So, hi. This is part one of Chapter 9, because Chapter 9 is freaking ENORMOUS. Like, this part alone is almost 11,000 words (I'M SO SORRY). But, I've fucking loved writing this. It's a bunch of big moments from Anastasia's history. This part is a little bit sad and angsty at some points, but, oh, mes amours, you haven't even SEEN the next part of Chapter 9. THAT'S WHERE IT GETS PURE ANGST WITH A LITTLE BIT OF FLUFF IN BETWEEN. Oh, I'm so excited to post the angsty part of Chapter 9. Working hard over here. ANYWAY I HOPE YOU LIKE IT.
Warnings: Abuse, Slave ownership, foul language (more than usual), and Nathaniel Reama is even more of a piece of shit than Nathan Reama
Much Love, Krissy
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I hold the violin up and place it on my shoulder, holding it with half of my cheek. I lift my bow and position my other hand against the strings, before slowly starting to play. I let the music take me, guide me into a new world of bliss and tranquility. I close my eyes and let myself fall into it. Falling...Falling...Falling. Memories flood into my mind, and suddenly I remember everything.
Many, Many Flashbacks:
I creep down the stairs, seeing my mother stepping out the door.
"Mère (Mother)?" I call softly. She stops and looks over at where I stand on the stairs. She smiles softly in the darkness, walking quietly over to me.
"What are you doing awake so late, mon cher? You should be asleep," she whispers. I tilt my head at her.
"Where are you going?" I ask quietly. She smiles at me and taps my nose.
"You needn't worry about that, petit (little one)," she says, "go back up to bed." I nod and quietly sneak back up the stairs. I look back only once, when I hear the door open and close, but do not think further about it. It is simply adult business.
I wince as my father whips one of our slaves. It's a boy, around my age. All he had done was smile at me. I look up at my mother, who isn't watching the exchange.
"Mother, he did not do a thing wrong," I say softly. She looks down at me and nods, putting a hand atop my head.
"I know, darling," she says. I glance back at my father and the slave boy.
"Why is father hurting him?" I ask, voice sounding something like a whimper. My mother sighs.
"It is just the way things are," she says, before softly adding, "though, I wish that it was not." I don't respond to her quieter statement, but it sticks in my mind. As does the boy. I run the thought through my mind over and over again. He did nothing except smile at me, and my father had hurt him. I don't understand.
Later, I return to the fields, without my parents. I look around, searching for the boy. There. I look around before walking over to him. I clear my throat, and he jumps and looks up at me.
"I-I'm sorry miss, I didn't mean to," he says as soon as he sees me. I shake my head, once again looking around before drawing closer to him. I'm sure my father would hit me for what I'm about to do, but I will make sure he never knows. I gently take the boy's hand in both of mine, watching him with the sincerest look I know.
"I'm so sorry for what my father did to you," I say, tears welling up in my eyes. He looks shocked at what I've just said, and the other slaves look up from their work. I see a slash mark on his cheek, and wince at the way it sticks out of his skin, a blistering color. I offer him a soft and apologetic smile.
"You have a very nice smile. I liked seeing it," I say. His dark cheeks darken further, and he smiles slightly at me.
"Thank you, miss," he says softly. He has nice eyes too, a pretty green color with flecks of gold. I could get lost in them.
"Anastasia!" The slaves and I all jump at the sound of my father's voice, though it is distant. I glance in the direction of the sound, before looking back at the boy. I look back at the slash on his cheek, and I lean forward to kiss it softly before I let go of his hand. There's a collective gasp between all of the surrounding slaves. I pull away, a blush spreading across my cheeks, similar to his own. I flash him a small smile before rushing away, taking an alternate way so that I don't run into my father on the way back to the house. My thoughts linger again on the boy. I hope to see him again.
"Father? What else could I call the...The slaves?" I ask, the word feeling bitter on my tongue. My father looks at me with a scrutinizing brow.
"Negros, blacks. My favorite is ni-"
"Nathaniel! Do not use such purtid language around our daughter!" my mother scolds. He turns to glare at her, but she glares right back. She looks at me, gaze softening.
"Come, my dear. It is time for your violin lesson," she says. I nod and rise from my seat, following her from the room.
"Bâtard (Bastard)," my mother mutters. I look up at her, and she looks down at me, smiling softly.
"Je m'excuse pour ma langue, ma chère (I apologize for my language, my dear)," she says. I smile slightly and nod.
"Tu es pardonné, mère (You are forgiven, mother)," I say. She looks back up and stops, picking up her violin. I pick up mine as well, and we both take seats.
"Mother?" I ask, not yet placing my violin against my shoulder. She looks at me with a questioning raise of her eyebrow.
"Did you hear my question to father?" I ask. She nods, before considering me for a moment. She sighs and puts her violin down, and I put mine down as well. She reaches out and takes my hands, holding them and my gaze.
"Call them people, my darling. That is all they are."
Much like that night all that time ago, I creep down the stairs to see my mother at the door. Unlike before, I turn around and hurry back to my room, collecting shoes and quietly hurrying back to the stairs right as I hear the door close. I move silently down the stairs, and open the door. My mother's figure would be gone were it not for the lantern she's holding. I slip out the door and close it behind me, hurrying after her. Where is she going? She disappears into the huts that our...Workers. That our workers live in. I follow her again, peering through the door. There are maybe three of them around my mother, and she's talking in a hushed tone. One of them is the boy. I've visited him enough to learn his name is Adam. He's very kind to me. He glances over, eyes widening as our eyes meet. My mother follows his gaze, and I duck back around the corner. Footsteps come closer to me, and my mother looks around the corner, straight at me.
"Anastasia! What are you doing here?" she hisses. I swallow and bow my head.
"I am sorry, mother. I was curious as to where you were going. I remember that night when I was a child, you snuck out at the same time as tonight," I say. She's quiet for a moment, so I look up at her again. Slowly, I ask, "Mother, what are you doing out here?" She looks back inside the hut, then back at me, before sighing and offering her hand.
"You must promise not to tell your father," she says firmly. I nod instantaneously. She smiles lightly, and I take her hand. She motions with her lantern inside the hut, and then leads me and the three workers through the night. I trip a few times, and although she says nothing, I can sense her impatience. We walk in near silence through the trees, staying close to one another. Finally, we emerge, far outside the boundaries of our property. We continue to walk, my mother hiding the lantern within her cloak. I shiver, not having brought mine. Eventually, there is a road, and a dimly lit wagon sitting on it. My mother halts and whistles a few times in a steady pattern. There is another patterned whistle in response, and we continue. All the while, the pieces slowly fall into place. For many years, my father has gone on raging tangents about missing slaves. Most times it has been a small few disappearing, only three or four at a time. He would always replace them, but more would eventually disappear within the following months. Now I realize, they did not escape on their own. My mother has been helping them to get away all along. She could be arrested for something like this. My father would beat her for something like this. Assumingly, he would kill her too. It's why he can never know. I will never tell him. My mother stops as we reach the wagon, releasing my hand to speak with the two people at the front. I turn to face Adam and the other two.
"You are going to be free," I say softly, hoping he cannot see the slight sadness in my smile in the near dark. I am happy that he and two others will be free from my bastard father's beatings and mistreatment...But I have taken a liking to him. He is my friend, and holds a piece of my heart. I wish he could be free, but he could stay with me. I will not voice this, as it is selfish...But it is still a feeling held deep in my heart. He smiles at me and nods.
"Thanks to you, and your mother's kind heart," he whispers, taking my hand. I nod, squeezing his hand softly. A few moments later, my mother returns to my side, putting a hand on my shoulder. I look up at her, and she gives me a sympathetic look before turning to address Adam and the others.
"They will take you up north, where it will be safer for you. I pray that you may all live better lives away from my husband," she says softly. The girl comes forward, taking my mother's hand.
"Thank you, miss Charlotte," she whispers gratefully. I can see her tears sparkling in the moonlight. She looks like Adam. So does the other boy. My mother frees families. My mother smiles at her, brushing hair delicately away from the girl's face and giving her hand a squeeze. Then the girl lets go, holding out her hand to the other boy.
"Come, Joseph. We must go," she says softly. The boy, clearly the youngest of the three, nods and takes her hand. They walk around the back of the wagon, and Adam stays with me for a moment.
"Make your farewell swift, darling," my mother warns softly, stepping a few paces away from where Adam and I stand. I meet the boy's golden green eyes.
"I wish you the best of life, cher garçon (dear boy)," I whisper. He smiles softly at me, eyes shining glassy with unshed tears. Without thinking more of it, I throw my arms around him and embrace him.
"Anastasia, your dress! Your father will surely notice-"
"To hell with my father," I whisper. He relaxes in my arms and wraps his around my waist, face buried into my hair.
"Au revoir (Goodbye), Anastasia," he mutters. I give a tight squeeze.
"Au revoir, Adam," I whisper back. Slowly, we let go, and I kiss his scarred cheek one last time. Then he walks to the back of the wagon and climbs in with his family. I step away to join my mother, watching the wagon disappear into the night. My mother takes my hand and we begin walking back.
"How many have you freed?" I ask once we have entered the forest leading back to our property. She hums thoughtfully.
"Your father's book marking the many that have disappeared would be exact, but...Over the years, I have freed hundreds of people," she says pridefully. I smile slightly at her achievement, proud of her. Minutes pass in the dark, unspoken of.
"Mother?" I break through. She glances down at me. "I hope that one day, there will not be slaves anymore." She stops for a moment to fully consider my words, before she smiles slightly and kisses my forehead.
"And if people with the same beliefs as you and I work hard enough, mayhaps, my dear, that will be so."
My eyes pour over the words spilling across the page, my interest held easily. I made the excuse to my father that this is my favorite place to read, though really I simply like to watch over the workers. Keep an eye on them so that I can give them warning if my father is near.
"What are you reading?" I jump slightly, nearly losing the grip on my book. I look down. There is a pretty girl there, her eyes a lovely caramel color. While I'm not familiar with all those whom my father owns, I recognize her as someone he's bought recently. I look around to make sure my father isn't around, before I climb down from the tree branch I'm sitting on to settle on the ground near her.
"It's called Pamela; or, Virtue Rewarded," I say, smiling politely at her. She smiles back, before returning to her work.
"Is it any good, miss?" she asks as she works. I hum, looking back at the book for a moment.
"I suppose it holds my interest quite well," I say. She glances over at me, smiling. I admire her beauty for a moment, a warm feeling overcoming me. I wonder only momentarily about what it means.
"What is your name?" I ask curiously. She blinks with surprise, as if not expecting me to ask or care what her name is. I suppose it's a fair assumption. My father certainly doesn't care. She collects herself after a moment and looks away from me.
"My name is Skylar, miss," she says. I smile at her, though she doesn't see it.
"That's a beautiful name," I comment, and she giggles a little. "Please, Skylar, call me Anastasia." She looks over at me again and nods, smiling.
"Yes, miss Anastasia," she says playfully. I give her an equally playful glare, and she giggles again, looking away from me. I like her laugh. It's cute.
"Anastasia, dinner!" my mother calls. I look up in the direction of her voice and sigh, rising and brushing my skirt off.
"I hope to speak to you again, Skylar," I say, glancing over at the girl again. She smiles at me and nods, and I smile back before turning and going toward my mother's voice. I'm left with a warm and fluttery feeling in my chest, and I do not yet recognize that I've felt it before. Years ago.
"It's pretty tonight, isn't it?" Skylar says softly, staring up at the night sky. I hum, nodding silently before looking over at her. She looks so beautiful in the moonlight. I weave our fingers together in the grass, and she looks over at me in surprise. I feel my face heat up, and try to pull my hand away. She holds on.
"It's alright," she says, smiling shyly at me. I think I see her cheeks darken, but with so little light, I can't be sure. I hold her hand a little tighter, holding her amber gaze.
"Do you think...That we feel the same way about each other?" I ask in a whisper. Her fingers tighten around my hand, and she looks down at them for a moment.
"Yes...But it is wrong, isn't it? In more ways than one. We could both be killed," she says softly. I draw a little closer to her, squeezing her hand in mine.
"I've come this far. Do you not think I'm prepared to die for you?" I ask softly. She looks back up at me, a soft smile adorning her face.
"Then I am prepared to die for you too," she whispers, leaning closer. We both smile softly before our lips softly meet. It's a feeling unlike anything I've ever felt before. It's this warm hope and joy in the pit of my stomach. It's all I ever want and need in life. She is all I want and need in life. That would be enough.
She stares at the small necklace sitting in my hand. I've never worn it before, yet it is somehow my favorite. The small ruby shines in the light of the moon, and the gold chain sits in contrast against my skin. She looks up, eyes wide.
"Anastasia...I can't possibly take this," she says. I smile sweetly at her.
"Of course you can. You just have to hide it. When I finally get you out of here, you can use this to run and live. It must be worth something," I say, taking one of her hands and pressing the necklace into it. I close her hand around it, and she stares at her hand for a long moment.
"I don't want to leave you," she says softly. I nod, tucking her hair behind her ear.
"I know, mon amour, but it isn't safe for you here," I say. She looks up at me, eyes shining with unshed tears.
"I love you," she whispers, throwing her arms around me. I hold her tightly, face pressed into her hair.
"I love you too," I whisper back.
I stare blankly at the pages of the journal, words simply not finding me. I've finally finished my schoolwork, and for the past hour or so, I've been trying to write music for my violin. I'm preoccupid, to say the least. I look up at where my mother is sewing my initials into a silk handkerchief.
"Mère?" I ask slowly, feeling nervous. She looks up at me, offering me a kind smile.
"Yes, mon cher?" she asks. I swallow, setting my journal aside. She does the same with her sewing. I take a deep breath.
"If I told you...That I was in love, you would support me, no matter what, oui?" I ask. She smiles and brushes off her skirt, standing and moving to sit next to me. I move my journal into my lap, and she takes hold of one of my hands.
"Of course, mon cher. You will always have my love and support," she says. I feel my stomach knots untwist slightly, and I squeeze her hand as I smile.
"Well...I guess I wanted to tell you-"
"Where did you get this?" My mother and I both look up as we hear my father yelling. He's in the fields at the moment. I hear a whip crack, and both my mother and I spring up from our chairs. We run to the source of my father's shouts, finding him with whip in hand, and a girl at his feet. It's bad enough when I think it's one of the many I don't know. It's worse when I realize that I do know her.
"Skylar!" I scream, trying to run to her. My mother catches me around my waist, not letting me move forward. My father pays no mind to my outcry, cracking the whip down on her again.
"Answer me, you thieving little bitch! Where did you get that jewelry?" he spits. The necklace I gave her...No, no.
"Father, stop! I didn't want it anymore! I gave it to her!" I yell. He pauses for a moment, head snapping around. He levels his hard, cold gaze on me. Then he's looking back at Skylar, pulling her up by the hair.
"You steal from me and turn my daughter into a skank? I hope you rot in hell," he snarls. I try to get to Skylar, to protect her. My father holds out his other hand, and one of the men who watch the fields hands him a gun. Skylar is crying, and I'm fighting desperately to get to her.
"No! Father no, please!" I scream. My father raises the gun against Skylar's head, and she looks past him at me.
'I love you,' she mouths. A gunshot rings through the air and Skylar goes limp. I scream and collapse in my mother's arms, sobbing. I don't hear the boots walk up to me. My hair is grabbed and my head is jerked upwards. A hand slaps harshly across my cheek.
"Shut the fuck up, you little whore," my father snarls. He releases my head, and my mother lets me fall.
"Nathaniel, do not hit our daughter-" I hear another slapping noise.
"Shut up, bitch." His boots crunch in the dirt as he storms away. My mother is quiet, before she wraps her arms around me, holding me to her chest.
"I loved her, mother. I loved her," I sob. She shushes me and nods.
"I know, mon petit (my little one). I know," she mutters, kissing the top of my head. My heart is cold and heavy, but beneath it is hot rage and hatred. I hate my father. I will never forgive him.
I stare at the large house before me, fidgeting with my hands. This is where mother and I will live now that the divorce has been settled. Mr. Johnson had made sure we were well taken care of after winning my mother's case. My father could keep the plantation, but a majority of the money was ours and we would keep receiving profit from what was sold. We had also taken all of the house slaves with us, and my mother said they were free if they wished. Some had gone, most had stayed. Mother had promised to take care of them.
"Would you like to choose your room, Miss Anastasia, so that we can move your things inside?" one of our now-employees, Harrison, asks. I turn and smile softly at him. He has the same eyes as Skylar did. I slowly nod, following him into the house. The second floor has several rooms, two of which have balconies and a powder room. I choose the smaller of the rooms, and Harrison leaves me there. I step out onto the balcony, dress flowing weakly in the chilly air. I stare out, eyes far away and unseeing.
"Anastasia, mon amour?" My mother puts an arm through mine, giving it a squeeze. I feel my bottom lip quiver, and a tear rolls down my face, but I turn to her with a small smile.
"It's a new beginning, mère (mother). I just wonder what it will hold," I say. She brushes some hair out of my face and offers me a comforting smile.
"Only the best things, I'm sure, my dear."
It is not unlike men to have their hair long enough to pull back, so that is how I have cut mine. It is much shorter than before, but when down, I would be seen as a female. I stand in the line, men's clothes hanging over my form. The shirt and coat are loose enough to hide my...feminine appendages. When I reach him, the man at the table gives me a once over. I pray he does not catch on.
"Name?" he asks. I clear my throat and deepen my voice as I speak.
"Anthony Mear, enlisting, sir," I say, tucking my arms behind my back. He nods, scribbling something down in a journal.
"Head down to the base camp. You'll receive your orders from there," he says without looking up. I give a sharp nod anyway and turn, marching off toward the base camp. I hope I walk like a man. I hope I do a lot of things like a man. Was my voice deep enough? Oh, I've really gotten myself into it this time.
"You, young sir!" I turn at the sound of a French accented voice. A tall man rushes toward me, hair bouncing in its bun atop his head. He has darker skin, a sort of deep caramel color. He's absolutely beautiful. I swallow and drop my voice.
"What can I do for you, sir?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. He grins apologetically at me as he stops, towering over me.
"You are...Anzony Mear, oui?" he asks. I give him an intrigued look before I nod. His face lights up.
"You speak French, oui?" he confirms. I smile slightly at him.
"Oui," I respond, nodding. He sighs with relief.
"Oh, merci mon Dieu. Il n'y a presque personne ici qui parle français (Oh, thank God. There is almost no one here who speaks French)," he says. I chuckle and nod.
"Oui. Je ne le parle que parce que ma mère est française (Yes. I only speak it because my mother is French)," I respond. He smiles at me, before sticking out a hand for me to shake.
"Je suis (I am) Marie-Joseph-Paul-Yves-Roch-Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette," he says. I barely contain my feminine giggle, but do so by covering my mouth with my hand.
"C'est un nom très long (That is a very long name)," I manage to say. I collect myself and shake his hand. He smiles brightly at me.
"Un plaisir de vous rencontrer (A pleasure to meet you), Anzony," he says. I nod.
"Le plaisir est tout à moi, monsieur (The pleasure is all mine, sir)."
The guns fire, the cannons explode. This is what war sounds like. I leap down into a trench, panting.
"Maer, you alright?" I look over, seeing one John Laurens crouching nearby. I nod, and check my gun, before looking back at him.
"Laurens," I call. He looks back at me, and I motion with my head and gun. He gives a sharp nod and readies his gun. I mouth a countdown, and at the end we both pop up, aiming our guns and firing in unison.
"Incoming!" Something explodes to my right, causing me to drop back down into cover, ears ringing. I press a hand against my head, the noise around me muffling beneath the ringing. A hand lands firmly on my shoulder, and I force myself to open my eyes. Laurens is saying something, but I can't hear him beyond the ringing. Realizing I'm not understanding, he holds my gaze for a moment, staring at me intently. I take a deep breath and shake my head, the sounds of war fading back in.
"I'm fine, Laurens. Get back to the fight. I'll be right behind you," I say, putting my hand on his shoulder too. He nods and gives me a small salute.
"Ey ey, Lieutenant," he says, giving me a cocky smile. Then he's standing up, firing his gun, and herdling out of the trench. I take two quick breaths, jumping up and aiming. I feel safer with this gun in my hands. Not invincible, but stronger. Faster. I throw myself out of the trench, charging forward into the fray. A British soldier meets the end of my bayonette, and I see the fear in his eyes the moment before he falls, dead. I pray that will not be my fate. I move my attention briefly to the left when I hear victorious laughter. Lafayette stands proudly at the cleared line, watching several redcoats retreat. From the trees, however, I spot one, aiming his gun. I take off running toward Lafayette.
"Watch out!" I yell, running into him at full force as a gunshot rings out. Angry red heat and pain seer through my side, and I cry out in pain. I don't even recognize if I'd deepened my voice when I did so. I collapse on the ground next to Lafayette, who yells my fake name and gets up, firing at the redcoat in the trees. I don't see if he kills him, but the next thing I know, I'm being hoisted over the big man's shoulder. I'm carried into the cover of the trees, and he leans my body against the trunk of a larger one. He sets his gun down and reaches to rip open my coat and shirt.
"Lafayette," I say, frantically batting his hands away. He looks into my eyes for a moment, before pushing my hand away and pressing down on the wound. I gasp, clutching onto his arm.
"I need to remove your shirt to get to where you are bleeding, mon amie," he says, looking me in the eyes again. I shake my head.
"You can't. I can't let you," I say, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. This is it. This is where the charade ends.
"Anthony, you are going to bleed out. I cannot let you die. Why will you not let me-" I let my voice return to its natural tone, higher and less gruff than how I've been speaking for the past months.
"Because I am a woman, Lafayette," I say, a tear escaping. His movements freeze, and the sounds of the battlefield fade into the background for just a moment.
"You are...A woman?" he repeats. I nod, turning my head to look away. I've lied to him. I wouldn't blame him if he left me to die now. Instead, however, he wipes the tear from my cheek with a bloody thumb, and begins unbuttoning my coat. I turn my head to object, but he shushes me and keeps working. With my coat unbuttoned, he begins lifting my shirt, though only enough to see the bullet wound. No higher. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, and I laugh slightly.
"A handkerchief will not stop the bleeding, Lafayette," I say. He huffs and pushes it firmly against the wound.
"It is all I have, Anth-" he cuts himself off as he remembers. I smile slightly at him.
"Anastasia. My name is Anastasia," I say softly. He smiles, taking my bloody hand in his and giving it a squeeze.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance once more, mademoiselle Anastasia," he says, equally as soft. I laugh a bit again, and Lafayette bites his lip for a moment.
"You know that you're almost definitely going to be discharged from the army after I bring you back, yes?" he asks. I nod.
"That is why I've been careful...Until today," I say. He frowns deeply, fingers sticky with blood squeezing my own.
"Why?" he asks, so quiet that I almost don't hear him over the sounds of battle. I smile softly.
"What can I say? You've charmed me, monsieur," I say. His fingers lift from my hand, gently caressing my face. Then suddenly he's leaning down and kissing me ever so softly. To say that I had never thought of this before - kissing him, I mean - would be a lie. But I know very well that he's married to a lovely French woman named Adrienne, whom he loves very much. Even so, I can't help but allow my eyes to flutter closed as I return his kiss. For a battlefield kiss, it seems so long. Perhaps thirty seconds. He pulls away slowly, gaze meeting mine.
"I will not let you die for me," he promises. I nod, exhaling shakily and watching him pick up his gun.
"When the way is clear, I will take you back. We will treat your wound. You will live," he says, giving my hand another squeeze. I sigh, allowing my eyes to close. I do not fear the thought of death taking me, at this moment. I trust that I will not. I trust that Lafayette will protect me and hold to his promise. I trust...I trust...
There is a light, feathery touch against my forehead. My body aches. I open my eyes to familiar brown ones. I smile softly, and he smiles back.
"Bonsoir mon bijou (Good evening, my jewel)," he says, taking my hand. I let my eyes fall to the gesture, before looking back at him.
"Bonsoir Lafayette," I respond hoarsely. A throat clears, and we both look up. General Washington. I swallow.
"Would you give me a moment with her, monsieur Lafayette?" he asks. Lafayette nods, giving my hand a final squeeze before he rises and leaves. I realize I'm surrounded by curtains, separated from the rest of the medical tent. I try to sit up, but pain shoots through my ribs and I gasp and whimper, hand shooting to my wound. The General comes forward, helping me into a sitting position carefully. I had heard he treated his men like sons, but seeing the fatherly compassion - ha, what would I know about that? - is something else entirely. I clear my throat.
"Thank you, General," I say softly. He nods, taking a seat in the chair that Lafayette had been in.
"You're lucky, Miss Mear. The bullet went right through you between your ribs. It was fairly easy to save you, I hear," he says. I touch my fingers to my shirt, over where the wound is.
"Reama. I used a false last name as well. My name is Anastasia Reama, General," I say, deciding the truth is the best option. Perhaps he will let me stay and fight. I have proven my worth, have I not? He nods, lips quirking slightly into a miniscule smile.
"You had us fooled, Miss Reama. Perhaps your mannerisms were a bit feminine, but you fought better than some of the men. You've been a very valuable soldier," he says. I smile slightly, averting my eyes from him.
"Thank you, General," I say, acknowledging the praise. He sighs.
"But I must discharge you. You know this, yes?" he says. I frown, looking back at him.
"I expected as much...But there must be something I can do to help the war. To help America. You've already said I'm a valuable soldier. There must be something I can-" He raises a hand and I go quiet. He chews on his bottom lip for a moment, before rising and putting a hand on my shoulder.
"That can be discussed at a later time. For now, rest, Miss Reama. I must write a letter to your family and let them know that you're here," he says. I swallow and nod.
"Yes, sir," I say softly. He gives my shoulder a small squeeze and helps me to lie down again, before ducking out of my small private space and leaving me with my thoughts. There must be a way that I can continue to help. I just have to figure out what it is.
When the medical tent was needed for more wounded soldiers, General Washington insisted that I could stay in his quarters. He allowed me his cot and slept upright in a chair. A letter had been sent to my mother, and we had yet to hear back. The General takes care of me like I'm his own daughter. He's a kind man. An honorable man.
"I wish my father was like you," I'd confided in him one night. He had smiled at me as he brushed some hair away from my face.
"I wish that I had a daughter like you," he'd said. That was one night where he fell asleep with his head in his arms, leaned on his cot. The same cot which I sit in now, waiting for my mother to arrive. We'd finally received her reply three days ago, and she was supposed to arrive today to collect me and discuss an arrangement with the General.
"I will miss you, mon bijou (my jewel)," Lafayette says, sitting across from me on a chair. I smile at him, playing with the end of one of my short locks.
"As will I, mon amie," I say. The door squeaks open, and we both turn. Hamilton and Laurens are standing there.
"So it was true. You are a woman. I thought it was just a rumor," Hamilton says. I giggle and my grin widens.
"Non, Hamilton. It is true. I'm a woman," I say. He steps around Laurens and walks toward me, holding out his hand. I raise a playful eyebrow and put my hand in his, watching him kiss my knuckles. I lightly smack his nose, and he gasps in surprise. Laurens and Lafayette snicker.
"You should've known my mischieviousness was not one of the falsities I put up," I say, smirking at him. He gapes at me, before all four of us break out into laughter again.
"I had my suspicions, but I still can't believe I was right about your being a woman," Laurens says, walking over to stand behind Lafayette's chair. I tilt my head.
"What made you suspicious, if I might ask?" I inquire. He leans his cheek into his hand, mimicking my head tilt.
"I don't know, really. Although, you forgot to change your voice in the trench after the cannonball hit. I thought it was my ears deceiving me," he says. I smile and shake my head, sighing.
"You were convincing, though. And a good soldier. We'll be sad to lose you, Lieutenant," Hamilton says. I nod.
"I'm sad to go. I don't regret being shot, but I wish I could continue to fight for our freedom," I say. Hamilton drops down next to me on the bed, much the rather apparent displeasure of Laurens and Lafayette. Hamilton doesn't notice, and he puts an arm around my shoulders.
"I'm sure the General will find some way for you to help, miss Reama," he says. A throat clears, and I look over my shoulder again. General Washington is standing in the doorway. All three men shoot upright, saluting him.
"Sir!" Hamilton cries, just a pitch too high. I giggle, but my attention remains on the General.
"Your mother is arriving, Anastasia," he says. I nod and stand, brushing off the pants and shirt that were given to me. I'm sure the moment she sees me, mother will be shoving one of my dresses in my face, so I enjoy the feel of the pants and shirt - and lack of a corset - for as long as I can. I follow Washington out of his quarters and we walk through camp, the three men trailing behind us. When I see my mother, I resist the urge to shriek happily. It's been many months since I've seen her. I joined the war two years ago, but have been periodically visiting her, lying about my whereabouts and simply claiming travel and adventure. I see that Harrison is with her, and he's the one who notices me first. He points, and my mother turns. I can feel her relief from here, but I remain behind the General. He reaches her first.
"Miss Frossard, thank you for coming today," he says, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. She smiles politely at him and curtsies.
"Thank you for returning my daughter to me. I was deathly worried for her," she says. He smiles and nods.
"I know it's not particularly ladylike, but your daughter was one of my best. If not her actions, you should be proud of her bravery and perseverance," he says. My mother looks up at me, smiling softly.
"I'm proud of all her accomplishments, General. Thank you for taking care of her," she says, briefly glancing at Washington again. He nods and lets go of her hand, allowing her to come to me. She flicks my forehead.
"Ow! Maman (Mama)!" I whine. She smiles at me before taking me into her arms.
"Zhat is for making your mother worry," she says softly. I wrap my arms around her and squeeze. I've missed her so much. She holds me for several seconds, before pulling back and inspecting me.
"Tes cheveux sont beaux comme ça (Your hair looks nice like that)," she comments. I smile at her.
"J'ai oublié qu'Anastasia m'a dit que sa mère était française (I forgot that Anastasia told me her mother was French)!" Lafayette says, coming forward. My mother turns to look at him and smiles. She allows him to take her hand and kiss her knuckles, like the General did. He grins charmingly at her.
"C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer, mademoiselle (It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss) Frossard," he says politely. She smiles at him and curtsies.
"Un plaisir de vous rencontrer aussi, monsieur (A pleasure to meet you too, sir)," she responds. He grins at her, probably noting her accent. It must be refreshing to finally meet someone from the same place as yourself.
"I am Marie-Joseph-Paul-Yves-Roch-Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette," he says. She chuckles.
"An awfully long name, isn't it, monsieur Lafayette?" she says pleasantly. He chuckles too and nods. By now, Laurens and Hamilton have come forward and are standing by politely. Both kiss my mother's knuckles and introduce themselves. Finally, General Washington steps in.
"The three of you, back to your duties. I would like to speak with Miss Frossard and her daughter about the arrangement," he says. The three men nod. Alexander salutes me as he steps away. Laurens smiles and kisses my knuckles before following after him. And Lafayette wraps me into an embrace.
"Au revoir, mon bijou (Goodbye, my jewel)," he whispers into my ear. Then he's stepping away too, and I am left with my mother and the General. Washington puts a hand on my shoulder, beckoning me forward. We guide my mother to his workspace, and all of us settle into chairs.
"As I'm sure you remember from your letter, your daughter is very adamant about helping with the war to free America. I cannot in good concious let her continue to fight, so we reached an arrangement which you said we would discuss in your response," Washington says. My mother nods, back straight and posture poised. It's been a long while since I've thought about either of these things, and I find myself sitting up straighter to mimic her. She doesn't notice, but the General's lips quirk when he does.
"Yes, I remember. I'd like to contribute all the funds that you need to win this war," my mother says. The General's eyes widen, and my head snaps over to look at her.
"That...Is very generous, Miss Frossard. Are you certain you'd like to do that? This war is expensive, and it could go on for an extended period of time," he says. My mother nods and looks over at me.
"My daughter has always been a soldier of justice. If you will find other ways to allow her to help with the war, I will gladly supply you all the money you could need," she says, looking back at the General. He smiles and nods, standing up and holding out his hand.
"It is a deal," he says. My mother rises and shakes his hand.
"A deal, then."
Two years have since passed since I was on the battlefield's front lines. My mother provides funds, and I provide my combat strategies and prowess for writing. When Hamilton cannot, it is I who writes letters to Congress. Does Hamilton know? That I can't say. I'm certain not. Now I stand in a ballroom. 1780. A Winter's Ball. I search around for the Schuyler sisters, my dear friends. Particularly, Peggy. God, I love Peggy. I have not told her, nor do I intend to. We would be killed...Just as Skylar was. And anyway, I am to be married in the following months. It would not matter anyway, if she returned my affections. We cannot be together. It is not that I do not love my soon-to-be husband. I simply love Peggy more. Then, I spot her, yellow dress helping her stand out in the crowd. I move gracefully through the crowd toward her.
"Peggy!" I call when I'm close enough. She turns her head and smiles at me, beautiful eyes shining. It's always what I fall in love with first, isn't it? A person's eyes. Peggy has the most beautiful eyes of all those who have held my affections. Though, Lafayette is a very close second. We la bise, and I hold her hands in mine.
"It is so good to see you!" I say, grinning adoringly at her. She smiles back at me, frizzy hair framing her face in such a beautiful way. Oh, how I wish I could be with her.
"It's good to see you too! It feels like it has been forever! You're getting married soon, aren't you?" she asks. Her excitement seems to die when she says that last sentence, but I fear it is a figment of my imagination, so I ignore it. My smile softens a little, and I look down.
"Yes, I am," I say. She squeezes my fingertips, bringing my gaze back up into her eyes. She slides one of her hands up my wrist and leads me across the ballroom to sit down.
"Tell me all about him," she says, turning to face me. I hum, biting my lip slightly. I don't notice her eyes drawn to the movement.
"He's very kind and handsome. His mind is so much like mine that we could be one person. He views slavery in the same way as I, and we're going to do what my mother did and have the African Americans work for us instead of enslaving them. He's a lawyer, and...and...Hm," I try to think of more about him, but I can't think of anything. Her smile almost seems forced, but again, I can only imagine it is my mind's own distorted image of reality, and ignore it.
"Pardon me, mademoiselles, but could I offer either of you my friend to dance with?" I recognize that voice. I look up, eyes landing on a familiar scruffy man.
"Alexander?" I ask, standing up. His eyes and smile land on me, and they widen slightly in surprise.
"Anastasia?" he confirms. I nod and he laughs, wrapping his arms around me. I laugh with him, returning his hug.
"It is good to see you. How has your work with the General been?" I ask, stepping away after a few moments. He smiles at me.
"It's been well. And yours?" he asks. I grin mischievously at him.
"I'll be stealing your position in no time, Hamilton. Just you wait," I tease. He huffs and rolls his eyes with fondness, smile never leaving his face.
"I'm sure, Anastasia," he chuckles. I flick his nose, and he bats my hand away. I straighten up and hold myself properly.
"Now, who would I be dancing with, if I may ask?" I question, cocking an eyebrow. He smirks, before turning and gesturing across the ballroom at someone. I turn my focus across the room. There he is. Mon Lafayette. That's who Alexander is gesturing to. He stands awkwardly at the side of the ballroom, politely denying any woman who takes interest in him.
"A challenge?" I ask, earning a smirk of my own as I look back at Alexander. He drops his hand and nods. I straighten my back again and walk with poise and purpose across the room toward Lafayette. When I reach him, I immediately go into a cursty, bowing my head.
"Might I have this dance, monsieur?" I ask. I take a few seconds before I straighten, grinning up at him. He appears shocked.
"Anastasia...Mon bijou (my jewel)!" he stutters out. I giggle and nod, holding out my hand to him. He hesitates, and I quickly swipe down and take his hand.
"Danse avec moi, mon ami. S'il vous plaît (Dance with me, my friend. Please)?" I beg, holding his gaze with puppy eyes. He opens and closes his mouth uselessly like a fish, and I giggle. This seems to pull him into a trance, as he gains a soft smile and sighs, giving my hand a thoughtful squeeze.
"Je dois vous prévenir ... Je ne suis pas vraiment danseuse. Assez maladroit, en fait (I must warn you...I am not much of a dancer. Quite clumsy, actually)," he says bashfully. I giggle, tugging him along behind me. He could easily resist. He does not.
"Ce n'est pas un problème! Je vais t'apprendre! Moi, contrairement à toi, je suis très gracieux (That is not a problem! I will teach you! I, unlike you, am quite graceful)," I say. He chuckles softly, and continues to allow me to lead him further into the fray of party guests. When we reach a spot in the open, I turn toward him and squeeze his hand. He puts a hand on my back, and I put my free one on his shoulder. He fidgets uncomfortably, and I pull him just the slightest bit closer.
"Suivez mes pas, oui? (Follow my steps, yes?)" I say, hoping to comfort him. He nods, holding my gaze, and I begin stepping in time with the music.
"Un deux trois quatre. Un deux trois quatre (One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four)," I mutter, keeping time for him. He stumbles a few times, but I just give him a comforting smile, and he eventually picks it up. One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four. There you go, Lafayette. I grin at him, and he smiles back bashfully. Finally, the music ends, and I allow him to step away. I curtsy, and he bows, both of us grinning like fools. He lifts my hand and kisses it again. A moment flashes in my mind, where I remember what those lips felt like against mine. I feel that he is thinking the same thing, as his eyes flicker to where my lips are set in a smile. He clears his throat and we both look away, my hand dropping from his.
"I should be finding Alexander. He's likely getting into trouble that I will have to pull him from," I say. He nods, and I slip by him, shivering when our arms brush. I love Peggy. I'm getting married. I long for Lafayette. God, what a mess I've made. My eyes search the ballroom, seeking the short man no doubt pestering some ladies. Instead, my eyes land on another old comrade. John Laurens. He's staring longingly across the room, and I follow his gaze. Straight to Alexander. My eyes shoot back to Laurens, and all the pieces finally fit. I'd had my suspicions, but...Knowing it to be true is another thing entirely. I summon the courage that I'd lost ending my conversation with Lafayette, and cross the ballroom to reach Laurens. When I'm close enough, he smiles politely at me, clearly not recognizing me. I slip closer, shocking the words out of him.
"You love him, don't you?" I ask softly, only loud enough for him to hear. His eyes widen and he looks around nervously, before grabbing hold of my arm and dragging me behind him. Once we're outside, and alone, he turns to me.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" he hisses. I smile kindly at him, before holding my hair back into a ponytail. He stares at me for a moment, and I drop my voice.
"Don't you recognize your Lieutenant, Laurens?" I ask, using the voice I gave to Anthony. His eyes wide further in recognition.
"You're...An...An-" he seems to be struggling with a name, and I giggle, returning my voice to normal.
"Anastasia. I used the name Anthony," I provide. He breaks into a small, embarrassed smile.
"I knew that," he says. I smirk slightly at him and raise my eyebrow in challenge, and he chuckles.
"Alright, maybe not. Forgive me, we haven't spoken in some two years," he says. I nod. He's correct. We haven't spoken to one another since I was taken home by my mother in 1778. Still, I decide to tease.
"I served at your side for nearly three years, Laurens. You injure me," I say, feigning offense. He glares slightly at me, but it disappears when I don't stop smiling. He sighs, and we find a bench to sit on.
"About what you said," he says slowly. I put a hand on his shoulder, hoping it's comforting.
"Alexander. You love him, don't you?" I repeat my earlier words. He swallows and looks into my eyes, searching for maliciousness or anything sinister. He seems to find nothing, as he sighs and nods slightly. I smile softly at him, before staring out into the night. It is cold. I wish I'd brought out a coat. I shiver, and he puts an arm around me.
"Might I confide something of the similar sort to you?" I ask. He nods, and I lean closer to him.
"I'm in love with a forbidden subject," I say. He chuckles a little.
"With Lafayette, I kn-"
"No." He turns to look at me, raising an eyebrow. I swallow. "I hold deep affection for him, you are correct. But I...I am in love with another woman. Peggy Schuyler." His mouth falls open slightly, and I look away. He squeezes my arm gently, just trying to draw my attention back to him. It works, as I turn my head back in his direction. He looks at me, and I can see the similar pain in his eyes to what I'm sure mine hold. I can feel it beating from his heart. Empathy. Real, pure, empathy.
"What do you love about her?" he asks. I smile a little.
"What do you love about Alexander?" I deflect. He smiles too.
"That list could go on."
"As could mine." It's a mutual understanding. In this moment, it's decided. We will be there for each other. Support one another through the pain of loving someone whom we cannot have.
"If we're going to be close like this, you should call me John," he says, obviously trying to lighten things. I smile a little and nod, pressing myself into him and his body heat. He's warm. It's warm here. Safe here.
"Of course, John."
(This was inspired by a fic I read on AO3, which I still have saved because I adore it. Here's the link: )
"If he's any later, Angelica may kill him before he has the chance to marry Eliza," Peggy whispers to me. I hum, looking around, before leaning a bit closer to her.
"I'm sure John is just trying to calm him down. God knows that man isn't cocky when he needs to be." She giggles near my ear, making me blush before I continue. "But, I'll go look for them anyway. Hold my place." She rolls her eyes, as if she has a choice. We're both bridesmaids. My place is held no matter what. I send a look to Angelica, who seems to understand the mission. She nods, and I hurry down one of the many hallways to find Alexander and John. I hear their voices up ahead, and quicken my pace. As I turn into the open doorway, however, I find them locked by the lips. Kissing. I step back where they can't see me, waiting. I hear mutters inside, but try to block them out. It's not my conversation to listen to. Alexander nearly runs into me when he turns the corner out the door, and he jumps.
"Anastasia?!" he yelps. I tilt my head and give him a look. He pushes my shoulders into the wall.
"How much did you hear? How much did you see?" he demands. Before I can open my mouth fully, there's a hand on his arm. We both look at John, who's smiling lovingly at Alexander.
"It's alright, Lex. She knows," he says. Alexander looks back at me, bewildered.
"You know and you're...You're-"
"Accepting and supportive," I finish for him. His eyes brighten, and he hugs me. Very tightly. I can feel him relax against me, so obviously relieved by my response. My support. He finally lets go, looking at John, then at me, and back at John again. I take one of his hands and squeeze it, my empathy for them strong and real. They didn't choose to love each other, they just do. It's not their fault that they can't openly love in this world. In this life. I kiss both of their cheeks, and we all exchange gentle glances. Then they both offer their arms to me, and I loop my arms through theirs. We walk silently through the hallway. Angelica huffs when she sees us, but waves her hands, beckoning us to come faster. I give them both a firm squeeze on their arms, then return to Peggy's side. She nudges me gently, and I smile slightly, feeling my cheeks warm. Despite my most logical thoughts, I loop my arm through hers briefly, her side pressed against mine. For a moment, I feel her tense up, worrying that I've crossed a line. Will I be hung? Simply a social outcast? Lose Peggy? But then she's relaxing against me, flexing her arm to squeeze it against mine. So this is what acceptance feels like. I feel a warm feeling in my chest, and I'm sure my smile is absolutely ridiculous. John sends me a knowing look, but I don't stop smiling. Finally, the ceremony begins. Alexander walks down the aisle first, stopping at the altar and turning to watch the rest of us. Angelica links arms with John, and they walk. Peggy squeezes her arm against mine once more, before she's letting go and linking arms with Lafayette instead. They follow behind John and Angelica. Aaron Burr was supposed to walk with me. He has not yet arrived, if he is coming at all. Hercules Mulligan, taking the place of the flower girl, holds out his arm to me. I grin at him and link my arm through his. He settles the basket on the arm mine is looped through, the two of us following behind Peggy and Lafayette. Along the way, Hercules tosses flower petals along the aisle. It's...Quite amusing. At one point, he takes a handful of petals and sprinkles them over my head. I giggle, and catch the fond smiles of the entire wedding congregation. Or, at least, Peggy, John, Alex, and Lafayette. I finally release Hercules' arm at the end of the aisle, and we part. I stand beside Peggy, smiling softly as I watch Eliza and her father begin walking down the aisle to Alexander. I glance at John, and despite the pained look in his eyes, he seems happy. And so, the wedding commences.
I read the letter that I'm sending to the General. A request about my wedding. Is it too personal? I can't decide. Perhaps this is crossing a line between work and personal? I read it again.
My dear Mr. Washington,
I hope that this letter finds you in good health and that the war is treating you kindly. As kindly as a war can treat a man, I suppose. This is not the sort of letter that I usually send you, be warned, but it is of the utmost importance to me, so I hope that you can set that aside.
As you know, General, I am getting married shortly after this letter will reach you. Two weeks, to be precise. You know all too well that it is usually a father's duty to bring his daughter down the aisle. I would rather die in war than have my wretched father come anywhere near me. I never want to see the man again. However, if you are understanding where this letter is leading, that is exactly what I wish to talk about. My request, dear General, is that you not only attend my wedding. I would like you to take the place of my father and walk me down the aisle as well. You know you are a precious part of my life. You have given me more fatherly love than I have received my entire life in these past years. You also know that I am not a woman who begs for the things I want. I fight for them. Just this once, however, I make the exception, and I beg you, General, walk me down the aisle.
Of course, your lovely wife Martha is also invited. I would be honored if she were to join us. I've sent invitations to some of your men, you can guess which ones, I'm sure. If you are able When you decide to come to the wedding, please, do bring them with you. The men they are, they will more likely than not forget about the day entirely.
But, alas, I must be back to my work. The letters following this one shall be back to their usual orders, I assure you. I bid you a good day, sir. Continue to make the fight for our nation strong.
Sincerely yours,
Anastasia Reama, soon-to-be Derven
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I tap my fingers against the desk, pondering. It's a good letter, I decide. I will send it. I give the ink a few moments to dry, before folding it up and slipping it into an envelope. I take some wax and melt it over the seal, pressing the stamp down on it. I hold it there for some time, before pulling the stamp up. The seal is perfect, and I smile.
I turn it over and scrawl out "General Washington" on it, before placing my quill back in its place.
"Genevieve?" I call, looking over my shoulder. The tall woman pokes her head into the room, a questioning look on her face. I hold up the letter in her line of sight.
"Could you please make sure this is delivered? It's very important," I say. She smiles and nods, entering the room and taking the letter from me.
"Of course, Miss. I'd be happy to," she says. I stand and thank her, watching her exit the room before moving to stand by the window. I look out. Yes, soon I'll be married. It is my hope that General Washington will be the one to hand me off.
An echoing clinking sound resonates throughout the banquet hall, and I look up. Peggy, my maid of honor, is clinking her knife against her glass to attract everyone's attention. A speech. A hush falls over the room and Peggy's eyes land on me.
"A toast to the groom," she says. I smile softly at her as the guests and I raise our glasses, "and to the bride. Anastasia has been my dear friend for more years than I thought possible, and she deserves all the happiness the world has to offer. Jonathan, if you're even half the man that she describes you to be, then you've already done more than enough to deserve her. I know you'll take care of my beloved friend, and you'll cherish her with all that you are. I wish you a lifetime of happiness with one another, and the best of health. To Anastasia and Jonathan."
"To Anastasia and Jonathan!" the guests chime. The way in which Peggy spoke...I could see something in her eyes. The way she emphasized certain words. Beloved. Could she possibly...Love me? No, no. Of course not. I stand up and move around the table to hug her, grin on my face.
"Thank you, Peggy, for being here and for your beautiful speech," I say, taking her hands when I reach her. She smiles and nods, giving my hands a firm squeeze.
"I wouldn't have missed it for anything, Anastasia. You know that I-" she cuts herself off and clears her throat.
"You're very dear to me," she corrects herself. I feel my heart beating faster.
"What were you about to say, Peggy?" I ask. She looks around, before looking back at me and shaking her head.
"Not here," she says in a low voice. I glance over at my new husband and wave, before following Peggy from the room. The outside of the banquet hall is surrounded by a small garden, where we settle beneath the sky of stars. It's beautiful. I turn to look at Peggy. Her eyes are sparkling under the stars and moonlight. She looks beautiful.
"I trust you with everything...But this is different," she says softly. I draw closer to her, holding lightly to her arms and squeezing encouragingly.
"You know you don't have to tell me," I tell her. She looks up at me, before reaching up and squeezing my arms too.
"Yes I do. It's my last chance," she whispers. I hold her gaze, and she holds mine.
"I love you, Anastasia," she breathes. My lungs cease function, and my eyes widen just a fraction. She seems to take it as a rejection of sorts, and she pulls away from me.
"I know it's wrong, and that it's sinful, but I can't help it. I love you with everything in my being, Anastasia. I can't help these feelings, and I understand if you cannot or will not return them, but I needed to tell you and-" I step forward and take her into my arms, burying my face into her hair near her ear.
"Hush, Peggy. It's alright," I whisper, pulling back ever so slightly to look into her eyes, "I love you too." Her eyes were already filling with tears, but now they're released. But she smiles.
"You do?" she whispers. I nod, smiling at her with adoration. She lifts her hands to hold my face, and I stand and admire her beauty. The light in her eyes that has nothing to do with the stars. I want to kiss her, but I cannot. It is my wedding night. How can I? I watch her eyes flicker to my lips and up again, and I stand and wait. Wait for it. Wait for it. She leans in, and I haven't the heart to push her away. I want it too much. Her lips brush mine, and it's as if an explosion goes off in my chest. It's warm and the most true feeling in the world. I allow my eyes to flutter shut and press myself into her, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. Oh, how I wish we could be together like this. It lasts for only a few seconds before I force myself to pull away. We both open our eyes, gazes meeting. I stare at her sadly.
"I'm married, Peggy," I whisper painfully. She frowns slightly and nods, her longing and pain evident. I hold on tighter to her.
"But I love you, Peggy Schuyler. My marriage does nothing to dissipate that," I promise her. She leans in and holds onto me, and I hold on too. We cling to one another, knowing the battle is over before it's even begun. We cannot be together. Not tonight, nor after. We were born in a world where we cannot love. That, I think, is the most heartbreaking thing.
AND THAT'S THE END OF PART ONE OF CHAPTER 9! It was so long. You're a trooper if you read through all that. (Again, so sorry).
A/N: While I took inspiration from the fic I found on AO3, in my version, Ham is already well aware that Laurens loves him. This is just them saying it to each other one more time before they know that it can't be said in the same way again (because Ham will then be married).
Also, P.S., this is how you hold a violin:
I had to look this up because I don't actually play the violin (I would like to learn, though).
ANYWAY, UNTIL PART 2.
I'LL SEE YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE
TIL WE MEET AGAIN!