Alexandra Hamilton

Take A Break

Alexandra's POV

Getting this plan through to Congress is going to be difficult; the most challenging thing I've had to do in my career so far. I've spent more time than usual writing essays and letters, trying to get the right people on my side. On several nights I've fallen asleep at my desk. I have few ways to escape the stress of my position, one of which is teaching Philip to play piano. Well, Elijah teaches him to play piano and I simultaneously help him practice his French.

"Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf..."

"Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf..." Philip repeats after me.

"Good." I praise him. "Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf..."

"Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf..." He sings with me while Elijah guides his fingers to the correct keys on the piano.

"Sept, huit, neuf..."

"Sept, huit, neuf..." Philip's timing is slightly off.

"Sept, huit, neuf..."

"Sept, huit, neuf..." He continues to sing in the incorrect time, not taking the lesson too seriously. It's frustrating, but at least he knows his French and Elijah doesn't seem too bothered by his lack of interest.

He finally gets the notes right and the sound of our three voices together singing, "One, two three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine..." is music to my ears.

Another thing that helps me cope with the stress is writing to Angelica. With the sound of my husband and son at the piano in the distance, I scribble,

My dearest, Angelica

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day. I trust you'll understand the reference to another Scottish tragedy without my having to name the play. They think me M*cbeth. Ambition is my folly. I'm a polymath, a pain in the ass; a massive pain. Madison is Banquo, Jefferson's Macduff, and Birnam Wood is Congress on its way to Dunsinane. And there you are, an ocean away. Do you have to live an ocean away? Thoughts of you subside, then I get another letter and I cannot put the notion away.

I've missed Angelica dearly. There's always been some sort of connection between us that I can't quite understand. It's similar to what I felt for Joan. Dammit, now I'm missing two people.

I seal the letter in an envelope and put it aside and open my journal. I'll mail it later. Elijah walks into my study, not bothering to knock. "Take a break." He says.

Not looking up from my journal, I tell him, "I am on my way." We both know that's a lie and that I'll be working for a while.

"There's a little surprise before supper and it cannot wait."

"I'll be there in just a minute. Save my plate." Another lie. But Elijah's not having it today.

"Alexandra," his tone conveys annoyance.

"Okay, okay." I get up from my seat. I'm not in the mood for arguing.

"Your son is nine years old today." As if I didn't remember. "He has something he'd like to say. He's been practicing all day." In the drawing room, Philip is seated at the piano, waiting. "Philip, take it away."

Philip quickly stands. "Mommy! Mommy! Look!" He takes a deep breath and begins to recite a poem. "My name is Philip, I am a poet. I wrote this poem just to show it. And I just turned nine. You can write rhymes, but you can't write mine."

"What!?" I gasp.

Philip averts his gaze from his shoes to meet my eyes. He stifles a smile as he continues. "I practice French and play piano with my mother."