What Is A Legacy?

Chapter Nine

Thomas stood at a railing, leaning against it and looking down at the loading docks below him. Aside from the occasional carriage wheels bumping over the cobblestone roads behind him, it was quiet, and a cool morning breeze stirred his hair. His carriage driver had taken his luggage down to the workers, leaving him alone with his thoughts before he was called to depart.

It still all felt surreal.

When Thomas had seen his bags packed and set down by the doors, he'd felt nervous all over again. When he told Madison he was planning to head for France, his friend had only smiled, held out his arm in support, and Thomas had clasped it gratefully.

And then he had to tell Philip. And Eliza. No doubt Washington had already informed Congress, including Hamilton, of Thomas preparing to travel to France. That meant word got around quickly, and Washington had directed all of Thomas' work to Hamilton and other cabinet members. Thomas wasn't sorry, maybe this was retribution for all the work he had to do for Hamilton while he was away with Washington on business trips.

The two of them barely spoke, not after the dispute they'd had at the cabinet meeting nearly a month ago. And Thomas was fine with that, it meant less stress for him as he prepared to travel. He spent the past few days keeping himself busy by packing and gathering information needed to get anywhere with France.

He'd previously looked at the trip as nothing more than a business trip, a way to prevent further tension between the two countries. But he realized one night, lying in bed, that he could use this opportunity to finally lay his grief to rest, with his family. It hurt like hell, and he had himself convinced that it was just a way to let go of what he had loved, a way of forgetting those years before the war.

But when packing, he'd come across an old photograph of Martha. It was faded, and through the glass, he could see a corner had been torn off. And for the first time in what seemed to be many years, the grief that had been so familiar to him didn't surface, at least, not as violently as it usually did. Thomas didn't put it back where he found it, or put it aside out of his mind, but put it on a shelf in his bedroom.

He hadn't found a picture of his children; he didn't want to go looking for them. And Thomas felt a pang of guilt, feeling that it made him a terrible person. He knew he wasn't, but he hadn't learned to deal with their deaths. At least, not yet. His son had died before he could be given a name, and Lucy and Jane had passed before they were even three. And before he could even learn to process the grief, Martha had died, too.

It took him a long time to process their deaths, and even now he felt like he hadn't gotten over them. But then again, how were you supposed to get over that? You couldn't. He'd previously looked at France as a chore, just another part of his job. But now, especially after what had happened at the cabinet meeting, he saw it as yet another escape. Although this time he wasn't running from grief. More like running from Hamilton, trying to avoid possibly killing the man.

Now standing at the docks, he tried to clear his mind. He'd have plenty of time to think on the four, five-day journey overseas.

"Mr. Thomas!"

Philip was tearing through the small crowd, ducking under and between arms and legs and horses. He stumbled to a halt in front of Thomas, smiling widely up at him. Thomas returned the smile, mussing the boy's hair and making the thick black curls bounce. "Good to see you, kid. Is your mother around or are you stirring up trouble on your own?"

"She's coming!" he said, pointing across the street at Eliza, who was tying her horse to a post. She flashed an apologetic look to Thomas, who waved.

"Mr. Thomas, where are you going?" Philip asked. He craned his neck to look at the ship that would transport Jefferson. He was fortunate enough to be given one of George's fastest boats, one that was smaller and private.