable as mine.

  The slaves stood behind Sir Pickett as he took his seat.

  I stood immediately and held my arm out to the beautiful girl. “You can sit here, if you’d like.”

  The room grew still. I could hear horses whinnying outside. But then everyone else at our table stood, too.

  I smiled at the beautiful girl. She looked like a princess, not a slave. But she wouldn’t look at me.

  “What’s this nonsense?” Sir Pickett snarled.

  Automatons appeared carrying trays of food and beverages, aware of nothing but their programming. The slaves rushed to help.

  I clenched my fists and fought tears. How could people be made to work like machines?

  “Sir, we do not subscribe to your belief system,” Father said. “If you do not wish to let those who accompanied you sit, then none of us will sit, either.”

  My heart swelled with joy as everyone else in the room stood. Only Sir Pickett was left.

  “I have a message to deliver.” He waved away food and wine brought over by one of the male slaves and unfolded a parchment from his pocket. “Citizens of the United States of America, Queen Victoria has decreed she will rectify the mistakes of her forefathers.”

  Two-Spirit and I exchanged skeptical glances.

  Sir Pickett continued, still seated. “The colonies desired independence two generations ago, and now this so-called nation has become a quagmire of heathen immorality. The Queen wishes to offer a treaty to usher the United States once again into a glorious future. You shall be partnered with Great Britain, your rightful ruler, and reinstate the relationship of colonies and home country.”

  Father raised his head and stepped closer. “We will never make such a pact. Are you going round to all the states with this nonsense? Are you going to make these claims to President Running Water’s face? Why did you come here first instead of our nation’s capital?”

  Sir Pickett folded his parchment. “I’m going to speak to all the major leaders on the coast, including your president in New York City. But if he does not agree to this treaty, the Queen will regard his refusal as an act of war and we will claim our colonies back.” With that, he snapped his fingers for wine.

  I had never heard such an uproar in my life. My own father shook his fist in Sir Pickett’s face. The room exploded with shouts and screams.

  In the tumult, I gripped Two-Spirit’s hand and backed away, ducking through the crowds of angry men and women. I caught one last glimpse of the beautiful girl before we slipped out of the room.

  “We must do something,” Two-Spirit said.

  “I know. This is an outrage. And Mr. Pickett…he’s been a spy all along. His plans got thrown for a loop when my father won election three years ago instead of him, though. His brother arriving here first is no accident. He means to subdue us and build an army here.”

  “You’ve read too many of your father’s novels, but you’re probably right.”

  We ran to my father’s horseless carriage as I fought panic. I pulled a punch card out of the driver’s compartment and inserted it into the automaton driver’s boxy head. “Hack will take you to the longhouse communities. You can warn everyone there.” I opened another compartment and pulled out my father’s radio communicators. “I’m going to check out Sir Pickett’s ship and see if I can’t find a way to stop this before it starts. I’ll keep in contact with you.”

  “What are you possibly going to do alone out there?” Two-Spirit asked.

  “I don’t know, but I want to find that fink Mr. Pickett. I know I can make him talk. If that doesn’t work, I’ll sneak on board Sir Pickett’s ship and steer it into the rocks.”

  Two-Spirit laughed. “Then we’ll just send a message to Britain saying, ‘Sorry, but I’ve decided I like it here. Love, Sir Pickett.’”

  I smiled. “If we take out the ship, our problems will be solved. Sir Pickett could be lying, too. How are we supposed to know if he really had a message from the Queen or if he and his brother just want to try to rule America?”

  “You’re right. I’ll let the elders, healers, and shamans know what happened. They’ll be able to tell me if it’s likely this whole story is even true, and what else we could do to stop this. But maybe you shouldn’t act until I have a chance to talk to the others first. You know they’ll want to gather in the Council House and seek visions before we do anything. The blood of the young warrior is hot, and the guidance of elders can help make our actions most effective.”

  I bit my lip. “Well, maybe you’re right. I’ll go to the harbor to see what we’re up against. Then I’ll radio, and the elders can advise us from there.”

  Cursing my dress’s lack of pockets, I shoved my communicator down the front of my dress.

  “Wait,” Two-Spirit said. He slipped off his moccasins and handed them to me. “In case you need to run.”

  I sighed in relief and unfastened my oppressive heels. I couldn’t help but giggle as Two-Spirit put them on his own feet. “May the spirits walk with you…or ride.”

  I toggled a switch on Hack’s chest and the carriage chugged away, emitting puffs of steam. Taking a deep breath, I turned and ran down the cobblestone streets. The harbor wasn’t too far away, but moccasins made the trip much easier. A cool spr
ing breeze blew my curls as I gathered up my skirt and dodged the surprising amount of people and carriages on the roads at this hour. People were shouting and waving their arms—word must be spreading about the Queen’s decree.

  * * * *

  Things quieted as I neared the harbor. I slunk through an alley and stopped in the shadows near the end. Ahead, gas lights illuminated a wooden pier and the black, choppy ocean. There amongst the regular fishing boats was a massive ship displaying the British colors. A row of rifle-wielding redcoats stood guard on the shoreline. I reckoned I would be able to sneak past them if I had to. Crashing the ship might not end all our problems, but it would still be fun.

  Then the distant lighthouse beam swooped round, and I gasped. An armada of warships loomed on the horizon. I ducked farther into the shadows and reached for my communicator.

  Before I could pull the radio out, loud thumps caused the blood to run backward to my heart. I tried to blend into the brick wall of the nearest building, sweat popping out on my face, as more bumps and scrapes sounded on the adjoining street. I saw a shadowy figure attempting to carry two enormous bundles. As the figure emerged into a pale streetlight, I jumped out of the shadows.

  It was the beautiful girl from before.

  I adjusted my dress and tried to walk elegantly towards her. But even in moccasins I wasn’t good at that, so instead I strode over.

  “Allow me to help you.” I grabbed one of the bundles, a luggage bag, before the girl could do anything but widen her eyes. “My name is Amelia Corn. I’m the governor’s daughter.”

  For a second, I thought she would refuse to speak. Then her look of shock faded. “I’m Nadine Pickett, and Sir Pickett is my master.”

  Her British accent sounded musical to me. I gripped the heavy bag in both hands and we walked out of the direct light, but made no move toward the ship.

  “A governor’s daughter,” Nadine said. “Are you similar to a princess, then?”

  I felt a blush creep over my cheeks. “No, it doesn’t work like that here. Why are you carrying such a heavy burden?”