Mr Jefferson is Coming Home (Jamilton)

Chapter 13

That summer began as one of the best Alexander had ever had. He stayed a couple of weeks upstate with Eliza, making her immensely happy after a very difficult year. His late dedication to her never completely wiped away his guilt for his infidelity, but it was good to see her smile again. He went around with his father-in-law and his son, riding and fishing, teaching Philip how to shoot; he took long strolls with Eliza, finding a new path to walk every day and bringing the children along for a picnic a couple of times; he read them some poems by Pope, who was one of his favourites, after dinner, when the children usually invaded the living room, crowding the spot right before the fireplace, and Eliza sat at the piano, playing softly, or at the writing table to draft one of her long letters to Angelica. When everyone finally went to bed, Alexander usually put the poems aside and worked on the manufacturing plans, writing letters to his subordinates and directing his work from a distance. The days when he had a lot of correspondence to deal with – so that no one would notice every single address – he would slip a letter for Thomas among the others, addressing it to Monticello, since Thomas was spending some time there with his two daughters. He missed him immensely, but he never dared writing anything compromising within his letters – they couldn't risk being discovered and it was already odd enough for the two of them to exchange letters, even without professing their illegal feelings for each other. Alexander had grown up in the Caribbean, where sodomites were being transferred to be imprisoned or hanged, and knew the punishments they were risking – flogging, castration, or death. They couldn't take such a chance.

After two weeks, he returned to New York, leaving his family enjoying the tranquility of the countryside, and worked non-stop in order to have some advantages on those idiotic Democratic-Republicans – he needed everything to be flawless, for Burr had been nominated senator that March and was causing him quite a number of problems. He and Thomas had discussed several times about the latter's relationship with Burr, but after some bad arguments they had formally agreed on never talking about work when they were alone. However, Thomas frequently met with Burr and Madison, and Alexander wasn't happy at all; that stupid traitor was threatening him both in his role as Jefferson's enemy – they were plotting something against the Federalists, he could sense it – and as Jefferson's lover – Alexander hadn't forgotten about Burr and Thomas's misadventure with the thief, and felt jealous every time he saw them together. But, fortunately, he didn't have to worry about that now, since Thomas would stay at Monticello for at least another week, and so Alexander worked, and worked, and worked...

"I don't know, I found him like this on the floor of his study." Washington's voice seemed to come from miles and miles away, it was dim as if Alexander was listening to it from under water.

"He may have been like this for days, no one has seen him or heard from him for a while." Mulligan's voice was also twisted, as if in a confused dream – it was so strange to hear him anxious.

"I've written to his wife, but she won't receive the note until tomorrow," another voice added. "I have to tell you, gentlemen, his conditions are very bad. I've given him some medicine and I'll proceed to the phlebotomy right away." Oh, so that was the doctor.

He lost consciousness again. His dreams were so much better than reality at first – Thomas was there with him, holding his hand and kissing him gently – but then Alex was shivering with fever again and Thomas's voice came to him weaker and weaker. Don't you dare do this to me Alexander, you hear me, right? Don't you dare give up, I couldn't stand it again, please –

He opened his eyes to a candle-lit room and blinked several times to adapt his sight to the light that, despite being feeble, hurt his deep blue eyes. The first thing he acknowledged was that his body was sore – every single inch of it hurt – and that he had a lot of dry blood on his arms and legs. Then, he turned his head slightly and noticed his wife who was asleep in an armchair on the side of his bed, her beautiful face tired and very pale. He tried to touch her, but failed after a weak try, dropping is hand back on the bed.