Mr Jefferson is Coming Home (Jamilton)

Chapter 6

Summer evenings were hot and quiet, people wandered around the streets and in the parks, trying to enjoy the last moments of light before the night fell. The sticky summer air carried the sugary smell of the flowers and the delicious scent of food that came from the open windows, attracting the poor dirty children who lived on the street like bees on a rose. Some young couples, closely observed by their chaperons, walked slowly, arm in arm, whispering their vows in the wind and beaming happily. From a bench in the sunny side on the street, someone couldn't stop coughing and a little group of people crossed the road to avoid passing by the man, who seemed terribly sick.

"Jeez, James, you're scaring people," Thomas groaned in disbelief. "For the ten thousandth time, I beg you to call a doctor or I'll send mine to your door before tomorrow!"

After another fit of coughs, the second man finally caught his breath and managed to respond to his friend.

"It's just a cold, Thomas. I'll completely recover in time for Friday's meeting, don't worry about me." James smiled kindly to his friend. They had known each other for a long time, and Thomas had always been apprehensive about his health, acting almost like an elder brother.

"I don't care about the meeting, James, I'd rather prefer you to rest a bit. These last weeks have been unbearable," Thomas sighed, thinking about all the meetings he had attended and the load of work that was still waiting him at home. "Let's walk a bit, come on, it's starting to get dark anyway."

"Mhm," James hummed in agreement and painfully stood up, following Thomas along the cobblestone streets of the park.

The two friends walked quietly for several minutes, looking at the people who were hurrying home before the sunset. They were their citizens, the ones for whom they were putting all their efforts in their work. Both Thomas and James were proud of fighting for democracy, they would always defend the rights of the people, standing against those bloody filo-monarchic Federalists. Thomas felt a fit of guilt for the agreement they were probably going to sign – stupid Alexander Hamilton, he didn't give a shit about Virginia or all the other Southern States. Thomas tensed and James noticed at once.

"Are you thinking about Hamilton again?" he asked.

Thomas looked funnily at him, pretending to be deeply offended by the question, and then chuckled.

"Of course I'm thinking about him. We have to gain some benefit for the South, but I still don't know how to further our cause."

"I was thinking," James said very slowly, "about the new capital."

Thomas stayed silent for a while. That would actually be the perfect way to take some power away from the North. He was deeply lost in his thoughts for some minutes, and then he nodded. Yes, that could work.

"I suggest the Potomac, what do you think?" he winked at James, who was already considering all the best ways to gain the votes – even if, he thought, the capital city in exchange for Hamilton's banks still seemed too little a victory.

"What about lowering tax obligations for Virginia?" he added then.

Thomas's eyes lit up. "Have I ever told you that I love you?" was his response to James's last proposal.

They were still discussing their countermove – Thomas emphasizing his words by gesturing widely with his walking stick – when suddenly a man appeared out of nowhere right before them; he was walking very fast as if he was running away from something, casting worried looks behind his shoulders. He cut in front of them and ruinously clashed against James, who didn't have the time to remove himself from the man's way. They both fell down on the street; James started coughing violently because of the crash, while the man immediately jumped up again, muttered his apologies to them and literally fled. Thomas looked alarmed at the man who was already some feet away, still anxiously glancing at them. He had long ruffled brown hair, which had probably gotten messy because of all that running, bright green eyes, and a crooked yet pretty nose. A thin, pinkish scar decorated his face, cutting all the length of his right cheek. He was wearing dark washed out farmer clothes that strongly smelled of tobacco. Thomas had noticed the stinging smell at once, he hated it.

Jefferson knelt next to James, holding his head until the coughing passed, and then helped his friend to get up. James thanked him like seven times, and then turned to look at the man, who wasn't in sight anymore.

"Who the eff was that madman?" he sputtered, while still trying to recover from the shock.

"I have no idea," Thomas's eyes inspected the path from which the man had arrived, "isn't this the street that leads to Hamilton's house?"

"Yes... No, wait, that's the street but then you have to turn left, I think."

"Mhm," he nodded uncertainly – could that man be a robber or something like that? He didn't look like one. His clothes were poor but clean and neat, and he wasn't carrying anything of value with him. Moreover, he seemed more frightened than frightening... maybe it was the other way round and Hamilton had scared him – probably just talking non-stop with that big mouth of his. Anyway, the thought had probably popped in his head only because they'd been talking about him.

"Never mind, let's just go home" Thomas decided.

Half coughing, half chatting, the two friend headed uptown. The orange twilit sky was starting to fade into a deep blue shade and in the main streets of New York people were lighting up their outer oil lamps – they would lighten the darkness of the city for a couple more hours. A refreshing breath finally started to descend upon the city, cooling the air and wetting the leaves with dew.

Alexander Hamilton was pacing the length of his porch, looking at the dim city lights with a heavy heart. He breathed hard and ran his fingers through his hair – oh God, what had he done?

***

The following day Thomas received a note from James Madison, informing him that he was sick again. A severe fever and frequent headaches were just two of the symptoms that, only three days later, would be diagnosed as malaria. The meeting was postponed and Thomas spent the following days sitting in James's hallway – worrying and dozing while waiting for the doctor's reassurance. Eventually, on the fifth day of agony, the doctor exited James room smiling and Thomas was able to breathe freely at last. Now that the worst was over, James's sister convinced him to go home and get some rest and he weakly let her guide him to the front door.

It was another sunny day. Thomas took a few breaths of fresh air, unsuccessfully trying to wake up a bit, and started to walk towards his own house, longing for his bed. There were few people in the street – the sound of their chattering slowly joined the noise of the carriages and horses, fading in a buzzing background noise that lulled Thomas, who was only half aware of the bright sun heating his skin, making him even more relaxed and sleepy.

"Oomph!" A muffled sound came from somewhere in front of him.

He'd clashed on something short and soft and, after a brief moment, that something promptly started to protest loudly.

An angry voice snapped at him. "Oh my God, Jefferson, are you fucking blind?!"

Thomas blinked a couple of times and the world slowly came into focus again. Was that Hamilton? The poor man was so sleep deprived that he needed several seconds to be sure that he was not dreaming, nor having hallucinations. Meanwhile, Alexander witnessed Jefferson's confused reaction and narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"Are you drunk?" He leaned over to sniff him and then covered his nose, holding his breath in a theatrical way. "You. Fucking. Smell. Did you wash at all?"

"I've been at Madison's," Thomas managed to mumble – god, his back hurt so much. "Sleepy. Go away," and waved his hand as if to send Alexander away with his willpower alone.

Alexander let out a growl of frustration and grabbed Jefferson by his waistcoat; he then placed his own arm around the taller man's back and helped him walk in a straight line. He could sense that Jefferson was going to fall asleep by any moment because he didn't complain and gently leaned on his side, letting him support part of his body weight. Fortunately, the prick's house was not so far and, after only ten minutes, Alexander was knocking at Jefferson's door. The maid got really distressed when she opened the door and saw her master in those pitiful conditions. She let Hamilton escort him to the bedroom and then fussed around Jefferson as if he was dying. Alexander rolled his eyes and left the room unnoticed, stopping by the library before going away – Machiavelli's Il Principe safely in his pocket.