(That's legitimately one of my favorite pieces of art EVER. I don't know if it's because John looks super graceful and beautiful while he's dead or what, but I love this art SO SO much)
This is the part of the story I liked to call...Angst city. Population: Anastasia. This chapter is enormous, and there's still one more part WITH EVEN MORE ANGST to write. However, part 2 was getting a bit long and I knew I'd need to split it up more. And also, it's been killing me to not post. I've really enjoyed writing it though. I've had fun writing angst (something I don't do often), but there's also some family fluff that I dragged myself into, BECAUSE ANASTASIA'S FAMILY IS CUTE ALRIGHT? HOPE YOU BROUGHT TISSUES, BECAUSE THERE'S A BODY COUNT.
Warnings: Death & Suggestion of Suicide
Much Love, Krissy
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We continue our flashbacks
Rage. Pent up, boiling rage. I glare down at the letter, reading it for a fifth time. Alexander and John are doing what?! Dueling! They're going to duel with Charles Lee. Idiots, the both of them! I leave the letter on the desk and stand, taking strong steps toward the door before pausing. I press my hand to my stomach. My baby...Perhaps this isn't a good idea. No, no, I need to do this. I hurry through the house, waving off each helper who questions me. At the door, though, a young girl stops me.
"Miss Anastasia, where are you going?" she, Marie, asks. I sigh. Jonathan should know where I've gone.
"My dear friend John Laurens is in danger of doing something stupid. I must go to his camp and sort common sense into his brain," I say firmly, tugging on my coat. She helps me with the coat and begins buttoning it for me, despite my not asking her to.
"The same Laurens you write to so often, Miss?" she asks. I nod, forgetting she isn't looking at me.
"Oui, Marie. The very same one," I say calmly. She nods and opens the door for me.
"When should we expect you to return?" she asks. I run the idea over in my mind another time.
"No later than tomorrow night before supper," I say. Once again, she nods, and I wordlessly hurry out the door. I wave down a nearby carriage, not caring what condition it's in. I must first return to my mother's home, where I have left my men's clothing. I am also in need of a horse. I will get both from home.
The feeling of pants, shirt, and boots are a familiar feeling on my frame, and I make sure my hair is tied securely back before I whip the reins and ride my horse off into town. I know the route to the camp by heart. Perhaps it will take hours, but I must get there. The idiots! The fools! I have to knock sense into them. I snap the reins and urge my horse to go faster. For a moment, I forget about my baby.
The camp is busy, just as usual, just as I remember it being. It's familiar, even after two years away. Some of the aides seem to recognize me, and I nearly fall off my horse when I see Lafayette look up at me. I slow my horse to a trot and loop around, stopping her next to Lafayette.
"Que fais-tu ici (What are you doing here)?" he hisses, grabbing some of the reins to make sure I don't run away from him. I dismount my horse, holding onto her reins.
"Je suis ici pour dénoncer une certaine paire d'hommes (I'm here to tell off a certain pair of men). Where are Hamilton and Laurens?" I demand, not bothering to set things casually. His eyes widen slightly at the tone of my voice. He has not heard this sort of command from me in a long while. He sighs and looks around, before putting a hand against my lower back.
"I will take you to them," he says. We tie my horse up at a nearby post, and he leads me through the camp. His hand does not leave my back.
"Comment va ton bébé, mon bijou (How is your baby, my jewel)?" he asks, quietly and suddenly. I'd forgotten for a moment, and now I press a hand to my stomach. You cannot tell from the men's clothing, but my stomach has begun rounding from the pregnancy.
"John told you?" I ask, equally as quiet. He glances at me and nods, a soft, almost sad smile on his face. I smile back softly, momentarily forgetting what brought me here.
"She is well, mon Lafayette. I cannot wait to hold her in my arms," I say. He chuckles softly.
"You can already tell that it is a female?" he asks. I close my eyes for a moment and nod, feeling in my every fiber that my child is a beautiful little girl. Lafayette finally stops walking, and I open my eyes again.
"They work in this tent, mon bijou. They should be inside," he says. I nod and take a deep breath, pushing down the softness from our previous conversation and allowing my anger to rise again.
"Je vous remercie (Thank you), Lafayette," I say. He nods, and it takes him another moment to move his hand from against my back. I push the flap of the tent open and duck inside. John and Alexander are just a little too close to be platonic, and I clear my throat. Both of them jump and move away from each other, before turning their gazes on me. I cross my arms over my chest and give them a harsh look, and their eyes widen.
"Anastasia, what are you-"
"You are both utter and complete idiots," I snap, walking further into the tent to stand closer to the two. They exchange a glance.
"What do you mean?" John asks, sounding a little nervous. I send a harsh glance at Alexander.
"You hid that you wrote to me, didn't you? He doesn't know," I say. His shoulders sink and he looks smaller than before. I glance at John, who's staring acusingly at Alexander.
"I didn't think you'd show up. You're pregnant, Anastasia. You shouldn't be here," Alexander says, not meeting John's gaze. I glare at him, then look back at John.
"I cannot believe that you thought it was a good idea to duel Charles Lee," I say, gaze sharp. He looks at me, flinching when he sees my eyes, before he leans back against his desk and looks at the floor.
"He needs to answer for his words, Ana, and Alex couldn't do it, so-" My gaze softens ever so slightly.
"You're doing it for Alexander," I interrupt. He looks up at me and nods, at which I sigh and press my hands against my temples.
"You are both so foolish," I grumble, shaking my head. There's a quiet moment between the three of us, before I look up at Alexander.
"You had better not get him killed. If he dies, you'll be next," I threaten firmly. Alexander swallows heavily, and John touches my arm. I look up at him, and he tries to give me a reassuring look.
"I'll win. I swear it," he says. I swipe his hand away from my arm.
"I've been a second to many men. You have no idea of the numerous times I heard that said, only to watch the same man die," I snap. I point a finger up at him. "I will not allow the same to happen to you." He looks taken aback, opening and closing his mouth several times to respond, but nothing seems to fit. It happens another time before the tent flap opens again, and the three of us snap our attention to whomever has entered. It's the General. Fuck.
"Anastasia?" he asks, seemingly shocked as he raises an eyebrow. I nod, arms snapping behind my back out of muscle memory.
"Yes, General. I apologize for my sudden visit," I say. Judging by his gaze, he doesn't know why I'm here. Despite my better judgement, I decide to keep it that way.
"What are you doing here, Mrs. Derven?" he asks. I clear my throat and take a confident step toward him.
"I came to discuss some battle strategy in person. However, I became distracted when I began a discussion with my friends. My apologies, sir," I say. He sighs and nods, giving Alexander and John a look over my shoulder.
"Back to work, both of you," he orders. I look back at them, watching them salute and return to their individual desks, not looking at the General or myself anymore.
"Come, Mrs. Derven. We will discuss in my tent," he says. I look back at him and nod, watching him turn and exit the tent. I look back over my shoulder at the two men.
"Remember what I said," I say. They both look up at me, and John nods. I exhale and follow the General out of the tent, mildly concerned over how I can possibly lie my way through this discussion.
"General Washington, Sir, there's something you should know about." The General and I both look up as the aide comes in, panting. It's early morning, sunrise. Before the sun is in the sky. The General raises an eyebrow as if to silently tell the boy to continue, only to be interrupted by a gunshot ringing through the air.
"Lee and Laurens are dueling," the aide finishes. Both I and the General shoot to our feet, though I can tell different things possess us. For him, I'm sure it's displeasure, perhaps anger. For me, it's erratic worry and fear. John. I have to get to John. I follow the marching general, charging in the direction that the aide is leading us. The dueling ground stands before me, and three of the four men are yelling, while a medic is hastily trying to tend to Charles Lee's wound to the side.
"What is the meaning of this?" the General shouts. I, on the other hand, run to John and Alexander.
"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" I demand, grabbing John's face and forcing him to look at me. My eyes flicker over his form, concluding he hasn't been shot, and I embrace him tightly.
"You're still a fool," I whisper in his ear. He holds me equally as tight, the adrenaline of the duel wearing off. I don't cry, but I come close. I pull my head from his chest to look at Alexander.
"You are very lucky," I tell him quietly. He nods, relief filled eyes staring at John. Pitying him, I open one of my arms, welcoming him into the embrace. The three of us huddle for maybe ten seconds before the General is yelling toward us, startling us apart.
"Hamilton!"
"Sir!"
"My tent, now. That is an order!" Alexander glances at John and I, and I give his arm a reassuring squeeze, whilst also yanking him in the General's direction.
"Mrs. Derven!" I turn and face him at the sound of my name.
"Sir?"
"Stay with Laurens. We will continue our conversation once this issue is dealt with," he says. I nod sharply and watch him and Alexander march away. Lee, his second, and the medic have all vanished, leaving just John and I. It is then that I push myself away from him and allow myself to vomit. He's at my side in seconds, one hand against my back and the other grasping my arm. I let out a sob, but no tears escape. He rubs soothing circles against my back, and I pant for a moment before straightening. John wipes my mouth with a handkerchief he pulls from inside his coat, and I lean against him.
"From the baby?" he asks, holding loosely around my waist. I nod.
"And the stress of your stupid fucking duel," I snap weakly. He chuckles slightly, and I smile a little.
"Such a dirty mouth on such a lovely lady," he mutters. I close my eyes, not answering for a moment.
"What can I say? I got it from all of you," I say softly. He chuckles again, before noticing my exhausted state. Had I not mentioned I didn't sleep the night before? Non, I couldn't sleep. I was far too worried about John and the duel. Without much difficulty, John lifts me in a bridal carry, letting my head rest against his chest. I don't notice how long he carries me. It only feels as if a moment has passed.
"John! Is she alright?" I hear the familiar French accent and smile softly. John makes a silent response, before adding to it.
"She's just exhausted. Carrying a baby must rob her of energy," he says. I hum and nod slightly.
"And they say men are the stronger sex," I mutter. John chuckles, then relays what I said to Lafayette, who also chuckles.
"Rest, mon bijou (my jewel), we will take care of you," Lafayette says, brushing loose hair off of my forehead. I trust them both, so I follow instruction. I sleep.
"Are you sure you're alright, my love?" Jonathan asks. I glance up from the letter I've certainly read over a hundred times. I bite my lip and look down again. I feel as if I should feel upset, but I do not. I sigh and look back at my husband.
"My father was a horrible man. I have not told you all that he did to my mother, and to me, and I do not intend to. I have no issue with the fact that he's dead," I say calmly. He nods and takes my hand, squeezing it. I look out the window of the carriage. There's a hilarious irony in the way my father died. He beat his slaves, and their uprising was what killed him. It's funny. The bastard deserved it. The carriage jolts to a stop, and I put my free hand against my belly. My baby will be born in the next two or three months, the doctors have said. I cannot wait for her arrival. The carriage door opens and my husband steps out, before turning and offering his hand to me. I take it and allow him to help me climb out. We stand before my mother's house. I've come to make sure she is alright, after my father's death. I think she does hate him, but he was still her husband, and she loved him once. Additionally, it is an excuse to see my mother. It has been a few months since I've visited. Jonathan leads me to the door and knocks. There is silence within the house. He knocks a bit louder. Harrison finally opens the door a few seconds later, tears rolling down his face.
"Oh, Harrison! What's happened?" I ask, worried about the kind man's tears. He opens and closes his mouth, but all that comes out is a sob. I reach out and take one of his hands, squeezing it.
"Harrison, please tell me what's wrong," I beg slightly. He hiccups and looks into my eyes.
"It's your mother, miss Anastasia. She...She's...She was sick and she-" He cuts himself off with another sob, and an icy cold strikes as I realize the intent of his words.
"No..." I push past Harrison and run into the house, arm protectively around my belly. I climb the stairs and burst into my mother's room. Everyone who works in her house is around her bed, crying.
"No, no no no. Mother!" I cry. They allow me through, and I find my mother. She's pale and sickly, with sweat coating her forehead. And she's not breathing. Her eyes stare at the ceiling, glazed over. No! I collapse against her bed, my head against her stomach, and sob. She's gone. My mother is dead.
I haven't moved from bed since we arrived home three days ago. I see no point. What is the use? I will still step outside and never see my mother again. At least here, in my bed, in my room, I never expect to see her. I can pretend she is not dead here. The door creaks open, and I shut my eyes. I know it is of no use. The entire staff knows that I have not slept properly in three days, as does Jonathan.
"Miss Anastasia?" It is Marie. I do not answer, but she continues to speak anyway. "There are some men here to see you. They claim to be friends of yours." I open my eyes and stare at the wall.
"Did you receive names?" I ask, voice raspy and quiet. She walks a bit further into the room.
"One of them was John Laurens, Miss," she says. I can only imagine that he and Alexander are here. Though, I heard that Alexander was sent home. Perhaps John and Lafayette.
"Alright," I say quietly. I start pushing myself up, and she hurries to help me, holding onto my arm. I thank her quietly and follow her out of my dark bedroom. As we descend the stairs, I can hear conversation in the sitting room.
"...They said that Miss Frossard had been sick for a few months, and had only just succumbed to her sickness after recieving a letter about her previous husband's death," Jonathan says. I can hear boots moving in pacing across the floor.
"She died from the sadness?" Lafayette asks. Jonathan chuckles slightly.
"Actually, her final words were apparently, 'I hope he rots in hell. He was a damn bastard,'" he says. I almost smile at that. My mother is...Was a fiery woman. I want to be just like her.
"Sirs," Marie calls their attention to us as she leads me into the room. John looks up from his pacing area, and Alexander, Lafayette, and...General Washington? They look up at me too. So does my husband.
"Anastasia," John gasps, immediately coming toward me. He carefully embraces me, cautious of my belly. I grasp his coat and close my eyes, feeling all the emotions welling up again. I've been numb or crying for the past few days, and the pregnancy and lack of sleep are not helping my mentality.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," John is whispering in my ear. I bury my face into his coat, not wanting to let them see my weakness. Everything hurts. Everything is painful. More arms encircle me, holding me compassionately. I let out a sob into John's jacket, and all the arms seem to tighten.
"Tout ira bien, mon bijou. Nous serons là à vos côtés (It will be alright, my jewel. We will be here at your side)," Lafayette mutters. I hiccup, and a hand reaches between the other bodies. It grasps one of mine tightly, offering as much comfort as such a small gesture can. In time, I trust that I will move on, but until that moment, I know that these men, whom I love, will take care of me.
The four soldiers had carried my mother's casket to where we would bury her. My mother's entire staff is here. The Schuylers are here. Many of my mother's friends and their spouses are here. And then, there's me. Tears roll down my cheeks as I stand surrounded by the men who love me most. One hand is held by my husband, and the other is held by Lafayette. John has a hand on my shoulder as he stands behind me. Alexander is at his side, and General Washington is next to him. All of them stand together around me. When the service is over, I, along with many of her friends, walk forward with flowers. She was a bit cliche, my mother. A romantic. A love for roses. My tears drip onto the rose's petals as I set them down atop the fresh dirt. The headstone sits ominous and taunting, my mother's name curving across the stone, elegant and proper like she was. I stay on my knees, a hand over my stomach. She will never get to meet her granddaughter. I feel it when someone settles on the ground next to me. An arm loops slowly through mine, and I look up at them with tears still on my face. Peggy's frowning, sadness evident against her features.
"She was an incredible woman," she says softly. I lean against her and close my eyes, and she discreetly takes my hand within the folds of our skirts.
"Yes...Yes she was."
And here she is...My baby girl. Joyful tears have filled my eyes. She cries, but it means she is here. She is here and she is my baby girl. Jonathan kisses my forehead, staring down at her.
"We don't even have a name," he says softly, smiling at our daughter. I stare down at her little face, her adorable cheeks. She breathes softly in my arms. I want to name her after my mother, but Charlotte would be too painful. I ponder for a moment longer. Charlotte Lilith Frossard.
"Lilith," I say, stroking the baby girl's cheek. My husband chuckles slightly, leaning his cheek atop my head.
"It's beautiful. Perfect," he whispers. I close my eyes, feeling warm in this moment. This is the only thing I need. My husband and my daughter.
"Lilith Skylar Derven," I mutter. My husband kisses my forehead again.
"Lilith Skylar Derven," he agrees.
There's a loud, excited knocking on the door.
"I will get it, Miss," Genevieve says, standing up from where she is sewing a new blanket for Lilith. The entire staff loves my baby girl, and have been making her gifts since she was born a week ago. It's not as though she needs the blankets. She is a spring baby, after all. A few moments after Genevieve leaves the room, a loud voice emerges.
"Anastasia!" Oh, it seems John received my letter. He comes bounding into the room, and I smile at him.
"Hush, you'll wake up Lilith," I scold softly. He puts his hands over his mouth, practically to the ceiling with his excited bouncing. I giggle and stand up, brushing off my skirt and motioning for him to follow me. He does so, and I hold onto his arm to keep him from running off ahead of me. The door creaks ever so slightly as I open it, but Lilith doesn't stir. John takes off his jacket and sets it aside on the back of the rocking chair in the corner. I slowly move across the room and take Lilith from her cradle, coddling her in a soft light purple blanket. I turn back to John, who's just standing there, staring at her, and at me. I realize, then, that he has tears in his eyes. Even Jonathan hadn't cried in joy for our daughter. Yet, here is John, teary-eyed at a baby girl who is not even his. He draws closer, putting an arm around me.
"She's beautiful," he says. I smile and nod, leaning into him for a moment. I glance at his face, full of adoration for my little girl.
"Would you like to hold her?" I ask. He looks up at me and swallows, but nods. I show him how to hold her properly, and he slowly takes her from my arms. He holds her as carefully as if she were a piece of glass, and I can see a tear roll down his cheek as he smiles at her.
"Hi there, mon petit tout (my little everything)," he mutters. I smile at the nickname. I know he has never met his daughter, Frances. I like to think that if he had, he would love her as he loves Lilith. As he loves Lilith...
"John?" I ask quietly, standing beside him and watching him smile at the baby in his arms. He looks at me.
"If there is anything to be learned from my mother's death, it is that death can take you at any time. I may not live to see my daughter grow up. Jonathan could never come back every day, even if he isn't fighting in the war. So...I want to ask. If something happens to Jonathan and I...I'd like you to be her godfather," I say. His eyes widen, and he's silent for a long time. He looks down at Lilith again and smiles again after a moment.
"I'd be honored, Anastasia," he says. I smile and hold onto his arm, leaning against him. For a moment, it is just us. This. This would be enough.
"Miss Anastasia?" I look up as Harrison enters. I smile at him, putting my quill down. I'm finishing my latest letter to John, but that can wait a few moments.
"Yes, Harrison?" I ask. He clears his throat and walks in, holding a letter.
"You have a letter from South Carolina," he says, holding up the paper. I stand up. Another letter from John! I cross the room to him and reach for the letter.
"From John Laurens? Thank you, Harri-"
"No, ma'am. It's from his father." My hand freezes, and my body feels cold. Why...Would his father...?
"His father?" I confirm. He nods, and I swallow heavily.
"Will you read it for me?" I ask, voice shaking nervously. He nods and unfolds the letter, clearing his throat.
"Miss Anastasia Derven,
On Tuesday, the twenty seventh, my son was killed in a gunfight against British troops in South Carolina. These troops had not yet received word from Yorktown that the war was over. He is buried here until his family can send for his remains. As you know, John dreamed of emancipating and recruiting 3,000 men for the first all-black military regiment.
The surviving members of this regiment have been returned to their masters."
No. No no no no. I can't have lost him too. My entire body is shaking. No...It can't be true. I feel tears roll down my face, and I can't breathe. I stumble past Harrison, through the room and to the front door. Everything in that house reminds me of him. It's raining, but I don't care. That letter was wrong. John can't be dead. He's too strong. He's too smart. He needs to be alive. I'm hyperventilating and stumbling through the rain, destination unclear. My dress and hair are soaked, clinging to my skin. I can't tell what's rain and what's tears anymore as they merge on my face. I can't see through the blur of rain and tears, and a carriage nearly hits me. I don't care, even as the driver yells after me. Where am I? It doesn't matter. How long have I been gone? It's pointless to wonder. The only thing I know, the only thing I feel, is that John is gone and I will never see him again. I collapse on a doorstep, surrounded by mud and puddles. The ground is cold. I am cold. My body feels as if it is a cannonball, heavy and leaden. I sob with my cheek against the ground, undisturbed when I hear a door creak open.
"Anastasia?!" I don't know why I recognize the voice. I don't care. If it is not John's voice, I do not care.
"Alexander, come quickly!" The voice is panicked now. Alexander? My brain is foggy, filled with only thoughts of John. I don't react when I'm lifted from the ground, body limp.
"She's freezing!" the voice speaks again. My eyelids feel too heavy to lift, even if I desired to. A scraping sound of furniture against a wooden floor. I'm placed delicately into a chair, and immediately cocooned in blankets. Warmth is emitted from in front of me, and I hear the crackling of a fire.
"Do not grieve, my Anastasia." I feel more tears roll down my face. A hand brushes softly against my cheek.
"John," I choke out, unable to open my eyes and see him. I want to reach for him. Hold him.
"It will be alright, aimée (beloved). I will watch over you," he says. The feathery feeling of lips press against my forehead, before they and the hand are gone. I let out a sob.
"Come back...I still need you," I beg through my tears. Two warm hands take hold of my face, and I can finally lift my eyelids. It isn't John that stares back at me, but Alexander. His eyes are red and puffy, as if he's been crying too. They're glassy, brimming with tears.
"You know, then?" he asks quietly, dully. I break down into more sobs, leaning against him. He wraps me into his arms, holding me tightly. I'm trembling and cold, heart pained and broken. Gentle fingers thread through my wet hair, compassionate and motherly. Eliza...Of course.
"I loved him so much. He was my closest confidant, one of my dearest friends. He can't be gone," I sob into Alexander's chest. I can feel his warm tears drip onto my neck, and I cling to his shirt.
"I know," is all that he manages to choke out. Then we're sobbing together, Eliza doing her best to comfort us, though we find no solace. She doesn't understand. No one understands. No one except for us.
The carriage thumps, Alexander's warm hand laced with mine. We say nothing. It's dark out, the sky starless. I know not what sort of storm rages within Alexander, but I can feel it crashing and thundering beneath his skin. A similar one thrashes within me, but his hand is an anchor, keeping me from being caught in the storm and lost. I cannot be lost in my sorrow. John doesn't want me to be lost in my sorrow.
"Did you hear him?" I ask the air in a near inaudible whisper. Alexander's hand squeezes tighter to mine.
"I did," he whispers back. I lean against him, my head on his shoulder. We gaze blindly at the shadows dancing on the floor from the lantern hanging on the outside of the carriage.
"I don't know if I can live without him," I whisper, a tear rolling down my face. He takes a shaking breath and leans his head against mine.
"We have no choice," he says. I close my eyes, silently welcoming a dark thought. It whispers to me, offering comfort. Lack of pain.
"Yes we do," I whisper. He lifts his head, and I feel his gaze on me. I open my eyes and give him a numb stare.
"Jonathan has a gun in his office," I say. His lips part in surprise at my suggestion, and he stares at me with a heartbroken look.
"Anastasia-" I look away from him, letting out a small sob.
"I know. We can't. I can't," I say softly. He leans into me, holding me close.
"Don't think I don't want to," I think I hear him whisper. I don't respond. Finally, the carriage stops. Alexander holds my hand the entire way out of the carriage and to the front door, the only comfort I have. He knocks on the door, and it takes a few moments before Marie opens the door. She gasps.
"Miss Anastasia! You're alright!" she says, relief in her voice. I give her a numb stare, before looking away at a blank wall.
"Physically, perhaps," I mutter. She flinches.
"Of course...I'm sincerely sorry for your loss, miss," she says softly. I nod absently, and Alexander gives my hand a squeeze.
"I should be going...I have so much work to do," he says. I turn to look at him, releasing his hand and embracing him instead. I want to say something, make sure he takes care of himself. He will throw himself into his work and stop taking care of himself. If I cannot heed my own advice, however, how can I give it?
"Je t'aime mon cher (I love you, my dear) Anastasia," he whispers, voice catching in his throat. I take a quick breath to hold in a sob.
"Je t'aime, Alexander," I whisper back. He steps back, out of my embrace, and I watch him disappear into the dark night.
"Come, miss. I will run you a bath," Marie says. I slowly nod, turning and walking inside with my head down.
"Thank you, Marie."
(WARNING WARNING WARNING: ULTRA ANGST I AM A HORRIBLE PERSON FOR WRITING THIS BUT LIKE IT HAPPENED AND STILL HAPPENS BUT AHHHH)
It has been two months, and I was correct in my assumption of Alexander throwing himself into his work. I am not over my grief either, but this way that he is grieving...I worry it will kill him, or ruin his marriage. Perhaps both. I stare blankly at the book in my hands, but I have not absorbed any of the story for the past few pages. I sigh and put the book aside, getting up and smoothing down my skirt. I move around the sofa and go to the window, peering out. The leaves have turned their reds, oranges, and yellows, and are falling from the trees. It's quite beautiful. I think about John for a moment. He'd like this. He sent me a drawing, once, of a particularly nice tree near his camp in South Carolina. My head snaps around as a scream rings through the house. It came from Lilith's room. I run from the room, up the stairs.
"Elise? Elise, what's wrong?" I call, fear and panic coursing through me. Lilith's door is open, and I can hear Elise sobbing. I hear Harrison gasp in horror, and Genevieve emerges from the room, tears in her eyes.
"What is wrong? What's happened?" I demand, tears already brimming my eyes. Genevieve holds me back from the room, shaking her head. I try to push past her.
"Answer, me Genevieve! What's happened to my daughter?" I cry. She holds me back, tears releasing from her eyes.
"Miss...Lilith has stopped breathing. She's...She's gone." The world crashes down, and I back away, tears silently spilling down my face.
"No..." I whisper. I feel myself shaking. My baby girl...She can't be...
"Miss..." Genevieve sobs, reaching for me. I swat her hand away.
"Get away from me!" I yell, turning and fleeing back down the stairs.
"Miss Anastasia!" she calls desperately after me. I throw open the front door, not looking back.
"Miss Anastasia!" Marie calls as I stumble down the path. I hear her try and follow me, but I go faster. That is, until I stumble and collapse. I hear my dress rip and feel my knees scrap against the cobblestones, but it is nothing compared to the pain that is suffocating me, drowning me. I scream with agony before doubling over and burying my face in my hands. I don't so much hear the footsteps running toward me as much as I sense them. I make no move to acknowledge them.
"Anastasia! What is wrong, mon cher?" That's not Marie or Genevieve. It's...What? I lift my head, still hyperventilating with tears rolling down my face. My gaze is met by the gentle and familiar brown eyes belonging to Lafayette. I don't question why he's here, I just accept it. He pulls me to him, wrapping me in his arms and holding me to his chest. I weep into his jacket, not stopping until I have nothing left in me.
"What happened, mon bijou?" he asks softly. I hiccup and sniffle.
"My Lilith...She's-" My face screws up and I let out a tearless sob. His hold on me tightens immensely, and he presses a kiss into my hair. There's still bustle around us, and I feel the pitying gazes of passersby. I try to hide from them in Lafayette's chest. A moment more passes, before he's lifting me up and carrying me like his bride. I don't notice anything outside of this anymore. His heart beats against my ear, and his hands are warm through the fabric of my dress. He's warm. All my emotions swirl into a blur and I only feel Lafayette. I relax into his embrace and stare up at him, not noticing when we reach my house. Nor do I notice when Marie opens the door and says something before letting Lafayette in. I only come back to my senses, in some meaning of the phrase, after we've entered my bedroom, and he's laying me down on my bed. I stare up at him, eyes half lidded, and lean into his touch as he brushes hair from my face.
"Lafayette," I whisper his name and reach to touch his hand, "embrasse moi (kiss me)...Please." I feel his movements freeze, and see his eyes widen. I take his wrist with both hands and guide his hand down, holding it against the skin over my heart. God, I must look pathetic. He pulls his hand from my grasp.
"We are both married, mon amie," he says softly. He only called me "mon amie" while I was under the persona of Anthony. He's been calling me "mon bijou" for years. He wants to kiss me. Longs to. Craves to. He's holding himself back, I can tell. The pain and loss are beginning to seep back in.
"Please...I'm helpless. Please, Lafayette. S'il vous plaît (Please)," I beg, tears returning to my eyes. I see him pause, as if actually and truly considering it. He reaches down and lifts my hand, taking it between his and kissing my knuckles.
"I refuse to take advantage of this state you are in, mon Anastasia. You are grieving, and I will not take something because of that," he says softly. I whine slightly, watching him kneel down beside the bed. I touch his face, and he closes his eyes and lets me. My fingers trail down his neck, until my hand is against his chest. His breathing falters and I can feel his heart beat faster against my palm.
"S'il vous plaît," I beg softly, gripping his coat weakly. He opens his eyes, holding my gaze. Full of sadness and longing, his eyes no doubt match mine. I see his resolve breaking before my eyes. I tug slightly on his coat, and he begins to rise to follow my pull. The door creaks open, and Lafayette freezes.
"Miss Anastasia? Monsieur Lafayette?" Lafayette strands up, taking my hand as it's forced away from its resting place on his chest. He kisses its knuckles again, before giving me a sympathetic look.
"Je suis tellement désolé, mon bijou (I'm so sorry, my jewel)," he says softly. Then he releases my hand, taking a step away and looking at Marie.
"Take care of her, please," he tells her. She nods and enters the room. He takes one step before I whimper.
"Lafayette," I call in a broken voice, "Rester (Stay)?" He pauses, slowly looking over his shoulder at me. Slowly, he returns, leaning over and taking my face between his hands, and my eyes flutter shut in preparation. His lips do not meet mine, however. Instead, I feel them pressed softly and tenderly to my forehead. He begins to pull away, and my hands jump to his coat. I don't want him to go. And a wave of loss and sorrow washes over me again, and I feel so disgustingly pathetic and broken that I begin to cry again. Heartbroken sobs emerge from my lips, and I feel myself trembling as I clutch tighter to Lafayette's coat. He presses another kiss to my forehead, before pressing his forehead against mine. He pulls one hand from his coat and holds it tightly, while the other remains on my face, delicately brushing away each tear that escapes. I weep harder, longing to feel something other than this pain and emptiness. My heart hurts terribly.
"C'est bon. C'est bon (It is alright. It is alright), Anastasia," he whispers quietly. His words do not placate me, but his voice is soothing and helps me breathe more easily. I hiccup and quiet down some, tears still rolling down my face.
"Stay?" I ask again softly. Another kiss against my forehead, and he clears away the rest of the tears.
"Rest, mon bijou. I will be downstairs," he whispers. I hiccup again, slowly allowing my hand to relax its grip on his coat. He runs his fingers tenderly through my hair, and I feel calm for a moment. I don't think of death, or of my Lilith. I think only of how gently Lafayette holds me, comforts me. It is as though I belong to him, and he belongs to me, just for a moment. My tense body relaxes and I fall into a deep, quiet sleep.
When I awaken, Lafayette is no longer at my side, and I hear loud, frantic footsteps in the hallway. A thumping noise in a nearby room. A sorrowful shout, emerging through the walls in my husband's tone. I slowly rise from bed, crossing the room to the door. It opens with a small creak, and I step into the hall. I can hear Jonathan sobbing, and my heart breaks furthermore. I pause in the doorway of the now empty bedroom. Haunting echoes of Lilith's quiet cries seem to fill the air, cold. I force myself to enter the room, seeing my husband's slumped form near where Lilith's crib sat just this morning. I drop to my knees beside him, wrapping my arms around him. I've dried myself out of tears, and cried my pain out. Now I am left with nothing but emptiness and numb. There's an unfillable void in my heart, my soul. Nothing compares to losing a child. This is a void that will never vanish, never fill. It is just a constant pain that I will carry until the moment I breathe my last breath. I kiss my husband's temple. I can offer nothing to comfort him. There is no comfort for this.
I knock on the door of the Hamilton's house, glancing around with a lack of interest. A moment later, Eliza answers the door. I pull on a faux smile. They do not know about Lilith. No one outside of the house, all but Lafayette, knows about Lilith. Nor will they ever know.
"Oh, Anastasia! Do come in," she says, stepping aside and gesturing for me to enter. I step over the threshold into the house and stand in the hallway.
"How are you?" she asks politely. I continue to smile.
"I am well. And you?" I reply. She smiles at me as well, taking hold of my wrist and leading me behind her.
"Very well, thank you. I was just making some tea for Alexander, would you like any?" she asks. I hum in consideration for a moment.
"That would be nice. Thank you, Eliza," I say. She nods without looking back at me.
"Is Alexander busy at the moment?" I ask, slowly and hesitantly. She scoffs, but looks back at me with a fond smirk.
"Is he not always busy?" she asks. I chuckle slightly, another lie.
"I suppose so, yes," I agree. She sighs and stops, letting go of my wrist.
"You know he will stop working if you need to speak to him. I will bring up some tea in a few minutes," she says. I nod and leave her, walking to Alexander's study. I knock on the door, not hearing a response.
"Alexander?" I call. There's a muffled answer on the other side of the door, and I sigh and open it slowly. Alexander looks up at me as I enter. He allows his posture to slump upon realizing that it's me, and I close the door behind me.
"Mademoiselle Anastasia," he says. He sounds polite, but exhausted as well. I move over to his desk.
"Monsieur Alexander," I reply. I glance at his desk, which is covered by dozens of papers.
"You will not be satisfied with your work until you get yourself killed by it, will you?" I say, staring at the desk instead of at him. He huffs in amusement.
"Bold of you to assume I will be satisfied with death," he says. I find myself snorting and looking back at him.
"I've come to offer my services. Without a war to write strategies for, I'm finding myself rather...Idle," I say, lying about my reasoning. Despite the toll I see it taking on Alexander, I no longer find myself considering throwing oneself into work to be unappealing. It will help me escape from my sorrows. He leans back against the back of his chair and gives me a tired smile.
"Well, how can I say no to that?" he asks, putting out his hand. His fingers are inkstained, and I'm reminded of the times back in the war. Somehow, those were simpiler times. I put out my hand and shake Alexander's. I will help him write and form this country. The writing will ease the pain. So I must write, nonstop.
Somehow during my two years of "nonstop" writing, I became pregnant again. I tried to stay calm throughout it, writing constantly with Alexander until Jonathan no longer let me leave the house. I continued to write, even there. Jonathan often brought my work to Alexander, since they were both lawyers and worked near one another. Even so, I still found myself panicking during the birthing process. Now I find myself with a baby girl in my arms, tears in my eyes that are from fear, sorrow, and a small wave of motherly joy. We have no name for her. I push back my tears, holding my baby closer. Suddenly, an idea strikes me. Some will see it as selfish, or cruel, if they ever find out. But I...
"Jonathan...What if we name her Lilith?" My husband looks into my eyes, shocked by my suggestion.
"I...Anastasia..."
"No one will ever have to know that she died...No one has to know she's not the first Lilith," I say, desperately trying to convince him. I'm hysterical. This is a hideous idea. To lie to everyone like this...But I can't take the pain. This little girl could fill the void. She can be Lilith.
"Lilith Lauren Derven," I say, tears streaming down my face. Jonathan stares at me for several long seconds, before caving.
"Lilith Lauren Derven," he agrees softly. Lauren...To honor my John.
(Okay, Anastasia's big angsty mental breakdown is over...That was hard to write)
"She's a bit small for a five year old, isn't she?" Eliza asks, watching our children play on the floor. She isn't wrong. After all, Lilith is only three. She's actually the same age as their little girl, Angelica.
"I was slow to grow as well, my mother said. I'm sure that was simply passed down to her," I lie. It's not an unbelievable lie, and she accepts this. I watch Lilith stand up and toddle over to me, showing me the doll that Angelica had given her. I smile at her.
"It's lovely, dear. Did you thank Angelica?" I ask. She gives me a sweet little grin before looking over her shoulder.
"Thank you, Angie!" she says. She's adorable. Eliza grins down at her.
"She's a sweet little thing, isn't she? Very polite," she comments. Lilith turns to look at her, beaming.
"Thank you, Miss!" she says. Eliza giggles and taps Lilith's nose with her finger.
"Call me Eliza, darling," she says. Lilith giggles and covers her nose.
"Lilith, come play!" Angelica calls. Lilth turns and returns to the floor to Angelica's side. A moment later, Philip prances in, book in hand.
"I'm finished with my work, Ma!" he announces, skipping over to Eliza. She smiles at him and lifts him into her lap.
"Good boy. I'm proud," she says, kissing his forehead. Lilith looks up, eyes bright.
"Hi Philip!" she says. He looks down at her, eyes lighting up even more.
"Hi Lilith!" he responds, equally as enthusiastic as her. He notices that she's playing, and he tilts his head with a pondering frown.
"How do you finish your work so fast?" he asks. She giggles.
"Mama says I'm very smart!" she says pridefully. I smile down at her.
"Yes, mon petit (my little one). You are very smart," I agree. She turns her bright blue eyes on me, grinning at the compliment.
"Merci, Mama!" she says. I wink at her and she giggles, before going back to playing with Angelica. I look over as I hear Philip start whispering to Eliza. My friend smiles and nods at what her son says, helping him out of her lap. She takes his book and he spins around, curls dancing around his cute little face.
"Angie, Lilith, we should play in the garden!" he says, walking up to his sister and my daughter. Lilith looks up at him and starts to nod, before stopping and looking at me.
"Go have fun, ma douce (my sweet)," I say, nodding. She lights up and looks back at Philip, nodding viciously. Angelica nods too, jumping up. Philip holds out his hand to Lilith, and she grins at him and takes his hand. Philip takes Angelica's hand with his free one, and the three run from the room toward the doors to the back garden.
"I have a good feeling about those two," Eliza says, standing up and smoothing her skirt. I follow suit, raising an eyebrow at her as I do.
"Whatever do you mean?" I ask. She grins mischiviously and hooks her arm through mine as we walk after the children.
"If I raise him properly, I think Philip would make an excellent husband for Lilith," she says. I giggle and nod.
"I'm certain so, Liza."
There's a tug on my skirt, and I turn, still holding my newborn baby boy. He was born only a few hours ago, while Lilith was at school. Lilith looks up at me.
"Have I not introduced you to your new brother, mon cher?" I ask. She shakes her head and I grin, walking over to the rocking chair in the corner. Lilith follows me and watches as I settle into the chair. She cautiously moves to my side and looks at the baby in my arms.
"My Lilith, this is your new brother, John Lafayette Derven," I say, smiling at her. She looks up into my eyes and smiles.
"After your friend, Mama?" she asks. I nod and look down at my son again.
"Yes, my dear. After my friend."
I watch Lilith hold onto little John's hand as they walk down the hall. Just as quickly as Lilith had taken John's hand, Philip is joining them, offering his hand to John too. My son looks up at Philip with confusion, and Lilith giggles and crouches a little, pointing at Philip's hand and nodding. John stares at her for a moment before smiling and revealing his toothy grin. He takes Philip's hand and Lilith exchanges a glance with the boy.
"Liza," I whisper, leaning toward her. She looks up as I point, and a grin breaks across the face.
"You were right. Raise him properly, and he'll make a fine husband," I giggle. She giggles too, and soon we're both laughing our asses off. We don't see our children exchange confused glances.
Lilith, twelve - well, actually ten - now, cradles her new brother carefully in her arms.
"What do you think of George, Lilith, darling?" I ask, holding John up on my hip. She looks up at me with a large grin.
"I love him, mother!" she says gleefully. I laugh, looking over as the nursery door opens. Jonathan looks in and smiles.
"Good evening, my dear," I say. He enters the room.
"Good evening, darling," he says, kissing me briefly. John suddenly giggles, and we both look up to see Lilith wrinkling her nose playfully. The two of us laugh and Jonathan moves and picks up George from her arms. She stands up from the rocking chair and I set John down so that the two can play. Jonathan rocks George in his arms, smiling at our sweet baby boy. I adore him. Perhaps it's not the perfect life, but Jonathan has made it bearable.
A small book is held out to me. Well, it looks like a book.
"Have you read this?" the young man asks. I cock an eyebrow and look at the front of it.
Observations on Certain Documents Contained in NO. V & VI
"The History of the United States For the Year 1796"
In Which the Charge of Speculation Against Alexander Hamilton, Late Secretary of the Treasury is Fully Refuted.
Written By Himself.
Alexander wrote this? What charges of speculation?
"I have not. Thank you," I say, taking a pamphlet. Lilith looks up at me, a look of concern matching my own on her face.
"Does this mean we're going to see the Hamilton's?" she asks. I nod, and she loops and arm through mine as I start reading. I'm so entrapped in the words, I don't realize when Lilith gets us into a carriage. Throughout the ride, I grow increasingly angry.
"An affair! The idiot had an affair!" I growl. Lilith jumps are my voice, and I look up at her and soften my look for a moment to give her an apologetic glance. I realize she's been reading over my shoulder, and I look back down at the pamphlet.
"Poor Eliza...Poor Philip. Angie, Alex Jr., and James...They must be so upset," Lilith mutters as I continue to read the pages. Why must the man write so much? It doesn't matter. I've read enough. As the carriage stops, we climb out and I march up to the front door. I pound a fist on it.
"Alexander Hamilton!" I cry angrily. The door opens, but it's Eliza. I immediately drop my anger and step forward to hug her. She accepts my embrace, though I feel that she does not return it fully. I pull away, holding her hands in mine.
"Where is he?" I ask her gently. She scoffs a little, pained smile coming to her face.
"Where else?" she responds. His study. God damn that man! I squeeze her hands and she allows Lilith and myself into the house.
"Where's Philip?" Lilith asks softly. Eliza gives her a small smile and points toward the garden. I watch my daughter go, then release Eliza and storm toward Alexander's office. Without a second thought, I throw open the door, crossing the room in a few seconds. He looks up from his work as the door crashes open, and I slap the pamphlet down in front of him.
"What the hell did you do?" I snap, gazing at him with a hot, angry glare. He looks down at the pamphlet, then back up at me, and swallows. As he opens his mouth, however, I cut him off.
"This by far the most idiotic thing you have ever done, Alexander! You didn't merely have an affair. No, plenty of men in Congress and the Senate are doing that right now. You decided to write about it and publish it! I don't believe anyone had accused you of such a thing, so I'm certain that you had no incentive to make any comment, let alone write an entire goddamn pamphlet!" He stands up, not looking me in the eyes. He stares down at the pamphlet.
"It was an act of political sacrifice," he says, trying to justify himself. That word alone triggers further rage.
"Sacrifice?! You have no idea what sacrifice means! What you have sacrificed, Alexander, is your family's name! Do you have any idea what you have done to your family? Do you have any idea what you have lost?" I scream. He slams his hands on his desk and snaps his eyes up to me.
"You know nothing of loss, Anastasia!" he yells. And from across the desk, I slap him in the face.
"Do not tell me about loss, Alexander! I know more of loss and sacrifice than you will ever know! When I was Lilith's age, I lost a lover. You were there when I lost my mother. We grieved John together-" and I'm too angry to think before I scream the next words, "and you know nothing of what it's like to loss a fucking CHILD!" Angry tears roll down my cheeks, and he immediately steps back. His hand lands on his cheek, where I hit him, and he seems to absorb my words. He takes a step forward again and starts rounding the desk to me.
"Anastasia-"
"No," I take a step back and hold up a hand, "don't touch me." He stops.
"Lilith isn't the same Lilith that John held, is she?" he asks softly. I wipe my eyes, not looking at him.
"Why the fuck would I tell you that? You'd just write a damn pamphlet about it," I snap. He sighs and takes off his glasses, placing them on the desk and running a hand over his face.
"Do you know what saddens me the most?" I ask, glaring across the room at a bookcase. He looks at me. "John would be so disappointed in you." My words are spoken softly, but they're venomous nonetheless. He flinches, and I can't help but find it satisfying.
"You know he was my self control. If he were here I wouldn't have-" I take a step forward and stab a finger into his chest.
"Don't you dare blame his death for your mistakes, Alexander. You did this to yourself," I spit, anger bubbling up again. He squeezes his eyes shut, a pained expression on his face. I scoff, dropping my hand away from his chest and taking a step back.
"Eliza deserves so much better than you," I say, before turning and walking back toward the door.
"You're right." My hand pauses against the door handle, and I look over my shoulder at him.
"Don't attempt to make me pity you, Hamilton. You know very well that I'm not the type," I say. I pull the door behind me as I begin to leave the room.
"I'm disappointed in you, Alexander," are my parting words to him. Then I close the door behind me and walk through the house. I go to the garden, seeing my daughter with arms around her and her arms around Philip. They're leaning on each other, holding on. Her eyes are closed, blissfully unaware. I walk closer, and eventually my footsteps draw her eyes open. She lifts her head from Philip's chest, and Philip sits up too, looking over at me.
"Hello, Miss Anastasia," he says softly, a small smile on his face. Smile slightly at him.
"Hello, Philip," I respond, equally as quietly. He looks at the ground for a moment, before looking back at me.
"Did you yell at my Pops?" he asks. I chuckle a little.
"I did. How could you tell?" I ask. He smiles a little wider.
"We could hear you," he says. I grin softly at him, before sighing.
"Lilith, dear, we should get home to your brothers. I feel awfully terrible for leaving Genevieve with those two for this long," I say, looking at my daughter. I notice that Philip has slightly intertwined their hands on the bench, but I don't mention it to them. Lilith nods, and she squeezes Philip's fingers lightly before she stands up, brushing off her skirt. Philip stands up too, and I put a hand on his shoulder.
"If your family ever needs a place to stay, away from your father, then know that you are always welcome," I say. He nods, and I smile a little more. I step back, and Lilith embraces Philip. They whisper to each other, and I can imagine my daughter is offering comfort to him. She's more empathetic than I am. Eventually, the two part.
"Bye, Pip," she says softly. And as I look at Philip's eyes and his small smile, I realize that he's in love with her. I smile softly as I watch their exchange.
"Bye, Lily," he says, equally as softly. He lifts her hand and kisses the knuckles, before letting it drop. Lilith walks over to me, smiling softly. She has the same look in her eyes. My daughter is in love. She wraps her arm around mine and we walk back to the house. I notice her look back and wave, but I make no comment. If they already love each other, they will have no problem with us wanting them to get married when they are old enough. As we walk through the house, I catch a glimpse of Eliza in the sitting room.
"Juste un instant, chérie (Just a moment, darling)," I mutter, stopping. Lilith follows my gaze and nods, releasing my arm. I walk into the sitting room and sit down next to her. She doesn't look at me, so I place my hand on top of hers.
"It wasn't your fault," I say, hoping to comfort her. A tear rolls down her cheek, and I lift a hand to wipe it from her cheek.
"He doesn't deserve you, Liza," I say softly, squeezing her hand lightly. She's silent, and I sigh, looking across the floor, where pages of the pamphlet are scattered.
"Do you know what would hurt him most?" I ask absently. She looks up at me now.
"I don't want to hurt him," she says. I look at her and smile softly.
"Of course not, Liza, but he deserves it. And it will only hurt him on the emotional level he's hurt you," I say. She turns to face me a bit more.
"He wrote you letters, no?"
"Yes...He did."
"Burn them."
"What?"
"His words are what he is most proud of. They are his passion and his voice. The letters are more meaningful than anything you could ever tell the public about him. Burn them." She sits there for several long moments. Finally, she nods. I hug her tightly, still angry at Alexander for hurting this wonderful woman. My friend. She holds onto me tightly, but she isn't crying. She's just quiet. I hold her until she lets go, and I sit back.
"I have to get back to my sons, but come to me if you need me. You and your children are always welcome if you need to get away," I say. She nods and smiles a little at me, before I give her hands another squeeze and stand up. I walk back to the doorway of the room, before pausing and looking over my shoulder at her.
"You should know," she looks up at me, "I slapped your husband for you." She snorts and a small smile comes to her face.
"Thank you, Anastasia," she says. I smile softly at her.
"Anything for you, Liza."
Lilith smiles, watching little George bounce up and down while holding her hands. He's talking very quickly, and I'm not sure if she understands what he's saying, - I certainly don't - but her smile never falters. Eventually, George slows down and takes a deep breath. Lilith laughs and picks him up, kissing his forehead as she rests him on her hip.
"Lil, I love you," George sighs. She looks down at her brother, looking as if she's going to melt.
"I love you too, Georgie," she says. John walks over, holding a book. He tugs at Lilith's sleeve.
"Lil, what's this word?" he asks, holding up his book and pointing. Lilith looks down at the book, reading the word.
"Scurrilous," she says, looking at John. John tilts his head sideways as he looks up at her.
"What does that mean?" he asks. She hums, bouncing George on her hip. George giggles.
"Scurrilous is purposefully giving someone a bad reputation," Lilith says. John looks back down at the book for a moment before turning to look at me.
"So...Like what Mr. Jefferson wants to do to Mr. Hamilton?" he asks. I nearly spit my tea out, and Jonathan breaks into loud laughter beside me. I choke down my tea and giggle, putting a hand against my chest.
"Yes, John, that's an excellent example of the word," I say, grinning a wide grin. John looks up at Lilith with an admirational smile.
"Thank you, Lil," he says cheerfully. She giggles and reaches down, ruffling his hair. He pulls his head away from her as he laughs, before walking over to a chair and sitting down, going back to his book. There's a knock on the door.
"Oh, it's Eliza and the children!" I say, standing up. Lilith laughs and turns with a graceful swish.
"I'll get the door," she says. I smile and sit back down, watching her leave the room with George still on her hip. I hear the door open.
"Lilith! George! Good evening!" Eliza says chipperly. I hear George giggle.
"Hi Miss Eliza," he says. There's collective laughter in the hallway. I look up as Julius walks into the room, smiling at me.
"Supper is ready, Miss Anastasia," he says. I smile back at him and stand up.
"Thank you, Julius. Is the table set?" I ask. He nods, and Jonathan and John both stand up.
"I will fetch the guests, go on ahead," I say. My husband smiles and kisses my cheek, and I ruffle John's hair as he passes me. He giggles. Julius takes my teacup and I step into the hallway, heading toward the chatter. George has been put down and is now chatting wildly with James Hamilton, the fourth oldest child. He's a year older than George, and they often play together.
"Everyone, supper is ready," I call. Lilith and Hamiltons turn their attention on me, and Lilith looks down at George.
"Come, George. Time for supper," she says, holding out her hand. He grins and takes her hand, and the two of them lead the way down the hall. Angelica and Philip take the hands of their younger siblings and follow behind their mother. I walk beside Eliza, grinning at the baby girl in her arms.
"So, this is baby Eliza?" I ask. She looks at me and smiles, nodding.
"She's beautiful. Just like you," I say, grinning at her. She giggles. We all enter the dining room and settle into chairs. John whines.
"Why do Lilith and George get to sit next to friends and I have to sit next to Lilith?" he asks, looking up at me and Jonathan. I smile slightly at him.
"Because George is next to me so I can watch him, and Philip needs to help with his little brothers," I say. He sighs. Philip chuckles.
"If you want to help watch William, then I'll change seats with you, John," he offers. John pouts and shakes his head, and Lilith and Philip both giggle into their hands. The conversations flow easily throughout dinner, and there's a constant flow of laughter. It's as if the universe has finally given me my happiness back, and I gratefully accept it. This is all I need.
She's pale and sickly. Where is the joyous, excitable girl whom I love so deeply? Where has my Peggy gone? I take her hand, finding her skin clamy. I feel my bottom lip tremble, and she squeezes my hand weakly.
"Don't cry, Ana," she says softly, pale lips curling into a sweet smile. Those three words alone break me.
"You have to stay alive," I say, voice breaking. She just chuckles a little.
"Using my own words against me?" she says. I laugh through the tears.
"Of course. They're what kept me from recklessness during the war," I say. She smiles at me, eyes shining. There she is. My Peggy.
"I can't promise that I'll live," she says softly. I frown, squeezing her hand tighter between mine.
"Peggy, I can't lose you too," I whimper, more tears rolling down my cheeks. She shushes me, still smiling softly.
"You're the strongest person I know. You've lived through tragedy before, this will be no different," she says. I move to sit on the edge of her bed, wanting to be closer to her.
"I have not lost someone whom I love the way I do you," I say softly, reaching on hand up to touch her cheek. She leans into my touch, eyes closing as she smiles.
"I love you, Anastasia," she says. I lean down and kiss her forehead, before lying down beside her.
"I love you too, Peggy, and I won't leave your side until you get better."
I wake to the sound of raspy, strangled breathing beside me. Immediately, I sit up, taking her face in my hands. Her eyes are glazed over, but she's still here. She's still alive.
"Peggy? Peggy, what's wrong?" I ask, panicking. She can't die. I won't be able to live without her. She smiles, but she isn't looking at me. She stares at the thin air behind me and reaches a hand out toward it.
"John," she says. My eyes widen, and I turn, but there's nothing there. I turn my head back and hold her face between my hands.
"Peggy. Peggy, look at me. You have to stay alive," I say, begging. She smiles, staring as if she's looking through me instead of at me.
"He misses you. He's been watching over you. I will too," she says. Tears roll down my cheeks as I shake my head.
"No. No, Peggy, you have to stay with me. Peggy, please," I beg, voice breaking. She sighs with contentment.
"It will be alright. I need to let go," she says, voice growing softer. I sob, holding onto her, begging without words. Stay alive, Peggy. Stay alive!
"I love you, Anastasia," she whispers. She shuts her eyes, and I watch helplessly as her chest stops moving. I freeze, hands trembling.
"No..." I whimper into the air. I choke on a sob and bury my face into her neck, crying. She's gone. My Peggy, my love...She's gone.
Okay. That was hard to write, honestly. Peggy and John were given deaths. That's how they died historically (and in the musical, except Peggy's death wasn't included in the musical). But hurting my small Lilith, even if I inevitably gave her a new one (which is awful, but did happen - Ex: Philip II), was painful. I don't cry writing it, because I'm some sort of demon, but I do feel sad, and I do feel bad about hurting Anastasia this way. Too bad I'm not done.
ALSO! As a bit of a break after I finally finish Chapter 9, I'd like to offer up a little Q&A about historical Anastasia. If you have any questions about this part or part 1, leave them in the comments and I'll answer them. I'll answer them all in a little update after I post part 3. So give me your questions! Anything! So long as they don't ask about a plot point I'm already adding, anything is good. Got a question about if something was a reference? ASK! If I don't get a lot of questions, I'll also add in some extra information about references in Chapter 9. SO GO DO THAT! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and didn't cry too much.
(Who am I kidding? GRIEVE)