What Is A Legacy?

Chapter Twenty-Seven

You know that story where Thomas Jefferson ate a tomato at a dinner party and everyone freaked out because they thought it was poisonous? Well, this is that story, just tweaked to fit this story's plot. Enjoy :)

The gala was to be hosted at the Executive Mansion in New York, which meant it would take Thomas a couple of hours to get there. He would have liked it to at least be in Virginia, as he had settled in well when he arrived home, and was comfortable staying in Monticello. But his estate wasn't prepared to host a party, nor did the President want Thomas to have to worry about his estate being trashed. So he begrudgingly made the few hour-long drive up to New York.

The party was in full swing when he arrived, and he stepped out of the carriage with the driver apologizing profusely for their late arrival. "It's fine." Thomas waved him off. "Don't worry about it."

He was already nervous about the gala, and as he adjusted his sleeve cuff, he was worried about how everyone would react to him after eight months of nothing. He didn't want to be treated with sympathy or pity; it just made him uncomfortable.

But when he stepped through the doors, he was automatically noticed by the closest attendants. A clamour spread through the room as Thomas crossed the threshold, stranger's hands clapping him on the shoulder-- thankfully his uninjured one --or shaking his own. Cheers of, "Welcome home!" and "Good to see you!" echoed in his ears.

Then James Madison was there, clearing a path for him. "Alright, let the man breathe!" he was saying, shooing everyone away from Thomas. "Hasn't even been here for five minutes and you're all like a pack of rabid dogs. Go on, all of you."

The party-goers quickly departed and went their separate ways, echoing apologies. They all seemed happy to see him, but there was also an underlying air of uncertainty when it came to talking to him. They either pitied him, which he hated, or were uncomfortable, which he also hated.

"Well, you're looking better than the last time I saw you," James commented, gesturing to Thomas' black suit. "How are you holding up?"

"I can't decide if I want to leave, or somehow strangle Washington for coming up with this event," Thomas grumbled, forcing a light tone into his words. "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate it, but it wasn't necessary."

James chuckled. "Oh, come, my friend. Once you get to dancing and drinking, you'll feel better. And besides, I think this will do you some good."

He didn't want to disagree with him, but when he stepped into the bright ballroom, he was faintly reminded of the dances back in France, before the war. He forced it out of his head, and looked around at the guests. Through the throngs of people Jefferson caught a glimpse of Washington standing in a corner with Alexander, no less. They both cleaned up nicely, Washington in a simple navy suit and Alexander in a dark green one.

 He wanted to avoid talking with them for as long as he could, because he knew they'd ask how he was doing. And to be honest, he wasn't sure how to answer that question. But then again, everyone was going to ask him that. So his best bet was to stick with James for the time being.

His friend slowly walked him around the room, leading him in small talk and handing him a flute of champagne. Some people shook Jefferson's hand, others nodded politely, and some refused to make eye contact at all. Jefferson was sure Washington hadn't released his statement to the public, only to his cabinet. Then again, word does travel fast.

Then James was pulled aside by a guest, and Thomas found himself on his own. Great, he thought, and downed his champagne in one swallow. He had to give it to Washington for picking good alcohol at his events. Maybe if he drank enough of it he wouldn't notice the sympathetic looks people gave him.