What Is A Legacy?

Chapter Sixteen

The day Lafayette hurried into Thomas's cell was the most nerve-wracking, exciting day of his life. He'd been painstakingly waiting for any sort of response, and today that was here.

"I've kept the letter from your President," Lafayette said. "I don't want such delicate information here. It's not safe. But he promises aid soon. Hopefully as soon as two months, once he can scrounge up the troops and funds."

Thomas smiled. "Glad to hear it."

"Me too, monsieur. France, from what I've heard from my spies on the inside, have asked for money in exchange for you. I'm not sure the amount, but it must be reasonable since they are willing to trade you for it. I don't believe they want you here forever. But enough of that. The letter I'm sure you've been hoping for is here." Into his hands he pressed a creased, torn envelope. "The condition of it is not great, but it's better than nothing."

Thomas clasped his friend on the shoulder. "It's everything. Thank you, friend."

He forced himself to wait for Lafayette to leave and the doors to close before tearing open the letter and devouring it like a starving man would a platter of food. Isabelle and Byron watched closely.

Thomas,

I cannot put into words the fear I feel for you, at your condition and circumstance. Philip knows nothing, still under the impression that you are safe and well, and not as it is truly. Washington is fighting for you, and as strange as it may sound, so is Alexander. I think he misses someone to argue with. Whatever the reason, I'm glad he is. If anyone can bring you home, it is George and Alex.

I pray that you will come home, that one day I will hear your voice, see you sweep through the foyer to catch Philip. Please come home, Thomas. I'm not sure what we'd do if we lost you. Please stay safe, and protect yourself.

You have so many people in your corner all the way across the sea, and I count the days when I get the letter that says you're coming home.

Thank you for trusting me with this information, and I pray that Lafayette will be wise and careful. I can't wait to see you again.

Your friend,

Eliza

It felt like Thomas had been holding his breath all these weeks, and now that Eliza's response was in his hands, he let it out and relaxed. He knew she would be sick out of her mind once he received her letter, and as much as he wanted to write back immediately, his headaches were bad today. The sunlight hurt his eyes horribly, and the throbbing in his head was intense. He had barely moved around that day, but somehow, Eliza's letter helped the pain.

As it was gradually getting warmer, cold compresses weren't much help anymore. And as his concussion went on untreated, he was starting to feel the toll it had on him. Headaches forced him to retire to his cot early, and the usual bouts of nausea would leave him curled up in a ball willing himself to not throw up.

He was not one for a lot of facial hair, but as time went on, both his hair and beard grew significantly. Isabelle fashioned little strips for him to pull his hair back with, which helped especially with the heat.

One day, a few weeks after he'd sent another letter to Washington, Thomas was immersed in composing a letter to Eliza, one about his day and what he noticed about France. He wanted to send her somewhat normal letters to try and soothe her worries, to make it seem like things weren't as crazy as they actually were. He also wrote to Philip, making it seem like he wasn't holed up in a cell in France.