What Is A Legacy?

Chapter Two

It had been a few weeks since the whole Philip/stairs ordeal, and the kid hadn't ventured upstairs since. Either he was wary of the stairs, which was possible, or Eliza had put her foot down, which was also possible. He was hard at work, the letters and shipping details and numbers all flying around in his head. He felt a headache coming on, which is why when someone knocked on his door, he welcomed the distraction. "Come in," he called, pausing in his writing to see who it was.

Eliza was approaching hesitantly, looking uncertain. He gave her a nod in greeting, which she returned with a small smile.

"Mrs. Hamilton. Can I help you with anything?"

"Yes, if you wouldn't mind," she said, clasping her hands in front of her. She seemed hesitant and a little unsure of herself. "I feel like Alexander hasn't seen the sun since we've arrived in Virginia and I've managed to convince him to get away for a few minutes. Would you mind watching Philip while we're gone? It wouldn't be too long."

Thomas was surprised. He, if anyone, was the least qualified person to watch children. He hadn't been around kids in so long, not since he left for France before the war. He didn't expect Alexander to entrust his son with his rival, so he made the assumption that Alexander didn't know what Eliza was proposing.

"Surely there is someone better qualified than I?" he asked.

Eliza nodded. "Yes, probably. But there's no one else around. I'm sorry, I don't mean to push this on you so suddenly."

Thomas shrugged, knowing he couldn't really say no. It would get Alexander off of his back, at least. "It's alright, I don't see what harm it could do. Should I go downstairs, or have Philip come in here?"

Eliza smiled, grateful. "Thank you. I really appreciate it. I'll bring him upstairs so you don't have to bring all your work downstairs."

Thomas nodded. "Alright."

And so that's how Thomas spent the next few minutes warily watching Philip run around and explore his office. He ran over to the iron lion statue Thomas had brought back from his time in France, staring at it thoughtfully before running over to the world map pinned on one of the walls. Thomas alternated between watching the kid and writing, and had just finished signing off on a letter when Philip ran up to him.

"Mr. Jefferson?"

"What's up?"

The boy looked a little shy as he asked, "Do you have a piece of paper I can use?"

"What for?" Thomas leaned back in his chair as he opened a drawer, and Philip shrugged.

"I like to draw. Is that okay?"

Thomas figured the activity would keep the boy occupied and his things undisturbed, so he didn't find a problem with it. "Of course." He handed him a blank sheet of paper, with a pencil. "Go crazy."

"Thanks!" The boy scampered over to the lion statue on the table, laid down on his stomach, and took to trying to copy it down on his paper.

That was basically how the two spent their time together until Eliza came to fetch her son. But before he had left, Philip had shyly pushed the piece of paper across the desk over to Thomas, waved, and left the room with his mother.

Thomas didn't know what to think of this unexpected gift of some sort, but he had to hand it to the boy, he wasn't a bad artist. Sure, there were four wavy lines for the lion's mane, and the eyes were off center, but anybody who looked at it wouldn't have a hard time deciphering what kind of animal it was.

He'd feel guilty if he were to throw it away, or hide it away from plain sight, so he tentatively put the drawing off to the side, pinned down under a paperweight. Then he resumed his work, writing for the next few hours, until Hamilton entered his office.

He looked up at the man's entrance, and raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you have gone home already?" he asked, not bothering to mask his annoyance, and Alexander rolled his eyes.

"I just came to collect your letters before I left for the evening. And you're one to talk about going home." He tapped the oil lamp on Thomas' desk, making the flame dance on the wick. "You're usually gone before I am."

"Well, your supervision has kept me busy." Thomas gestured pointedly to the letters. "Or should I say, your self-appointed supervision over my work. As if I don't have you constantly breathing down my neck already."

Hamilton shook his head in annoyance. "I'm not here to argue, Jefferson. It's been a long day." He held out his hand for the papers.

"And I take it you didn't come up here for small talk, either." Thomas handed the letters over to the man. "Mind you, I won't be able to continue those letters until Congress writes back. So don't come to me tomorrow griping about my not writing. I'm sure you have better things to do."

"As a matter of fact, I do," Alexander retorted, taking the letters. "Washington's planning to take a trip up to Pennsylvania in a few week's time, and he's asked me to come along with him."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. He was used to his rival's bragging, but it irritated him more than it should've. "Do you expect me to congratulate you?"

"I just needed the letters, Jefferson, not another banter session." He turned to leave the room, but was stopped when something caught his eye. With two fingers, he moved Philip's drawing out from under the paperweight. "Who did this?"

"Your son." Thomas used his quill to point to the lion statue across the room. "He tried to copy that."

"And he did a fine job at that, if I may say," Hamilton said, eyeing Thomas as if he expected the man to disagree with him. "He drew it for you?" he asked, and Thomas replied with a nod.

Alexander sniffed, examining the drawing again with what seemed like a little less pride, probably due to the fact the drawing was intended for Thomas. He cleared his throat and stepped away from the desk. "Well, then, I'm off. Goodnight." With a polite nod, Alexander left the room. That seemed to be the only courteous exchange the two had had lately. Weird. 

Thomas stood to his feet shortly after Alexander had left, grabbing his coat and bag stuffed with more letters. He moved to put out the lamp, but the drawing once again caught his eye. He was reminded of the expression that had flashed across Hamilton's face when he realized who'd drawn it, and for whom. Something close to jealousy and annoyance. It made Thomas grin.

So he picked it up and pinned it under Africa on the map, where anyone could see it. It was most definitely petty, and probably a little immature, but he didn't really care. But a few days later, when Philip came into his office and saw his picture hanging on the wall, he beamed at seeing his picture displayed for all to see.

That spawned the beginning of many such pictures, so many that Thomas had to dedicate a separate folder for them. But he didn't really mind, he liked the pictures he received, mainly because it made Hamilton mad, but also because Philip was so excited to draw them for him. The kid, he came to realize, wasn't so bad.