The Right Hand Of The Father

chapter 23

He tried to not look to his left as he came down the stairs and turned toward the kitchens. Would not look into the other man's office. He could see him in there. The door cracked open just the slightest bit.

Maisre sniffed toward the door and took a step toward it before she realized that Alexander wasn't going that way and hurried to follow at his heels.

He was starting to suspect that the other man was keeping some sort of dog treat inside his office so that he could steal Alexander's dog.

Which was ridiculous because he knew the other man hated dogs inside the house. Hated them. Didn't even keep hunting dogs. But he was stealing Alexander's puppy. Tempting her with bones and bits of meat. Letting her sleep in front of his fireplace. Scratching her ears.

Why could he just leave them alone? Let him and Maisre go on to New York? Or if not that at least send him back to St. Croix until the winter was over?

Why was he torturing him like this? Making him hurt?

He didn't want Alexander. He'd made it clear enough that he was disgusted by him. That he thought Alexander was worthless. Just a slut that would run from one bed to the next. That he was nothing but a slave. A kept boy. A whore.

He'd backhanded him like he was a mouthy tavern wench. A whore.

He begged him to stay. To call him Father and then he'd slapped him like a whore. A piece of property. 

That's what he'd been to him. His father. George.

His heart thudded as he thought the other man's given name. He couldn't call him Father. His mind wouldn't let the word form on his tongue. And Sir sounded ridiculous in his own head. He wouldn't call him Master. And Daddy?
Oh just thinking the word Daddy was like swallowing a thousand fishing hooks and letting them snag in his belly. Like being beaten with an overseers whip inside his skin instead of across his back.

He couldn't do it. Wouldn't.

So in his mind he'd started calling him George.

A regular name for a regular man. A name a father would have. My father, George. Not General Washington. Not Mister Washington. Meet my father George. He claims to hate dogs but always spoils mine with little bits of meat from his own plate. He snores but would never admit it. Meet George he has a secret interest in model boats inside bottles and wears ratty house slippers he should have gotten rid of years ago but instead he claims they're comfortable and finally broken in.

His father. George Washington.

And he was. Cato had brought the messenger to Alexander first. He wasn't surprised. There had been a shift in the loyalties of the household since they'd returned from New Orleans.

Mister Washington had always been a good master. One who didn't abuse the people in his household. He'd never stricken a slave. Never taken a whip to one or a crop. Never struck one across the face. He was a gentleman. He did not commit violence on those who could not strike back. He was a man of honor after all.

Then he'd hit Alexander.

And that was it. He'd hit Alexander and now his slaves all knew their place. Knew the place of any person who crossed him. Knew that a slap was not something they were protected from. And if they weren't protected from a slap? There were hundreds of horrors they could no longer dismiss.

So the house's loyalties had shifted. They were Alexander's people now and when the messenger arrived Cato had brought him to Alexander first. They'd peeled the seal free and he'd read the letter that had been sent to George. The notice of his birth. His mother's indenture papers. All of it. There was no doubt he was George's son. It was all right there. George Washington was his father.

He was in love with his father.

He reached the kitchen and hurried out the back door, Maisre on his heels, snagging the bagged lunch that Sadie had made for him, and not talking to either woman. He knew they'd understand. He wasn't in the mood to talk much anymore. Didn't know what to say.

He knew they didn't judge him. Would never think to judge him. It wasn't like he'd knowingly committed a sin by having sex with George. Hell, Cato and Billy Lee had encouraged him to climb into the other man's bed.

He made his way across the kitchen yard and toward the main road. Yesterday he'd walked almost all the way to the city limits before he'd turned and came back. He'd had to carry Maisre on the second half of the return journey because she'd decided she was too tired to go on. Today he'd walk less. Go north instead of south and cut across the fields. He had a book in his coat pocket and they'd find a tree and he'd spend his day reading.

Try to sleep.

He could no longer do that in the house he'd found. Sleep eluded him. And when he did sleep he always dreamed himself back into George's bed. Found himself relieving the feel of the other man's lips on his skin. The smell of him.

He hoped it was only because somewhere inside his brain he knew that George was just down the hall. Sleeping in their bed. Snoring into his pillow. He'd think about how George was a sound sleeper and Alexander could sneak in and slip into bed while George was asleep and then slip out again before the other man woke. He'd be able to sleep then. Be able to rest.

Instead he stayed up. Sneaked down to the library and read. Paced. Thought his way through arguments and justifications on why they should just be together. Why the fact that they loved each other was more important than their shared bloodline.
He'd look at his left hand and the ring he hadn't been able to make himself take off. It was stupid to keep it. It was a symbol of something they no longer had. Something George would no longer allow them to have. Something that had been ripped from them.

He was George Washington's son and nothing else would ever matter now.

His only hope was that when George left for New Orleans and the season he would finally be alone in the house. Finally allowed to simply wallow in his grief until the winter passed and his sentence, trapping him here in the Louisiana Territory, was finally done. He'd stay here at Derniere until spring and when his father returned from the Season in New Orleans Alexander would demand his manumission papers and a letter of recommendation to help him find employment. He'd go into town and sell his ring back to Revere for his travel costs. Perhaps George would insist on him taking some funds but if he didn't then Alexander would be fine on his own. He'd survived before George had come into his life and he would survive after.

By the time the season was over he would be stronger. He would no longer want to drop to his knees and beg George to love him again. He would be stronger. He would be ready to be alone. To put his past and George behind him and look to the future.
After three months separation he would be ready to let go.

He just had to stay strong for the next ten days until his father left Derniere for New Orleans. He would stay strong and then, once George was gone, he would finally be able to sleep. Finally able to heal. Finally able to convince himself that he was no longer in love with the other man.