ReUNION: What if the Civil War had never happened?

by Harvey Ardman

  “Exactly,” said Bourque. “And despite that, despite the lack of gratitude, we always knew we were moving toward full citizenship for the coloreds. We all knew the day had to come, or else the world would move on without us. Well, the day is here.”

  “I think he’s right,” Barnes said. He looked at Bourque like a dog hoping for a pat on the head.

  Bourque considered Barnes’ comment for a moment. “Yes. Right. That’s the way we all feel about our traditions. We’re comfortable with our society the way it is, you and me both. But that doesn’t make it right. It doesn’t even make it good.”

  “What do you mean by that?” asked Georgia’s Governor, Albert Sidbury, or Judge Sidbury as he preferred to be called. He was a handsome older man who radiated dignity, having once presided over the Confederacy’s Supreme Court. “We have a proud tradition and a wonderful way of life. Even the nigras are happy with it, I think.”

  “You make good points, Judge. The nigras may be happy—or fairly docile, anyhow—but maybe because they’ve never known anything different. But we do. We’ve seen what happens when coloreds have equality. The NAU has provided us with an excellent example, an embarrassing example, I might add.

  “We’ve always held that blacks had risen as far as they could, and that they’d demonstrated they just weren’t the equal of whites. But if you live in the north, it sure doesn’t look that way. If you live in the north and you look around you, you see all kinds of nigras demonstrating as much ability and as much intelligence as whites. We might not like it—hell, I don’t like it. But you can’t deny the truth.”

  He looked at Kooter Barnes, but this time, his Vice President couldn’t make himself say anything supportive, and the others were frowning or looking away.

  “Why do you think Charles Callaway was elected President of the NAU?” Bourque asked. “I’ll tell you why: because he’s the best man for the job. I’ve seen him with my own eyes. I’ve seen the wisdom and the courage. And I’ll tell you, the people of the Confederate States of America are damned lucky—lucky!—that this man is the leader of the NAU.”

  “I agree,” Barnes managed to say.

  “I don’t know of any previous President who had the guts to do what he’s doing. It is an extraordinarily generous and unselfish act. Now I’m not sayin’ there’s no self-interest in it. In the long term, Mexico is as much the enemy of the NAU as it is of ours. But it takes vision to see that—and Charles Callaway has that vision.”

  Daryl Burgess raised a hand.

  “Yes, Col. Burgess,” Bourque said. “You have a question?

  “I say, Mr. President, are we absolutely sure Garcia has us in his sights? Are we certain he’s planning to attack us?”

  “Hear, hear,” said Governor Gatewood. “We’d all like to know the answer to that question.”

  Bourque looked at the two governors as if they’d lost their minds. “Have you forgotten New Orleans, gentlemen? Has the loss of Texas slipped your minds? Do you recall that I almost lost my life in the Mexican war? In my best judgment, Garcia is planning to invade us—and soon. If we dilly-dally, a thousand Mexican troop carriers will land on our shores and Mexican armies will sweep over the Confederacy, erasing every trace of us. And I doubt Garcia will be paying pensions to any retired governors.”

  Governor Carrington wasn’t quite ready to let go. “But won’t reunion have the same effect, except that we’d be giving up without a fight.”

  “You’re looking at it the wrong way, Andrew,” Bourque said. “We’ll be rejoining the country from which we sprang. We will be making common cause with a nation with whom we share a common history—the history of Washington, Franklin and Jefferson. The NAU and the CSA speak the same language, and I’m not just talking about words. We have many similar laws and values. We have a thousand economic connections. Many of us have family up there. We share a lot of geography, and most important, perhaps, we have a common enemy.”

  “He’s right, Andrew,” said Kooter Barnes.

  Bourque surveyed the room again, looking for open opposition. Finding none, he continued. “I think the time has come to stop jabbering about this and make a decision—unless someone has something else to say.

  “You’re with him on this, Kooter?” Carrington asked.

  “One hundred percent,” Barnes said promptly. He and Bourque exchanged meaningful glances. The Kooter had promised and he had delivered.

  “What about Hurbuckle?” Governor Claxton asked. “Will he back you? Will he speak out in favor of reunion? It would sure solve a lot of problems if he does.”

  “He’ll be on board,” Bourque said. “He understands the situation.”

  Claxton sighed “He can’t just give it lip service, Buddy. If this is going to work, he has to be an enthusiastic advocate.”

  “You can count on that,” Bourque said.

  “That’s a relief,” said Claxton.

  They went on like this for the better part of two hours, while Buddy Bourque, the acknowledged baron of brainwashing, prince of persuasion and king of convincing coaxed, wheedled and bludgeoned his governors into submission. Finally, he was ready for the next step.

  “Okay, now here’s the drill,” Bourque said. “The NAU is requiring that all ten state legislatures vote in favor of petitioning for readmittal. A single negative state vote and we abandon the agreement and let fate decide what happens to us. This is how the cow eats the cabbage, gennelmen. Unless I hear objections, I’m asking for the vote. I’m going to call on y’all one by one and I want to hear a yea or a nay, nothing else.”

  Carrington looked at Bourque, folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. “I gotta hand it to you, Buddy,” he said, sounding bitter. “You have more nerve than a herd of tigers. You’re asking us to roll over and approve of the most radical imaginable change in our country like it was nothing more than a new tax measure or a waterway project. But we’re not your rubber stamps. Not this time.”

  Bourque thought a moment, then spoke. “Andrew, I’m asking you to approve reunion on its merits, not just because I like the idea. I’m asking you to say yes because I don’t think we can save our society any other way, and because I wouldn’t be able to live with my conscience if I didn’t try.”

  “Be that as it may,” Carrington said, “we’re not going to let you dictate our votes. And least I’m not. I intend to act according to my conscience, not yours. I believe in the Confederacy.”

  “Come on now, Andrew,” Bourque purred. “Your conscience is telling you the same thing mine is. You just don’t want to listen and I don’t blame you. It hurts. You believe in the Confederacy. Well, so do I. And you know that, Andrew. You know what it’s cost me to reach this conclusion and to ask for your approval.” He looked around the room. “And y’all know I wouldn’t ask you to approve reunion with the North if there was another way.”

  “I resent being bullied,” Carrington said.

  “If you feel I have bullied you, Andrew, then please accept my apologies,” Bourque said. “I promise you I only meant to tell you the facts and let the facts persuade you. They have certainly persuaded me.

  This time, Carrington had no comeback. Bourque looked around the room. None of the other governors had anything to say either.

  “Okay,” Bourque said, “Governor Claxton, what say you?”

  The old man seemed confused. “You want me to vote? What will that do?”

  “It’ll be your solemn promise that you’ll get your legislature to petition the NAU for statehood. You can do that, can’t you?”

  “Well, yes, probably, but..”

  “Yea or nay, Timothy. Time to choose.”

  “If I say nay, that means…”

  Bourque sighed. “That would mean there’ll be no reunion, at least as long as you’re in office.”

  Claxton looked at the others, hoping someone would provide the next line, but no one was willing to look his way.

  “Timothy?” Bourque was losing patience.

&n
bsp; “Well then, okay, yea. I say yea.”

  “Thank you,” Bourque said as if this was just what he had expected. “One vote yea. Governor Baptiste?”

  “Pass.”

  Bourque shook his head. “You can’t pass, Lawrence. Make up your mind. Yea or nay?”

  Baptiste, a swarthy little man with darting black eyes, gave Bourque a long appraising look. “Yea,” he said, practically spitting out the word.

  Bourque ignored the tone of voice. “Two votes yea,” he said. Governor Gatewood?”

  “Well, the way you’ve laid it out for us, there’s only one possible way to vote. Yea.”

  “Three votes yea,” Bourque said. “Governor Hightower?”

  Hightower was startled, evidently expecting to be called on later. “If you’re sure about Mexico…”

  “I think I’ve made my opinion clear, Ben,” Bourque said. “I’m not selling you down the river.”

  “Then, put me down for yea,” Hightower said.

  And so it went, each governor justifying himself, but in the end, voting yea.

  Bourque he continued, stopping in front of Cornelius Flagler, a shy, slender young man who had been elected to serve out his father’s term when Flagler, Sr. died of a stroke. Up to now, he hadn’t said a word.

  “How about you, Corny?” Bourque asked. “You’ve been mighty quiet. You with me or against me?”

  “I-I know my father would support you,” young Flagler said, “and I would never go against his wishes.”

  “That’s nine yeas,” Bourque said. “And now we come to the final voter. What say you, Andrew Carrington?”

  Carrington leaned back in his chair and idly stabbed at the few remaining morsels of pecan pie on his plate. Then he smiled. “So it’s all up to me, eh?”

  “Seems so,” Bourque allowed. “Great responsibility, too. Lot of lives in your hands. A lot of futures. Of course the world is gonna change, no matter which way you vote. Question is, will it change for us—or against us? I guess that’s up to you.”

  Carrington shook his head, stymied. “I guess you’ve got me, haven’t you? You’ve put it all on my head. Very neat. And if I refuse, if I vote nay, then you’ll blame the Mexican invasion on me, won’t you.”

  “That hadn’t occurred to me actually,” Bourque said. “But it’s not a bad idea.”

  “What about reunion?” Carrington asked. “When the citizens of Virginia object to that, are you going to blame me for reunion as well?”

  “Don’t go getting cross-legged, Andrew. That one’s on all of our heads. Mine as well as yours. But reunion is the right thing to do. Someday, everyone’ll know it. We’ll be folk heroes. They’ll sing songs about us.”

  “That I seriously doubt, Buddy,” Carrington said. “So you’re giving me two choices and asking me to figure out which is the lesser evil.” He sighed deeply. “Okay, okay. I’ll give you what you want. I’ll vote yea. And damn you to hell for putting me in this position.”

  “I shall consider myself damned to hell, Andrew, although you’re hardly the first to point me in that direction. But I would also like to say to all of you that I have never witnessed as much courage as I have seen today, not even on the battlefield. Everyone of you has earned my confidence and respect.”

  “Hmmph,” said Curtis Babineaux, unimpressed.

  Bourque looked directly into Babineaux’s eyes. “My affection too, Curtis,” Bourque said. “My deep and everlasting affection.”

  He rose and walked around the table, solemnly shaking the hand of each of the governors, then he returned to his seat. He winced as he sat down, and paused for a couple of deep breaths.

  Bourque nodded and surveyed the group again. “We have all embarked on a great –and somewhat perilous—journey, in order to save our people and to ensure their peace and prosperity till the last pea’s out of the dish,” he said. “I know it hasn’t been easy for you. It hasn’t been easy for me. But sure as God made little chickens, I know that we’ve done the right thing, and that history’s gonna be mighty kind to us.”

  “I agree,” Kooter Barnes said, one last time.

  “So what’s next?” asked Governor Carrington.

  Bourque checked his watch. “What’s next is that you all go back to your legislative leaders and teach ‘em the new song. And I’m goin’ to the cabinet room to twist a few arms.”

  “You need any help getting those cabinet fellas aboard?” This was Daryl Burgess, once more imagining himself a five-star general.

  “Don’t think so, Daryl, but thanks for the offer,” Bourque said. “I think I can make them listen to reason.” He smiled broadly.

  “Considering how we just voted,” said Governor Carrington, not smiling at all, “I sure hope you’re right.”

  Now the President and the governors said their goodbyes, in a few moments, the room was empty, except for Bourque and Pickett.

  “Ready to go to the cabinet room?” Pickett asked.

  “I’m gonna sit awhile,” Bourque said, a little out of breath and sweating visibly.

  “Can I get you anything?” Pickett said, concerned.

  “A new pancreas would be nice,” Bourque said.

  “If only I could…”

  “I know, Roy. I’ll just have to make do.”

  “That was quite a performance, Boss,” Pickett said. “You believe everything you said?”

  “Gotta believe, Roy. Can’t persuade anyone if you don’t.”

  “I wish the whole nation could have seen you. Callaway too. I felt like I was watching history happen, watching the world change.”

  Bourque appeared thoughtful. “The problem about change is, once it starts, you never know where it’s going to end up.”

  “Maybe, but as long as you’re in control…”

  That got a laugh. “Control? You think I’m in control? Well, I’m not. None of us are, separately or together. We’re mighty lucky if we can hold on long enough to give history a little nudge in the right direction. That’s the very most we can hope for.”

  “I don’t care what you say, Boss. I think history has just gotten a huge nudge.”

  *

  Delphine stepped through the door and quietly closed it behind her. Pickett was standing in the hall, waiting. “He’s in bed now,” Mr. Pickett, she said. “I suspect he’ll be napping in no time.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Bourque,” Pickett said carefully, as a deputy presidential assistant walked past. “I’m glad to hear that. He’s had a hard day and it’s not over.”

  The assistant was out of earshot now. “He told me about this afternoon, Roy,” Delphine said. “He was pretty proud of himself.”

  “He was unstoppable, Delphine. I’ve never seen him better. And I know he was hurting.”

  She nodded. “I made sure he took his pills.”

  “I hope he’ll do as well with the speech, when the time comes.”

  “I think he’ll be up for it,” Delphine said hopefully. “He’s determined.”

  They were silent for a moment. So much had been left unsaid. So much couldn’t be said.

  Delphine started to walk down the hall and Roy followed her, as she knew he would. Suddenly, she started for a small sitting room, grabbing Pickett and pulling him inside.

  “Hey, hey,” he warned. “Someone might see…”

  She closed the door behind them. “Might see what?” She asked, and then she bent to kiss him.

  Chapter Twenty

  At the same time President Virgil I. “Buddy” Bourque was winning the hearts and minds of the Confederate state governors, the recently-elected President of the North American Union, Charles Callaway, was engaged on precisely the same mission with the eight Congressional leaders—the Senate and House majority and the minority leaders and their whips. He’d gathered them in the Cabinet Room, along with Veronica, Eric Wang, and Marty Katz, there to serve as reinforcements.

  “Gentlemen,” the President said, “thank you for coming. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to reveal the reas
on for the summons, but I assure you, it is an issue of enormous national importance. Historic significance.”

  “I hope that’s true,” said Oliver Wendell (R-Ok), the Republican Senate Minority Leader, the person Callaway had narrowly defeated in the recent and unusually bitter Presidential election. He was a big, florid-faced man who did not suffer fools gladly and wasn’t especially nice to regular folk either. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have rousted me out of my committee meeting for anything less.”

  “Sorry about that, Oliver,” Callaway said, sounding genuinely sympathetic. “I had a very narrow of window of time for this meeting. And there’s one other thing I have to apologize for. This meeting will have to remain secret for now. Even the fact of the meeting, I’m afraid.”

  “Secret?” said Sen. Ed Lockett (D-PA) the Senate Majority Leader, a tubby, balding old pol, who know not only where the bodies were buried, but who buried them and why. “Even from the party?”

  “Even from your wife, Ed,” Veronica said.

  “When can we talk about it?” asked Sen. Jameson Linscott (R-AZ), the Senate Minority Whip, a big, rather arrogant man without a single hair on his dome-shaped head, save his formidable eyebrows.

  “In a few days,” Callaway told them. “It will all become public knowledge.”

  “Well, isn’t that just dandy?” said Rep. Trace Powell, the Republican House whip and a young, handsome, Maryland boy who considered himself just about irresistible.

  Callaway gave Rep. Powell a tolerant smile, which took a certain effort, since he couldn’t stand the man. “Trace, if you or anyone else here feels you can’t honor my request for secrecy,” he said, “please say so now, and you can leave, no hard feelings or judgments.”

  . As Callaway looked around the table, all eight of them, even Trace Powell, gave him an assenting nod, some less enthusiastically than others. Marty Katz had predicted that no one would move a muscle, and he was right

  “Good,” Callaway said. “Now, let me end the suspense. The NAU apparently finds itself with the most remarkable opportunity in its history—a chance to increase its land area by 40% and its population by almost as much.”