Andrew's Strange Night: A Christmas Carol

AP US HISTORY BRINGS ME THE OPPORTUNITY TO WRITE STUFFS. Ignore that sentence, but read the brilliance of history. For this creative story about Andrew Jackson, you must known that he loved his wife Rachel who he feels was killed by the social pressures of Washington, he hated the national bank, John C Calhoun, and Henry Clay, and he was the first president to be the victim of an assassination attempt, but he survived. Yeahh, I got an A- on the multiple choice for this test guys :)

(copyright: This belongs to Kaylene. Contact me for usage, because it deserves to go in a book.)

           He continued writing on the crisp parchment with the thick of his plume. “..and, as heaven does its rains, shower its favors alike on the high and the low, the rich and the poor, it would be an unqualified blessing. In the act before me there seems to be a wide and unnecessary departure from these just principles.” He hovered over the last word before ending the statement with a blackened mark, smiling to himself for justly ending the influence of his opposers.

            He dimmed the oil lamp to a steady glow. He creaked to the bedside and edged his way down to a kneel, holding a golden locket with her picture in it. He unveiled the yellowing picture and began, “My dear Rachel how I’ve missed your presence these past few days…” A shadow outside the window hovered into the room, moving gently with the words of the wind and this elderly man’s prayers.

            The man felt a tap on his shoulder. His skin tightened with goosebumps, and he looked around the room for something that touched him. The wind from the open glass windows sucked in air. Immediately, papers flew and the sheets on his bed danced. In the middle of the swirls, a shadow appeared and configured into an opaque young woman. She sashayed over to the man and pulled him up from the ground.

            “What are you…” He began calmly, but losing clarity. “What are you! Get out! Get out, I say! I will shoot you! Get out!”

            She took his hind in one of hers. With the other, she touched her pursed lips in silence and shook her head. She said, “Andrew Jackson, how much you have to see.” With a flinch of hesitation, she closed his eyelids with her gentle fingertips. They breathed in together, both of their eyes closed.

            Jackson, as he was namely called, opened his eyes. He saw himself sitting on a steamboat, quietly smoking on his pipe and looking out to the passing trees. Jackson could smell the pipe smoke, puffing from his lips. He remembered every emotion perfectly. He remembered thinking about the future of his country, his people, his hates, his wants, his hopes and aspirations, but most of all he thought of his wife Rachel. He opened his eyes, startled. He began walking over to his image, but he was caught by the ghostly young girl. When he saw his own hand in hers, he saw his hand was the same, transparent. He looked back to his younger self.

            Young Jackson pulled out a picture of his wife and said, “Rachel I know how they destroyed you. Those women were never good enough to be in your presence. Those men? They had no similar right. Rachel, my love, I am so sorry. They did this to you. I am sorry. I can never forgive these people. Rachel, I’m sorry…” The young Jackson trailed off in sobs.

            The older image of Jackson said, “This was the day I realized.” He looked to the young girl who nodded slowly in continuation.

She said, “It was the day you decided to be the president whom no one would ever forget. The day that your rules would guide the country to what you hoped would be better.”

“Tell me, is it worth it? Did Rachel hear me? Did it make the difference in our nation?”

The young girl shook her head in silence, but smiled politely. “Do not worry. You will know for yourself. Now, there is someone you should meet.” She pointed to an area on the outside deck. “Come.”

They left the weeping Jackson to find a stern man standing outside near the very edge of the back of the boat. He was transparent as well, but he looked better dressed in his suit and top hat. Jackson looked to the woman, unsure. She smirked and put her fingers to his eyes again, overcoming him with darkness.

His eyes jolted open with a pounding on his back from his traveling companion. He was immediately met by an image that made his fists clench and raise his heart’s pounding to a syncopated drumming. He watched rivals, Henry Clay and John Calhoun, clink their gin classes together in a domestic den. They sniggered to themselves loudly and proudly. Jackson’s palms began to sweat, and his ghostly companion held him back from moving toward the spectacle.

“I do say, Henry, I think we got the bastard this time.” John drunkenly slurped from his glass. “That Jackson fellow. Ga-ha! He’ll never get out of this hell hole.”

“I dare say you may be right.” Henry nestled into the nearby couch cushions, satisfied as he took a steady sip from his glass.

Jackson fumed but held his ground. “You sons of bitches! You know how I’ve felt about the national bank, so don’t be surprised when you wake up tomorrow and hear that I’ve vetoed it, you asses. You have no right to think you slugs have power over me. Ha! And you know that I will be reelected, for I have gotten everyone to be on my side no matter what. I have the North and the West, to hell with the South. They fought with me about the nullifications, but you know damn well that they fear this House. But you bastards think you’re clever. Oh-ho, you do. Everyone in the South can support this decision. That bank was evil. Damn you! Damn damn da-!”

Jackson woke up in middle of the hot marble floor with a pain in the back of his head. He rose slowly from the ground to see he was standing next to a cryptic, cloaked female figure. He only opened his mouth to question when the figure reached out a jointy finger toward the staircase. He shuffled down the ghost’s intended path.

He saw himself again, but much older looking. He saw his Cabinet members, all only a little wrinkled, but much the same. Then he realized it was just him.

A man, one of the representatives he remembers, pounded his way to the older Jackson and began talking. Looking at himself, Jackson asked the clandestine woman, “Is this the future? Why have you brought me here?” The ghostly figure remained still, so he settled to watch himself again.

Everything seemed normal, quite uneventful even. He glanced away observing the decorations when he heard a click with a small explosion. His older image stepped back. He gulped and watched with interest. The representative jammed his gun into a pant pocket and whipped out another, firing straight into Jackson. Jackson’s forehead became a source of cold sweat. The representative fired, but the old man at the end of the gunpoint remained still as stone. They all stood next to the stairs, silent.

Jackson looked on the image, confused. He questioned, “I did not die? How can this be? Old Hickory lives? Tell me, why did he try to kill me! You won’t answer me anyway. He was probably disgruntled about something. I can never please everyone in the government. That’s the way it will be. No one…No one is perfect and opinions differ. That is fine by me, but I should hope my Rachel looked out for me on this day. Tell me, was my Rachel the one that saved me?”

In the blink of an eye, Jackson was brought back to his once familiar bedroom, the candle still burning on the desk. The young woman who first came to him was standing near the window. “It was the pride of America that kept you here. Thank you, dear Andrew,” and she was gone with a silent leap out the window.

Jackson stood alone in his bedroom. He reviewed everything that happened that evening. He never moved from the spot until the sun peeked from the dark horizon.

He simply smiled to himself. He chuckled at the evening and all he had witnessed. He climbed into the bed and nuzzled under the cool sheets. “I’ll deal with Calhoun and Clay some other day. Meanwhile, I am proud. I knew I could run this country, strict and dear.” He shut his eyes and snored softly as the sun rose inch by inch on the rest of the nation.