THE IMPERIALS #9

The Bonds of History

There are no official records, but family tradition holds that the first of the Martenson line landed on the shores of America around the year 1720 and settled in the area of Bucks County, Pennsylvania. His name was Marten Vartiainen. Born in the western district of Nordeland, he was the first son of Timo and Karrina Vartiainen. A precocious and mischievous child, Marten grew into an impetuous young man for whom trouble was always just around the next corner. He possessed a fondness for committing practical jokes and a zeal for adventure. These traits would combine to serendipitously tear him away from his homeland for ever. There are many versions of the story. The prim and proper ladies of the family recount a mournful tale of unrequited love that tore a couple apart. The men, over a jug of corn liquor, preferred bawdier versions. Though the exact details may vary, and after a couple of generations no one knew the exact truth, all versions shared a common theme: Marten Vartiainen, the revered elderly mayor of the village, and the mayor’s much, much younger wife. Regardless of which version one chose to believe young, Marten abruptly set sail for the new world, a new life, and a new name.

Finding a country still wild managed to temporarily quench Marten’s wanderlust. He started a small farm, got married and fathered five children before disappearing again, never to return. Everyone assumed he pushed further west, across the mountains.

Marten’s sons did not inherit their father’s feckless ways, but instead at an early age shouldered the burdens of caring for the farm and family. And they were successful eventually buying the adjacent land, clearing it and expanding the operation. The second son, Timo Martenson, married and moved his new family to the site. Over the following years the families expanded, grew, and overcame their checkered beginnings to become prominent members of the local community.

The years rolled by and a third generation of Martensons came of age. As the land grew the aspirations and dreams of the people turned toward independence. Though the Martensons were not great political agitators, not being of English descent they tended to lean toward the side of the Continentals, but remained out of the fray until December 1776 when Washington’s defeated and demoralized Continental Army retreated across the Delaware River and took up position in Pennsylvania.

After a string of battlefield losses, being chased out of New York, across New Jersey, and into Pennsylvania, the army’s ability to defend the capital of Philadelphia was in doubt. The Continental Congress abandoned the city and fled to Baltimore. The cause appeared to be faltering on the brink of total collapse. It was time for a bold and daring stroke.

A call was put out for volunteers. Experienced men were needed to help ferry the army back across the Delaware River. Marten, son of Timo, grandson of Marten Vartiainen, made his way to the assembly area at the water’s edge. An experienced helmsman, he was chosen for the lead boat. It was a cold and dark; no way to spend Christmas night. The boat was filled, rear to front, with heavily laden fighting men. With a push off from shore, Marten and his oarsmen turned the nose of the boat toward the opposite bank and began the journey across the icy, forbidding river. Other boats quickly joined up them. As they entered the main channel the stiff current worked to scatter the tiny flotilla. The more distant craft were barely visible in the blackness. As if to act as a beacon for the other boats to guide on, someone stood up in the bow of the boat, a dangerous act in swift currents. 

“Hey, down in front. You’re rocking the boat,” Marten’s voice rang out in the wintery night.

The Princess Goes to Court

Madeleine Howell stood on the front porch posing for candid photographs. The video crew and still photographer performed opposing orbits around her under the brilliant summer sky with the close supervision of the Public Affairs staff. The Ambassador motioned for Gretchen to join her. The two performed a rehearsed greeting at the top of the stairs as Gretchen joined The Ambassador in the charade.

“Is this all the press that showed up?” The Ambassador quietly asked out of the corner of her mouth.

“Ma’am this is not the press,” Gretchen answered sheepishly. “They all declined our invitation, but the Nordean Daily News advised they will run the press release in the World News Section of tomorrow morning’s edition.”

“Well, who is this?” The Ambassador demanded.

“These are the people you hired, Madam Ambassador.”

“I can’t believe the local press is not interested in The American Ambassador. We will have to correct this. We need to proactively generate positive press coverage.”

Bob stepped forward, motioning to his watch. “Madam Ambassador, we need to leave or you will be late.”

Ben and Marten waited patiently in the warm morning sun, though they were beginning to perspire in their heavy, period attire. Flies began to gather around the horses as did the crowd of on-lookers. They were a bit of a spectacle. An 18th century horse and carriage complete with costumed driver and coachmen, with Ben Franklin and Marten Martenson in full colonial regalia waiting in attendance.

The Ambassador’s limousine pulled to the curve just behind the carriage. Her driver was quick to open the door and Madeleine Howell, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary from the United States of America, emerged with great delight to a small crowd. As the Grande Boulevard was a favorite of tourists there was an ample supply of curious photographers. The commotion even attracted a reporter and her cameraman. “Madam Ambassador,” Ben said as he took her hand and kissed it with great flourish.

“Mister Ambassador,” Madeleine beamed.

“Your carriage awaits,” Ben continued with dramatic flair.

The crowd quickly grew and the sidewalks became clogged with onlookers as the spectacle progressed along the Grande Boulevard, around the Fountain of Freedom and onward to the palace entrance. Madeleine was finally receiving the attention she so desperately deserved.

After a brief negotiation at the front gate with the security and protocol offices the entire cavalcade was granted entrance to the palace grounds. The horses pranced flamboyantly to the palace steps where the Chief of Protocol waited in shocked bemusement. A serious woman, dedicated to her job and the King’s schedule, she was not pleased that The Ambassador’s showmanship had placed them five minutes late.

She was all business as The Ambassador alighted from the carriage. “You will be allowed one guest. The two colonials will remain with the carriage.” Looking around she saw no other attendants. “You will be alone.” Turning on her heel she marched up the stairs and through the towering front doors as she delivered the instructions likes bullets from a machine gun, “We will enter the room. I will introduce you to the King. He will extend a brief welcome. You present your credentials. The palace photographer will take a picture. It will be used in the official press release. A digital copy will be forwarded to the embassy. We leave. We are behind schedule and the King only has a few minutes. There will be no conversation unless the King initiates it.”

Madeleine struggled alongside carrying a large wreath. Without breaking stride the Protocol Chief asked, “Exactly what is that?”

“A gift for the King.”

The Protocol Chief looked it over curiously.

“It’s a wreath. The oak leaves stands for strength, exemplifying the power and grandeur of our two great countries. Ivy symbolizes eternal fidelity, as in our commitment to freedom and democracy for our friends, allies and all the peoples of Nordeland. The pear blossoms…”

“I understand,” the Protocol Chief interjected curtly. With a quick gesture she signaled a passing staffer to carry the enormous wreath.

The great oaken double doors opened to reveal a large office reminiscent of a library. Book shelves filled with leather bound volumes reached from the floor to the twenty foot ceiling. At the far end of the room, in front of the open French doors that lead onto the balcony, King Jani sat behind his most impressive desk. Upon the interruption the King stood, crossed to the front of the desk and extended a hand of greeting. The ceremony was short and perfunctory.

As a final parting comment, purely as a rhetorical statement intended to be polite, the King said, “I trust that your tenure in our country will be filled with achievements that bring our ever friendly nations even closer together.”

“Oh, Your Majesty, there are so many pressing issues I would like to discuss with you,” The Ambassador eagerly responded.

Slightly stunned by Madeleine’s earnest answer to his benign remark the King quickly recovered and replied “Perhaps the opportunity will present itself,” and turned back to his desk.

“In regards to expanding educational opportunities for girls…” Madeleine obliviously continued.

“We too are interested in education. That is why Nordeland has gone to great lengths in establishing a fine educational system, open to all children, and boasts the highest literacy rate in the world.”

“… In Afghanistan…” Madeleine stumbled on.

“A laudable goal. I believe the appropriate office to contact is the Office of Global Women’s Affairs at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.”

“Global warming,” Madeleine countered.

“The Office of Environment and Climate,” the King answered without missing a beat while giving the protocol officer a stern look.

“Water,” Madeleine continued.

“The Office of International Development.”

“Madam Ambassador,” the protocol officer interrupted. “His Majesty has a very tight schedule and is late for a flight.”

“Open skies…” Madeleine persisted.

“Madam Ambassador, this way please,” the protocol officer insisted.

“Perhaps you can come to the embassy for dinner some night.”

“Perhaps,” the King graciously replied.

“All invitations should be submitted through the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,” the Protocol Chief interjected as she escorted The Ambassador through the door.

Madeleine exited the palace doors to join the adoring throng of two, Ben and Marten. Marten was quick to capture the moment with a snapshot before she descended the stairs. With all once again mounted in the carriage the trio made as grand an exit as they had an entrance much to the delight of the mass of tourists crowding around the gate.

For Ben and Marten the trip to see the King was just the first of many journeys vitally important to national security. They were to spend the next weeks demonstrating to the world the United States’ commitment to freedom and democracy by delivering to every diplomatic mission in Nordeland a wreath made of oak leaves, ivy and pear blossoms.