A tale of two brothers; jamilton&mullette

[35] jane,

The drive itself was only about an hour and forty minutes but with the seven of them crammed together in Madison's minivan, it wasn't pretty. It started off okay but the minute they left New Jersey; Jefferson had to pee and then suddenly everyone had to, so they stopped at the next gas station.

After getting gas, Madison had gone inside to see everyone lined up in front of a door.

Turned out there was only one stall in the entire gas station.

After spending nearly half an hour in there they finally left just in time for John to get carsick.

Let's just say they wouldn't have lasted a minute longer in that car.

Lafayette and Jefferson's mother was on the front step the minute the car pulled up in the gigantic driveway.

Even if Alexander had been to their house countless times, he was always in awe of the majesty of it.

The house looked like it had been cut out of an architect magazine. It was beautiful.

The roof was completely flat for a start and the door was just about as wide as it was tall.

The windows took up the entire walls with only polished steel beams to break them into yet more oblongs.

The aspect would have been completely metallic had it not been for the cedar beams of the outer porch and the matching plant patches that held only white flowerets.

Jefferson didn't think much of the house.

He'd lived there ever since they moved from Virginia.

After everything.

This house was nothing compared to Monticello.

Thomas had vivid memories of their house in Virginia.

Before Lafayette's father moved to France and then later moved Lafayette there, they'd all lived together at Monticello.

His mother refused to call the old house by that name after they moved. It had been Jefferson and his stepfather's idea and now his mother wouldn't speak of anything concerning him. Aside from, of course, their son.

Son.

Not sons.

Jefferson never met his father. His mother never told him anything about him and so he didn't know any other but Lafayette's father.

Growing up he was supposed to call him Michel; or if he got a bad grade, sir.

Lafayette called him dad, he always called him dad.

Because he was his dad and not Jefferson's.

Jefferson had grown up with French around him and as his stepfather taught his little brother French, he picked up on it. He learned to speak French so he could speak to Michel's family.

They all adored him.

Michel always used to say he saw him as a son, but since he broke up with Thomas' mother when Thomas was about 10, he hadn't spoken to him.

That was nine years without speaking to his so called father.

Fake father.

He didn't even know his real father's name.

Lafayette, however, was fond of Michel.

He was a little oblivious but Thomas didn't mind, he was just a kid after all.

Just a kid, a whole year younger than Thomas.

Just a kid.

"Marquis, Thomas come here."