Montana. The 41st state is named after the Spanish word for mountain. Pretty ironic considering she's not located in a mountainous region nor does she have much Spanish influence. There were other names she could've chosen rather than "mountain", yet she stuck with the name ever since. Despite not being known for distinct mountains, the state remains unique through its rich, Western culture.

Interesting enough, one of the aspects of Montana's Western culture, cattle ranching, wasn't exactly natural to her. Cows were rare in the Northwestern states, so when the first cattle drives came to her home they were an immediate success. When Texas came to deliver her longhorns, she was taught the ways of the cowboy.

☆☆☆☆☆

December 1866 ~ Paradise Valley, Montana

Some call her loud. Others call her obnoxious. Many call her rebellious.

I call her...Texas.

"Howdy! The name's- BLEH!" The cowgirl coughed up blood before collapsing off her horse.

Our first meeting is something I'll never forget. It was the only time I saw Texas this vulnerable.

"What are you doing here?" I questioned, lifting her up off the ground, getting her back on her feet.

She grinned with a trickle blood dribbling down the corner of her mouth. "Business baby- Pffft!"

"Jesus Christ!"

"It's okay. I'm fine."

"Vomiting up blood isn't fine!"

After a moment's rest, Tex finally explained her visit. Nelson Story, a modestly rich gentleman, bought over a thousand longhorn cattle in Texas. As an added bonus, beneficial in her recovery from the Civil War, Tex got the military general's permission to travel with a bunch of cowboys to round up Mr. Story's cattle to market. Their original destination was Kansas and Missouri, but Mr. Story had other ideas. He made the ambitious decision to head up to my home, spending nearly six months herding his cattle down the Bozeman Trail to my home. Runaway cattle, hostile natives, Jayhawkers, the U.S. Army, the only casualties lost were a couple of cattle and one cowboy. All that trouble paid off well in the end.

For the first time in my life, I got the chance to see the famous Texas longhorn. Other than their giant, curved horns, they acted and looked like the cows I've came across back in the East. Cattle were a rare sight in this part of the region. Plenty of deer, elk, antelope, and a few buffalo were left. Yet, all I kept hearing down at the mines were complaints of a nice T-bone steak. At first, I didn't get what the big fuss was about. Men were buying Mr. Story's longhorns at ten times the original price. Why were they willing to spend hundreds on a few, expensive cattle when they can easily go hunting for the cheaper, more abundant wild animals in my home?

I finally knew why.

"So big..." I drooled.

I couldn't help but marvel at the medium rare, 12 oz. slab of cow meat dripping in its sizzling fat and juices, overshadowing the small servings of mashed potatoes and caramelized carrots along the sides of the plate. The warm, smoky smell overwhelmed my senses throughout the wait, making the pit in my stomach grumble with anticipation to this new experience. With a knife in my right hand and my fork in my left, I cut into the steak. I sliced off a piece, taking a quick look at its pinkish interior before plopping the small, savory morsel into my hungry mouth.

"How is it?" Tex asked with the biggest smile her ego can create.

Of course, she had the right to be proud.

I eagerly nodded, chewing the piece of steak with small tears in my brown eyes. In comparison to venison, my meat of choice, the steak was much easier to chew for my mouth. The fat within the meat, much to my surprise, didn't taste too bad. The best bits were the parts along the edges of the steak, charred just right with a smokey, hickory taste. There was a bit of a flavor to the steak I couldn't describe. Less grainy in favor of broiled juices with some added salt and pepper seasoning as seasoning. It was like eating butter, but better.

"It's delicious." I swallowed.

"And?" She wagged her eyebrows.

"Savory, tender, mouthwatering... It's Heaven in my mouth." I dug right into the steak.

"Oh, stop it. You're being too much." She grinned and giggled with a rosy blush on her cheeks.

Around twenty minutes later, I managed to finish my entire supper. My stomach was ready to burst at that point.

"It was nice knowing you, Montana," said Tex while rubbing her round tummy.

I tilt my head at her. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm riding home tomorrow."

My eyes widened. "You can't go."

"I'm flattered, but your compliments won't sway me," she sighed in an over-dramatic tone.

"That's not it. My boss wants me to work with Mr. Story, and Mr. Story only wants someone who can herd up cattle. I don't know anything about rounding up cattle," I admitted, somewhat embarassed. I wasn't use to asking people for help, especially from a State.

"Ah! I see." She nodded, stroking her chin with a big grin on her face. "You want to be a cowboy like the great State of Texas."

"Yep!" I nodded.

Her cocky grin disappeared in a split second. "Well, too bad. As you can see, I'm pretty much a dying dog. Gotta fix up some stuff at home if I want to stop coughing up blood. Plus, the military general is going to skin my hide and wear it like a coat if I'm not back soon."

"But-"

"You'll just have to find a cowboy willing to teach ya because it's not going to be me."

I frowned. "I understand. I'll pay you generously for you to stay and teach me the ropes. I'll even send your military general a letter excusing your absence."

"Sorry. I don't think-"

"You're the best State."

"That won't be enough to-"

"You're better than California."

"We'll start tomorrow morning."

From that day forward, I was taught the ways of the cowboy. Or, cowgirl. Same thing.

I'd figure being a cowgirl meant wrangling up cows eight to twelve hours a day. Apparently that's not the case. Calling yourself a cowboy or a cowgirl is the equivalent to being called a guardian of the ranch. Whenever you're not feeding, herding, branding, tagging, or tending to injuries related to the one, two, ten, or a hundred cattle, you're patrolling the ranch no matter if it's raining or snowing. You'll have to checks for damaged fences, any sign of water problems, evidence of predators in the area, and other issues of concern. Tex would know these signs beforehand. Every day, she'll make me patrol the perimeter of the ranch. When I come back, I was to tell her every single thing I saw and where I saw it. If I missed something, she'd forced me to make the trip again, repeating the process until I got everything right.

Tex also made sure I acquire a few skills to make me more desirable for hire on other ranches in the future. Fixing fences, maintaining ranch equipment, minor plumbing, lassoing, marksmanship in all sorts of guns, all sorts of tasks. She also made sure I got myself use to other animals other than cattle. Sheep were just as difficult to work with as were wild mustang and stubborn asses. Goats refused to work with me, and pigs were a hassle to clean up afterward. Chickens were another thing entirely. Communicating with other cowboys was also another lesson Tex didn't seem too fond to admit, but reasoned bad blood won't get anything done nor make the job any easier. Ignore their crass judgement until they push you against the wall, then could you stand your ground and kick the spurs of your boot into their crotch until they see you as an equal.

From six in the morning to six in the evening, I wake up tired and end the day even more tired. I could've quit and said this kind of work isn't for me. Few girls and women worked this kind of job and I can see why. Yet, I refused to yield. If Tex can do it and walk like no big deal the next day, then so can I.

"Today, you'll need to change the hay for the horse stables, castrate ten bulls, ear tag twenty pigs, patrol the fenced perimeter, and check the fox traps," Tex list off my chores.

I held back my groan. "Yes, ma'am." 

Again, it was tiring, hard work. Fortunately, Tex was there to help me out. Without her guidance, I would've probably been stuck in an office no bigger than a walk-in closet. Considering she had the option to head back home early, I'm incredibly grateful she sacrificed her personal time to help me out. In a way, her stay allowed me to get the State a little better.

During lunch breaks, Tex and I got the chance to learn more about each other. It was a shame I couldn't tell her more about myself. Much of my past didn't seem as exciting as hers. Tex would always have a story under her belt, all of them interesting and entertaining in some way. Her beginnings with Spain, the Mexican Revolution, her revolution, how she met America, how she joined the Union, the Mexican-American War, I couldn't stop listening. The way she told these stories in such passionate, vivid detail made it feel like I was there, picturing each event according to what Tex described. And Tex was always in good spirits telling her stories, thrilled to have me listen to every one of her little gems.

 Next thing I knew, December was close to being over. Tex was beginning to run out of stories. Or, so she thought...

In my opinion, Tex's war stories were some of the most engaging among the bunch. There was a mix of humor and grief within her voice whenever she recalled such moments. Her mixed-colored eyes would always water whenever she mentioned people she was close with. She would always stop herself short before continuing the story on a positive note, her sorrow all forgotten so it may seem. The stories of her revolution were left open-ended without a conclusion. 

"They were painful to recall," she would always excuse.

I respect her boundaries and didn't pester her for the ending. Of course, I already knew the ending. She became independent. And Mexico... Well, it's all in the past. While I do respect her choice not to tell me the ending to her revolution, there was one story I had yet to hear from her.

It had been over a year since the end of the American Civil War. In midst of the Civil War, I became a territory. My interaction with the war was minimal. The scariest were newspaper headlines detailing the death toll and high prices on certain items. Other than that, I didn't really participate in the fight. All I can do was watch from the sidelines at the capital and overhear the tense talks that were being discussed by the other States. Some of the things they said were things I wished to forget. It was ugly and concerning. It was tearing them all apart.

America and D.C. did their best to hide these things from me and the other territories, but it was clear the war was having a drastic impact on them. They were pale like the bitter winter, hurt as though they were stabbed eleven times in the heart, wary like the sleepless nights as they waited for the latest news. Nobody bought their facade. Yet, we weren't honest or brave enough to tell them to stop.

"Don't worry about us. You should be concerned with your studies," America would always say before forcing a smile on his dog-tired face.

I did my best to be empathetic with what they're going through. In no way did they deserve the stress and burden. But deep down, the war seemed nonsensical and pointless in my eyes. When D.C. explained the war to us territories, it was baffling to hear the Confederate States' reasons for leaving the Union. Slavery seemed like a cruel practice I could never understand nor did I find the backlash against the current President anymore ridiculous. True, there was nothing in the Constitution that mentioned secession. They were gutsy to prove their point. Even I had to hand it to them.

Still, there had to be a peaceful solution to this whole ordeal. Slavery, states' rights, the current president in charge, there had to be democratic solution to all those issues. And yet, we chose war. People, every one of them American, were turning their backs, picking sides, and murdering each other. It was...dreadful. Every Northern State kept telling me the war was entirely the Southern States' fault. Yet, I couldn't believe them. The death toll on the Union side was morbidly high, and the prosperous factories in their homes spoke a different language to me.

Couldn't they talk to them? Negotiate with them? Convince them to come back? Why did the war last four years? Four years! Why so long? Why did so many people have to die? Millions, all sprawled out on the blood-soaked earth, missing arms and legs, with tears for their families on their screaming faces. Why couldn't it end differently?

Was this war necessary? I like to think otherwise. Then again, I didn't experience the war first-hand. Nor did I know about the tension between the North and the South until after becoming a territory. My opinion in the conflict seemed like a dead horse at this point, especially considering now that the war is over.

Seeing Tex in my home, a former Confederate, it's hard to imagine someone like her once allied with America turn their back on the country. Someone like her who cooperatively worked with the Northern States. Someone like her who joined the Union with the biggest smile on their face, proud to be an American. The same person who can laugh at my poor attempts to lasso a calf. The same person to cook me a T-bone steak after a hard day of work. The same person who told me stories of their hardships and bravery. They were the bad guy...

On Christmas Eve, Tex and I were herding the longhorns to another pasture where the three-sided sheds were recently built. A snowstorm was coming that late night, and we didn't want the cattle to freeze to death. As we rode our horses through the straw colored grass and snow, attentive of the fifty members of the herd, I noticed a certain longhorn was missing.

"Tex!" I called to Tex realizing who it was. "Pirate Pete is missing!"

She gave me a quick glance from her horse. "Let's get the herd into the pen. Afterward, we can go find Pirate Pete."

After gathering the cattle into the pasture, Tex and I rode our horses out onto the empty pasture. In the silence of our canter, I brought up her involvement in the Civil War. She wasn't too pleased to hear those words come out of my mouth.

"Now's not the time."

"But-"

"Look! There's Pete!" Tex pointed.

I look to where Tex was pointing. Sitting by a shallow stream was a black and white spotted bull with curved, ivory horns that can pierce through both walls of a parlor room. A black splotch of black surrounded the bull's left eye, proving without a doubt the bull was no random longhorn. As soon as our horses came to one side of the stream. Pirate Pete wasted no time in wasting our time. The bull got up from his lazy, late afternoon daze by the cold water and dashed off.

"Pete! Come back!" I hollered.

Tex got her lasso ready. "Giddy up!" She whipped her black, American Quarter into a full gallop, leaping across the stream to chase after the rogue bull.

I went after her, whipping my dappled gray horse into catching up with her and the bull. Just as I was about to get my lasso from my belt, I heard a "Yeehaw!" Peering up, fumbling the lasso in my hands, there was Tex with a roped-up Pete by the neck. With all her strength, Tex tugged on the rope, managing to slow Pete down into a steady trot with ease. Her horse slowed to match with the pace, allowing Tex to walk her horse on Pete's right side, blocking his intentional path. Pete was forced to turn around, heading with Tex to where he should be.

Tex looked to me as she passed by. "Be quicker on the draw next time. Every second counts," she sternly said before softening her gaze. "Come. Help me get P.P. into the pen, so we can eat. I'm starving."

I nodded, hungry as well after spending twelve hours doing chores. I turned Sky around and made her trot by Pete's left side, making sure the bull didn't stray from the straight path toward the pen. Like a docile cow, Pete trotted back to the pen. He joined his herd, eating oats out of the trough. He didn't look at all apologetic of his behavior which made Tex and I reconsider our decision to not sell him.

Now that all the cattle were secured for the snowstorm, Tex and I took our horses back the stables, putting up their saddles, loosening their halters, and giving them their supper before heading back to the ranch horse. Seeing as how we're done for the day, I asked Tex again. This time I batted around the question indirectly.

"Your health seems a little better-" I heard a cough from her side of the stable. "... Slightly better..." I correct myself.

Tex popped out from the stable, closing and locking the gate behind her. "I'm going home tomorrow," she told me, looking rather serious.

I cocked my head at her. "I thought you said you'll leave the first day of the New Year."

"I did, but I decided to go early." She cough into the red bandana around her neck. "My home is in need of repairs. I've taught you the ropes like I've promised, so there's no need for me to stay here any longer. But don't worry. You'll see me again. Hopefully as a State next time." She smiled, attempting to assure me.

"You can't go," I protest.

She walked off out of the stables. "I know. I know. I'm better than Cali. Sorry, my friend. This time I'm serious. I need to go and get better as soon as possible."

I pressed my lips into a thin scowl as I followed after her. "If you are going, I want to hear one more story before you go."

She stopped in her tracks, her face darkened.

"... I already told you."

"I know. But I have so many questions..."

The Texan grumbled something I couldn't clearly hear. She resumed to walk back to the ranch house. I followed, silent, yet insistent. By the time we got to the porch, she was about to head inside first, but hesitated. A tired sigh left her cold lips.

"... You're not letting this go, are you?" The corner of her blue eye glanced back at me.

I nodded. "I know it's a sore subject, but I can't help it. I want to know your side of the story."

Tex pondered over what I said.

"... I thought we could get along," she muttered. "Escape past prejudices and ride horses together. But then you had to ask..."

She turned her head toward the setting sun in the West, sinking under the distant, blue, snow-capped mountains. She walked up and learned against the railing, soaking up the sun's last rays. A chill-crawling breeze crept up along my arms, sending goosebumps down my arms. Appropriate to the feeling of hearing those bitter words. I rubbed my upper arms, slipping my gaze off her for a second. Awkwardly, I stood next to her, also leaning against the railing. Upon gathering the courage to speak again, I looked back at her. There were dark circles under her jaded, mixed-colored eyes. I couldn't imagine what was going on in that head of hers.

"I honestly don't know why you left the Union in the first place." I broke the silence.

"Neither did I," she retorted.

I gave her a puzzled look. "What?"

A chuckle come out of her throat. "I've been in...three wars now. Maybe four if counting the Mexican Revolution." Tex paused for a moment. "What did they tell you about me? More specifically, about us, if you know what I mean."

I thought over what I heard from the others, remembering the coarse language they used to describe the Confederacy.

"A lot of things," I mumbled. "Most of it bad."

"... Do you think I'm the bad guy?" She gave me a question I didn't expect her to ask.

"... Not anymore."

"How come?"

"... You seem more like a cowboy than a villain."

She gave off a light-hearted chuckle. "I guess so..."

"Are you going to tell me why you left the Union?"

"That depends how open you are."

"More open than the Northeastern States at least."

She didn't deny this.

"For obvious reasons, I can't tell you everything."

"That's fine. The details aren't that important."

"As long as you don't get all hissy with me, I'll give you my two cents on the matter."

I nodded. I gave her some space to breath, waiting eagerly for her to tell me her story.

The Texan heaved out a tired breath. "... There was a man I knew as a good friend. He was there to help me win my independence from Mexico. He was my boss and representative on a couple of occasions. There were many names I called him. Uncle Sam is what I call him nowadays... He once said this before the war, "A nation divided against itself cannot stand." At the time when he said those words, I supported him. When Lincoln spoke those same words, I spat at him..."

"... In the aftermath of Lincoln's election, Uncle Sam advised I accept the results, that leaving the Union was rash and nonsensical. As furious as I was with the election, I trusted him. I thought I could count on his judgement. He was my boss after all. Yet, a part of me held doubts over his adamant decision. My people were enraged with the results as well, shouting demands for secession. My boss told me to ignore them, but I couldn't. A part of me agreed with them, relating to them somewhat..."

"While I remain split, my Southern friends have already begun to secede from the Union. South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, they all left the Union. Some consider their decision traitorous, that what they're doing is unconstitutional. On the other hand, I found their decision necessary, maybe gutsy..." She softly smiled for a moment.

"Demands for secession were growing stronger with each passing day. Knowing my people were going to proceed with or without his support, my boss relented. He allowed the legislature to call for a convention to consider my possible secession from the Union. He told them before the vote how secession is going to cost us dearly. As wise as his words were, almost everyone in the room voted in favor of leaving the Union. Not going to lie, the people's final decision was a prospect I anticipated with ecstatic praise. It felt like the chains of the Union have finally become unshackled from my wrists and ankles. I can finally escape, join my Southern friends, and create a new nation where states' rights was a priority."

"Unfortunately, my boss refused to uphold the convention's legality. His veto was overridden, but he insisted secession was a big mistake. He kept telling me the Union isn't going to let the Confederacy happen. That bloodshed was bound to happen, and the South will perish in a war in favor of the North. He refused to swore his allegiance to the Confederacy. In effect, he was evicted from office."

"His lack in faith in the Confederacy offended me so much, I started distancing myself from him. I called him many things. Lincoln lover, Union lap dog, a coward. I lost so much respect for that man. His opposing views were an inhibition to my success as a Confederate State. Once a hero and a friend in my eyes, I... I abandoned him..." Her hands tightened into fists as she bit her lip.

I gave her a strange look. "Are you okay?"

Tex snapped out of her silence. "Y-Yeah. I'm fine."

"Did you see him again?"

She lowered her gaze. "... He passed away..." she quietly mumbled. "He died three years ago from pneumonia. I learned this from a letter his wife sent me..."

An uncomfortable silence lingered on this news.

"I'm sorry for your loss," I apologized.

She grimaced. "If I could, I want to take back what I said to him. Apologize and tell him how grateful I am of his leadership; tell him how right he was about the war... Sadly, I was too stubborn to admit how wrong I was. I was still upset with how the war was going at the time, how little he supported my decision on leaving the Union. Boy, was I stupid..." She shook her head in disbelief.

I frowned. "Why couldn't you and your friends compromise with the Northern States? The war wouldn't have happened if there was some sort of compromise," I pointed out.

She gave me an annoyed look. "We did compromise. We compromised many times. The Missouri Compromise, the one in 1850, and then the Kansas-Nebraska Act, we tried. Yet, both sides remain dissatisfied. Everyone knew the compromises weren't the solution to our problems. They were only there to delay the issue. The war was bound to happen. It was only a matter of time..."

A shadow grew over her eyes. The sun sank under the mountains. The remaining orange rays began to disappear under the heavy, indigo night sky. Tex straightened herself from the railing, proceeding to pace along the porch from one end to the other. There was a disturbing aura that surrounded her. I stayed where I was on the porch, still wrapping my head over her response in addition to the fear of upsetting her if I were to overstep my boundaries.

"But..." I tried to make an excuse she and the others didn't try hard enough. However, I realized now any sort of compromise was, as she explained, a temporary truce. Even so...there had to be a peaceful solution. War isn't the answer.

Returning to my side, she continued talking. "Upon Lincoln's election, my Southern friends and I were basically left with two options. We could either accept Lincoln as our president, conform to a poor economy without slavery, and allow the federal government to stomp all over us. Or, we could secede from the Union in the hopes of creating a nation in our image, one where we'll be granted more power, one where slavery can still be practiced. Even if you don't agree with the South's view on slavery, you can at least agree the fear of government becoming too powerful." She gritted her teeth. "I knew such a government all too well. In no way was I going to stick around and let it happen. Not again..."

Tex turned her head to look down on me, directly meeting my silver eyes. "Secession isn't mentioned in the Constitution," she pointed out. "Leaving the Union shouldn't be an issue. We, as States, joined the Union according to our own free will. Why not leave according our own free will? For Heaven's sake, my friends and I were already hated by the Northern States as it is. If they don't like what we do, they should've let us leave and we'll be out of their hair for good. If they want our cotton and tobacco, they can still trade with us. All we wanted was separation. That's it. No bloodshed, no violence, no conflict, nothing else."

"Rather than respect our decision to secede, they cry foul and demand we come back. We went so far as to pay Lincoln for control of federal property within our homes. Again, all we wanted was to be left alone. But no. Lincoln refused to accept the legitimacy of the Confederacy. They refused to compromise with us. They refused to leave us alone. They were determined to control us, destroy our way of living, and force us into their servitude. Thus, we had to fight for our voice. If we didn't...bad stuff was going to happen to us..."

"... I get what you're saying and all," I interject, "but you do realize leaving the Union would hurt America, right? Of course they'll protest against secession. If half the States left the Union, what's the point in calling it the United States of America? The reason the country has lived and stayed together for this long was because we're united despite our differences. For the sake of preserving your so-called state powers, you were willing to hurt America."

Tex looked spitefully at me, yet her eyes looked slightly hurt when I mentioned her selfish intentions to hurt America. I thought she was going to yell at me for my last comment. Instead, she turned her gaze away, looking back toward the darker night sky.

"I won't deny my intentions on leaving the Union were selfish. But in no way would I intentionally hurt a friend." The vexation in her voice breathed out into the cold air.

The muscles in her shoulders began to relax. We let the silence draw out and have ourselves calm down for a moment, watching the sun's rays disappear in the meanwhile.

Once I believe it was appropriate, I asked another question. "... Why did the war had to last for so long? Why did it cost so many lives? Even for secession, no sacrifice should be too great."

Tex pondered over the question for a moment. For a moment, I thought I saw her eyes water up for a bit.

"... To be honest with you, the thought of going to war scared me," she sadly spoke. "I don't think either side knew the war was going to last this long nor the amount of destruction it left in its wake. Compared to the others, there were few battles going on in my home; not as bad as the ones in Virginia and Tennessee, but still tense nevertheless. I did some fighting on the lines, but I mostly spent my time supplying men and materials to the front lines. It wasn't until after meeting the others in the war's aftermath did I get the true scope of the war's damage. It was...horrific to put it lightly..."

"The soldiers I sent to help my friends were either dead or had missing body parts. Some lost an arm, a leg, an arm and a leg, one guy I saw had no limbs. Missing eyes, lost hearing, mental problems, that's not all. The infested cuts, the giant bruises, the oozing pus, the crawling maggots... Such sights couldn't compare to the awful cries, the gut-retching screams, the smell of death, the scent of rotting corpses..." She shivered before shaking her head. "I could go on and tell you this in detail. Just know you were fortunate not to see such travesty..."

She sighed. "After four years and thousands of lives lost, the war was finally over. The Confederacy surrendered, yet no one won."

"Hang on," I interrupt. "What do you mean by that? The Union won." I thought she was in self-denial.

Tex shook her head. "This war wasn't like any of the wars I've fought in. There was no land to be acquired. No money to be awarded. No independence to be achieved. The Union indeed won, but nothing else. The only good thing that happened was the Union, the United States of America, staying together like it was before the war. Even the former slaves, despite gaining their freedom, didn't get much in the aftermath of the war from what Louisiana told me. And as you said earlier, so many lives lost and all that was rewarded was the status quo. That's it..."

"When my friends and I met the Northern States for the first time since the beginning of the war, I noticed how awkwardly quiet they were during the whole conference. They were like marble statues, silently staring at us for a long time. Not a peep was heard from them. They didn't gloat over their victory or blame us for the bloodshed. All they gave us were cold, emotionless stares. Maybe it was the shock of hearing Virginia's outburst or the sight of Georgia's burns. I don't know. For sure, I know they didn't want to be there; I could see it in their eyes."

"Their pitiful silence was the only empathy they have for us. We, the South, were...losers... We were devastated, but we nevertheless took our medicine with a grain of salt. So many lives lost... Our economy...ruined... The South lost, and the Union remained the same. Not much was gained, a lot was sacrificed. All for the country to move a step forward. That's about it..." she grumbled.

I lowered my gaze, having no words to say in response to what she said.

"... I heard the Confederacy disappeared in the aftermath of the war. Is it true?" I asked, wanting to turn to a different subject.

I only asked the question out of curiosity.

Tex went silent on the question.

I raised an eyebrow. "... Well?"

"... I think so..." she finally answered although with reluctance. "I prefer we don't talk about them..."

"... Fine." I relented. "I'll ask one more question."

"Good."

"Do you still have thoughts on leaving the Union again?" I dare asked.

Tex looked at me surprised at first. She thought over the question for some time before answering me. "I can't..."

"Why not?"

She smirked. "I promised him I wouldn't. That's two questions by the way."

"Who's him?"

"That's three now."

"Just answer the question."

She rolled her eyes. "I promised America I wouldn't leave him again. More specifically, we promised not to leave him." Her tone seem light-hearted, whimsically recalling a memory I couldn't see, but can sense.

Among the words she had said over the last twenty minutes or so, this is the most at-peace she has been so far. It was...weird.

"Do you like America?"

Tex's head turned into a cherry. "N-Not in that way! No! H-He's just a friend! A friend! T-That's all!" she stammered as she hid her face from me.

Sure. A friend...

"I thought you hated him."

"I did," she admitted. "For a while at first..."

"America," she drew out a long breath, "was my friend. Before the war began, before I seceded, I met America in the aftermath of Lincoln's election. I... I don't know. I remember ranting to him over Lincoln becoming our president. I was so mad. I couldn't exactly think straight. I blamed him for a lot of things. I told him I was leaving him as an ultimatum of sorts. He told me not to, yet I did. I... I left him..."

She took a quick moment to wipe her eyes. "I couldn't believe I said those things. He wasn't perfect, but by all means he wasn't the worst. Not as bad as Mexico at least... Still, why did I say all those things I didn't mean? If I could, I would take back the things I've said and maybe, just maybe, stayed in the Union. If only I wasn't clouded with so much anger and hate, I might've not think as rash and seceded..."

"As the war dragged on, my anger and hatred began to fade for some reason. Maybe it was the sight of seeing so many bodies. Maybe it was the letter of Uncle Sam's death that made me reconsider my actions. Maybe it was the losses. Whatever it was, it made me reconsider my actions prior to that moment. Regret, sadness, most importantly, I felt alone."

I cocked my head. "Alone?"

Tex nodded. "For a long time, I always felt completely alone in the world. Spain didn't pay much attention to me. Nor did Mexico take the time to understand me. Sometimes I'll find company in a few people I could rely on. Unfortunately, such people live temporary, so I wasn't able to form everlasting relationships with them. With America, however, he was different." She softly smiled.

"I met him in midst of my revolution. I was hesitant to trust him at first, thinking he'll lose interest in me like Spain and Mexico. No matter how times I tell him to go away and leave me alone, he stuck by me, claiming to support me from the sidelines. He couldn't help due to some diplomacy issues with Mexico, so I didn't care much for his presence at first. Somehow, he got through my thick skin and made me laugh for the first time in so long." She chuckled to herself, "He can be such an annoying idiot sometimes..."

"He still is," I agreed.

"Yeah," she agreed as well. "We shared a few things in common. Same struggles, same ideals, he was the only person I could relate to. He told me I didn't have to be alone anymore. Boldly and loudly, he offered me a place in his home. His offer was tempting. At first, I chose to be independent. Being a country didn't work out, and I ended up joining him. Life turned out for the better upon becoming an American State."

"After meeting the other States, I felt like I belonged in the Union. A family I could rely on. A group of friends who I can get along with. Even when we're being assholes to one another, I was grateful to finally have friends who'll stand alongside me. They protected me from Mexico, and I couldn't be prouder of them. It was that moment I knew I was truly an American. It was that moment I knew where I truly belong."

"With the war, I felt...alone. A divided family. Friends fighting one another. I... I just wanted it all to stop. I wanted us to be together again but...I was afraid it wouldn't work out. The fighting had gotten this tense, and I was worried even after it was over nothing was going to change. The Union would still be divided, and I would pay the price for leaving them. With what's left of my pride, I continued to fight until the war was over."

"Losing the war sucked, but it wasn't as bad as hearing our punishment. The rage was still there, but there was also the fear and deep sadness of knowing we'll never recover. Upon meeting with the Northern States for the first time since the beginning of the war, I was reminded why we left in the first place. The same sense of misery was still there among the Southern States. The Northern States, too, were also miserable. Everyone's morale was low and we had little hope on the Union staying together. I still hate the Northern States and their stupid Reconstruction Plan. God, I just want to- Pfft!" Tex spat out a shot of blood.

"Tex!" I panicked.

She waved me off. "I'm fine. It's only a little bit..."

"That was a full cup of blood!"

"Nah! You're just imagining things."

"I need to get you fixed up."

"Not yet. I still need to finish my story." She looked serious.

"... Fine..." I reluctantly allowed her to continue.

"Just as I was about to believe the Union was lost, America stepped in. The moment he stepped into the room, the entire atmosphere of the conference changed with his presence. The Southern States and I were afraid to see how he was going react. Yell at us, ignore us, hurt us... After causing him four years of pain, we deserved what we had coming. Yet, rather than get furious at us, he... He smiled..." She softly smiled, choking up slightly.

My eyes widened at this revelation.

"America... He looked disheveled and miserable like us, but he still smiled. Despite the chaos we all went through, he somehow managed to smile. He spoke to us like nothing happened, like good friends seeing each other for the first time since graduating from school. He didn't see the tension, the pain, the hatred, or the bitterness. All he saw was everyone being together again... And everyone in that room... North and South... We smiled for him. In that moment, I saw hope for the Union. Hope that we can get along, be friends, be family, be united. For America..."

A few drops clouded her eyes. Tex tried to compose herself and wipe those tears away, attempting to hide the emotions she was undergoing in her head.

"So there..." she sniffed. "There's my two cents on the matter. Are you satisfied?"

Thinking it over, absorbing her words, I slowly nodded my head. "More than satisfied." I softly smiled.

Indeed, her story nearly took an hour to finish. I stretched from where I stood by the wooden pillar, waking up a few muscles and nerves that slept during the story.

Tex chuckled. "Thank goodness. My jaw was getting sore from all that talking." She stretched her jaw up and wide, getting her point across.

Grrruuuumble!

We gave each other stranger looks before bursting into laughter.

"Look's like someone is hungry for some of my Texas steak," she poked me in the stomach.

I brushed her hand away. "What are you talking about? That wasn't me."

"Oh? You don't want to eat my super-duper, Texas-sized, T-bone steaks?" She wagged her eyebrows.

I blushed. "No! That's not what I'm saying."

"It's alright. No one can't resist my cooking," she giggled. "Let's head inside. We're going to freeze to death if we stay out here any longer." She went inside the house.

I followed. "This time I'll help."

"Cool! You can start- Bleh!"

"Oh my God! Tex! It's all over the floor!"

"I'm sorry. Let me- Pfft!"

"Tex!"

I ended up being the one to cook and clean up that night. Tex managed to get better overnight and left the next day. Hopefully she gets better soon. Once I become a State, I hope to hear more stories about her life.

☆☆☆☆☆

Montana

Nickname: The Treasure State

Human Name: Monica Tresler

Gender: Female

Age: 17

Foundation Date: Creation of the Montana Territory on May 26, 1864.

Union Date: November 8, 1889 (41st)

Hair Color: Golden Brown

Eye Color: Silver

Notable Traits: Short to medium-length hair with bangs. Athletic built (she even has abs!). Tanned skin. Mainly wears buttoned down shirts and jeans along with boots and a cowboy hat. Known for her "cool" gaze.

Favorite Foods/Drinks: Wheat Montana Cinnamon Rolls, Pickle Barrel Sandwiches, Huckleberry Bear Claws (pastry; not an actual bear claw), Flathead Cherries, Elk and Bison Burgers, Mackenzie River Pizza, Trout, Steak, Pasty, Buckwheat Pancakes

Favorites: Mourning Cloak Butterflies, Western Art, Rodeos, Hunting, Sapphire and Agate

Personality: Clever and Tranquil. Strength in both mind and body, never slacking on her job or waste a minute doing nothing. Her actions may be considered out of place, but she holds a good heart, rarely holding a grudge. Whenever not working on cattle, she'll be out on the prairie with her horse, drawing or photographing the abundant nature of her home. Although not looking like one, she's against warfare of any sorts.

~

For a state I heard very little information about, she had plenty of subjects I found interesting to write a chapter on. Among the information I came across, I decided to write the chapter as a bonding moment between Montana and Texas reminiscing over the recent Civil War. Of course, this perspective of the Civil War is from Texas's view, so there may be biases and information I might've missed intentionally or not. In a side chapter, I'll go over my possible plans and concerns regarding the subject, so hopefully anybody isn't too offended with this view.

Another chapter I thought on publishing was Montana's infamous vote against participating in not only World War I, but World War II as well. Maybe I'll publish that story next time in another volume.

And yes, Nelson Story was a real figure who especially became famous for his cattle drive to Montana, the first of its kind along the Bozeman Trail. Thus, why I included Texas in the chapter. There's more information on Nelson Story's impact on Montana, so, if you're curious, you can read more information about him in your spare time.

Feel free to vote or leave a comment on your thoughts of Montana or place suggestions for future chapters on Montana (history, facts, etc.)