Shattered Realities- Historical Hamilton

Chapter Five: 07.12.2023

*Hi hello, if some parts feel a bit rushed, I'm sorry. I had to finish half of this in one day, because I won't have internet access for the next 3 weeks ;-; Anyway, enjoy :D

"I cannot live without books,"- Thomas Jefferson, trying to justify his second library to John Adams, 1815

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Jefferson is awoken to the loud cries of the babe and quiet shuffling- though he was never really asleep. His body is entirely unused to the material of the mattress(neither cotton, nor straw, nor feathers), and it refused to properly settle. The addition of sleeping in his small clothes was of no help, either.

The other side of the bed, where Layden previously lay, is now empty. He turns his head to look at the emanating light, and there the young man stood, gently rocking Pasty as she wailed. "I hope I had not woken you up, sir," he says after noticing Jefferson's wakefulness.

"'Tis alright- I usually wake up before the sun, anyhow." He sighs. "Is she alright? She was usually as quiet as a mouse."

He continues rocking her, a frown on his face. "I'm not sure why she's acting like this- she's fed, cleaned, everything seems to be alright."

Worry instantly fills his chest, and throws his sheets off onto a still-snoozing George. When he catches view of his Patsy, his worry only intensifies. She's desperately crying, clinging to Layden's undershirt with her life with one hand, while the other is clutching her head.

"Is she in pain?" Jefferson asks.

"I don't know, sir. Perhaps she has a headache," He answers. "If so, then maybe I can give her some pain medicine."

"You are not giving my child alcohol."

"No, sir, not alcohol!" The man laughs softly. "My apologies for scaring you, I'll give her a pill that helps with the pain- I've been given it several times by Miss Aushrait and can assure you that 'tis not alcohol."

After force-feeding Patsy a white pill she seemed to settle, though still uneasy. Jefferson stayed by her, fiddling with the medication box in his hand. None of the ingredients were familiar in any way, and it left an uneasy feeling in Jefferson's gut. He hasn't felt this lost in a long time.

"Well, we've done all we can do, sir, we'll just have to wait it out."

"I suppose." He might as well start his morning now. "Would there be any chance that I could get a bowl of cold water?" Jefferson asks, stretching his legs.

"Of course, sir."

"Good lad." Layden rushes to the other room, which miraculously lights up. Not a minute later he is back, a half-full bucket of water in hand. He can't help but comment "I must either commend your speed, or the development of humankind during these past two ages."

The man's lips twitch up, as he places the bucket by his feet. "Aye, indeed. Apparently, the world has progressed ridiculously quickly after a development in machinery."

Jefferson puts his feet in the ice cold water, and lightly hisses at the shock of his still asleep muscles. His fingers itch for the thermometer that isn't there, the notebook that resides in his home. "Machinery?"

"Well, I'm not sure what it is. I don't think that even most people of this time know what it is. I asked Dalia- Miss Aushrait- about how the water arrives so quickly, and she called in indoor plumbing. When I asked how that worked, she didn't know." He looks down to Jefferson's legs curiously. "Would you be offended if I asked why you do such a thing?"

It doesn't cause offense, but it feels stripping for someone to see one of his most private habits, something he does in his bedroom, of which he's been the sole occupant for over a decade now. "Not at all," Jefferson decides to answer. "I've had a habit of bathing my feet in cold water every morning for the past... forty years, I believe. It is said to help strengthen a man's immunity."