Shattered Realities- Historical Hamilton

Chapter One: 07.05.1795

*I wouldn't usually use this disgusting date format(mm/dd/yyyy), but this story's set in America so I'll have to sacrifice my dignity, also Jefferson is much older than the picture above

"From 1793. to 1797. I remained closely at home, saw none but those who came there, and at length became very sensible of the ill effect it had upon my own mind [...] I felt enough of the effect of withdrawing from the world then, to see that it led to an antisocial and misanthropic state of mind,"- Thomas Jefferson, 1802(?)

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Dear (XX)Martha

We have had no letter from you since your arrival at the Warmsprings, but are told you are gone on to the sweet springs. Not knowing how to write to you by post, I take the opportunity of sending this by Dr. Currie. Our own family is all well; the children remarkeably so. But the house has been a mere hospital of sick friends. Mrs. Bolling and Polly, and their servants sick. So also Mrs. Marks. Several others on their way to the springs; so that every corner of every room has been occupied. J. Eppes has been for some time gone to Champe Carter's and that neighborhood with P. Carr. Mrs. Dunbar is just gone there also. Our weather has been very seasonable. But I hear an unfavorable account of a field of corn of Mr. Randolph's on the road, as being yellow and ill-looking, supposed to be too thick planted. We are very anxious to hear what effect the springs have on his health. My best esteem to him. Adieu. Yours affectionately,

Th: Jefferson

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Jefferson has not received a reply as of yet. T'has been over a month.

Perhaps t'was nothing of substance to mull over- after all, Patsy is indeed prone to write letters at her own convenience, and Mr Randolph requires her attention as of this moment- but, on this day, melancholy never fails to permeate his mind. Mr Jefferson knew that she would not appreciate his fussing, but no matter what he found himself doing, his thoughts always return to her.

Tarquin huffs under him, and Jefferson decides to not ponder on it now, especially on such a pleasant evening. Sun rays still flicker through the onto the forest floor, onto the moss and a stray patch of chanterelles, creating a most serene picture. Though he rides through here every day, it never fails to take his breath away.

The magnificent giants of this world loom over him, covering him under their vibrant branches. The wind blows, and red maple leaves flutter down, twisting this way and that way in their lazy descent. Echoes of lazy autumns at Tuckahoe, of how the other Thomas and Mary took pleasure in ambushing him and clueless Bet with handfuls of leaves, make a nostalgic smile bloom upon his face.

The world was so vibrant then. Nothing mattered, other than his attempts to escape the constant chittering and jeering of the older children. But now, surrounded by the wilderness of his beloved Monticello, he can't help but wish he could share it with someone.

But alas, Polly is in Philadelphia and Patsy has to care for her husband, who- no matter how he wishes to deny it- is not faring well, both in body and in mind. The last time he had met Mr Randolph, he was erratic, prone to sudden fits of rage and a sickly pale in his complexion. Were he not her husband, Jefferson would have met him outside for how he treated his daughter, but he knew what ailments can take control of a mind.

And so, Jefferson knows she has to be with him, to take care of him- in sickness and in health, he reminds himself bitterly. And that is exactly why she had given Jefferson her children to take care of while she travels God-knows-where with Mr Randolph, trying to find a cure for his sickening health- instead of Monticello, where she should be.