Richmond, Virginia, the United States of America

July 22nd, 1837

“We’re almost finished, Mr. Tischmann. I just need to ensure that the rubber tendons are properly in place so you can control your new hand smoothly.”

Her patient, a young man with blond hair and blue eyes, stared at the metal prosthetic attached to his stump and nodded, “By all means, ma’am.”

The two were inside a large room within the Richmond General Hospital, one of the first hospitals to receive federal funding and support. The room was dedicated to amputees and was filled with many patients and doctors fitting and testing new limbs. A large window on the far side of the room provided a warm ray of sunshine for the room’s occupants and lit up the clean white walls. Tischmann was sitting upright in his bed as his doctor looked him over.

Doctor Julianne Blais tied her long brown hair away from her thin face and tapped the muscles on his right arm. She nodded as the metal fingers moved in response and pulled out a pen from her white coat to jot down some notes on some paper. “Please move your fingers for me in order, from your thumb to your pinky.”

“Of course.” The patient turned to his new hand and narrowed his eyes as the fingers rose one after another. The joints of the fingers, powered by nickel silver wire and springs, moved in response to the fingers being raised. It took him several minutes to finish Doctor Blais’ request, but after he did, he turned to her with a tired grin. “How was that?”

“Very good. Now try to rotate the wrist.”

At first, he struggled to move the wrist but, after some time, he managed to rotate it slowly by moving his entire arm.

“It seems like you have decent control over the muscles in your arm, which is good to see. With enough practice, using the hand should become second nature to you. Do you feel discomfort or pain when using the hand?”

“None. It was a bit difficult, but… I felt the hand as I was moving it. The sensation is surreal.”

“Ah, a case of a phantom limb. Perhaps seeing the prosthetic attached to your arm convinced your brain that it was always your hand.” Doctor Blais commented as she filled out her report. “Some patients struggle with the use of the prosthetic or the idea of using a non-organic hand. They struggle both physically and mentally. I am relieved that you have taken your situation in stride.”

Tischmann smiled while using his new hand to fix his blond hair. The nickel silver plated fingers ran smoothly through with only slight difficulty. “It was hard to accept the loss of my dominant hand at first, but I recovered after some time. But being able to use it again? It was too good of an opportunity to pass up, especially with the reduced cost. Once I learn how to use my new hand, I’ll be able to work and bake again, im yirtzeh hashem.”

“Oh? What was your job before the war?”

“I worked for a trading company in New York. My family has lived there for decades since my grandparents moved here from one of the German states,” Tischmann answered. “But I plan to open up a bakery here in Richmond. The war showed me there is more to life than money and prestige. I preferred a quieter city to live in, hence Richmond.”

“I see... I can relate somewhat. Quebec City is turning into another New York, with all the factories, shipyards, and people. Perhaps I should also consider a more peaceful place to retire to.”

The Jewish man chuckled. “If you visit my bakery, I will give you free pastries as thanks.”

Just then, a tall, tanned man with dark hair stumbled into the room and jogged toward Tischmann. Dr. Blais watched as he loomed over her patient with a neutral expression. There was an awkward silence for a few moments as the doctor contemplated intervening between the two as Tischmann stared silently at his ‘visitor.’ However, before she could do anything, the two broke out into grins.

“Shalom aleichem.” The stranger stated.

“As-salaam Alaykum,” Tischmann answered. “It is good to see you again, Ahmed.”

“And you as well, Eli. I see that you have a new hand!”

“I thought I could live without it for years after the Battle of Alligator Town, but I was mistaken. I feel much better already.”

“Perhaps now you can bake more of those onion rolls of yours! If you do, I will buy your entire first batch.”

“Ah, interestingly enough, I am planning to open up a bakery once I recover…”

The two men chatted for a bit before the newcomer turned around and introduced himself to the doctor in accented English. “Sorry for interrupting. I am Ahmed Mansouri. Eli and I worked in the same trading company in New York. I saw him as I passed the room, so I had to greet him.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Mansouri.” Doctor Blais curtly nodded. Despite his rather friendly introduction, Mansouri gave her a confused glance when he first approached Tischmann. It wasn’t an aggressive look, but she felt some hesitation and curiosity from him. “Are you perhaps Muslim?”

“Why, yes! My family and I are from Morocco, moved here a few years ago for business between America and my homeland. Did something give my faith away?’

“Just a hunch. I also studied religion at the University of Quebec while pursuing my doctorate. My family is quite Catholic and insisted upon the matter.”

“I see…” Mansouri said as he scratched his bushy beard. “I am still trying to wrap my head around America’s customs and culture. Forgive me if I act rude.”

Tischmann interjected, “Sounds like the start of a bad joke. A Christian, A Muslim, and a Jew walk into a hospital room.”

Doctor Blais cracked a smile at his comment while Mansouri laughed heartily. “No offense taken, Mr. Mansouri. But if I may ask, if you work in New York, why are you down here in Richmond?”

“My fellow brothers have collected enough funds to build the first-ever mosque in America, here in Richmond! Tomorrow is the first day of construction, and I am here to witness this historic moment. Only a handful of Muslims live in the country, but a sizeable community is here in this city.” He clapped Eli on the back, who winced and gripped his prosthetic. “The Jewish people have helped us, along with those Vici Christians.”

The doctor raised her eyebrows as her eyes shifted between the two. “Really?”

“We already have more than a few synagogues in America,” Tischmann explained. “Some rabbis advocated for helping the Muslims settle into the nation as a show of goodwill and cooperation. Our community is relatively well-off and large, while the Muslim community is still small and new.”

Mansouri smiled. “Many are former slaves that rekindled their faith after their abolition. They were scattered throughout the South before, but the few Muslims that moved or were exiled to America rallied them together and formed a small association in Richmond to support one another.”

“Exiled?’

“There have been growing movements in Morocco and other Muslim nations, a reformist wave of sorts. Many have been suppressed, and quite a few dissidents fled here to the United States. I suppose religious tolerance has some noticeable benefits.” Mansouri said as he waved his hand to his Jewish friend, who nodded. “A friend of mine and a few of our religious brethren fought in your nation’s war against Britain. They were given some specialized treatment for halal food and prayer, despite their few numbers! I think the war inspired further loyalty within them to the nation. If America is willing to support even the few and beleaguered within its borders, such as us Muslims, then perhaps it is a nation worth fighting for.”

“I’m guessing that’s why you’re at the hospital,” Doctor Blais mentioned. “Is your friend injured?”

“No, I was feeling a bit sick and decided to visit the hospital. Imagine my surprise when I received some medicine and assistance for free!”

“The National Healthcare Service, as they call it,” Tischmann responded. “It’s why I got this very fancy prosthetic for a reduced cost.”

Mansouri picked up a catalog on his friend’s bed and motioned to the doctor, “May I?”

“Of course.”

He flipped through the pages of various prosthetics with a stunned look. “Some of these are very simple, but others are so artistic. This one here! This leg costs three hundred dollars!”

“It is normally costly for an average person, yes. However, the NHS reduces the cost tremendously, especially for veterans like Mr. Tischmann here. This prosthetic is one of the newest ones; it functions like a real hand after some practice and adjustments. Without the NHS, it would’ve cost about five hundred dollars. With the NHS, it only costs about fifty dollars for non-veterans and ten dollars for veterans.”

“And this ‘NHS’ goes for the sick too? And the wounded?”

“It does.”

“Ya elahy,” Mansouri muttered as he shook his head. “If only Morocco had something like this. So many wouldn't have died from the kwlira ravishing our nation...”

“The NHS isn’t widely implemented across the nation yet, only in the major cities. There have been efforts to build new clinics and hospitals in more rural areas, but it has been tremendously difficult, and only the cities have received funding from the NHS so far. And there aren't enough doctors as of yet, Anyone living outside the cities must travel to one to receive treatment.”

“Still… It is remarkable that your government is trying to do this for all of its people. Perhaps one day, my homeland could implement something like this as well. Maybe this ‘democracy’ thing in your nation is not bad at all. Your nation has always been friendly with ours, despite our differences. America is truly different, in a good way.”