What Is A Legacy?

Chapter Twenty-Nine

 The days following the Reynolds Pamphlet were chaotic, as Thomas expected. Not so much the government, as the public. They ate up every page of that damned pamphlet, front and back, word for word. It seemed to be all anyone could talk about. And to be fair, it was the first ever sex scandal in America, one in politics nonetheless.

Thomas had once wished to be in Hamilton's shoes. And now, as he watched the public descend into gossiping chaos, he found himself taking that back. He didn't want to know what was happening in the Hamilton house now, what was being shouted and cried. He tried to live normally, a life where there weren't talks of a sex scandal circulating through the streets and everywhere he went. But that was unavoidable, as every time he'd try to have a normal conversation with someone, the subject would change to Hamilton's recent downfall.

He should have been happy, victorious, over his rival's self-destruction. But now he just felt pity for the man. For his family. He caught wind of Angelica coming to Virginia to stay with her sister and offer her support. But other than that, he didn't see one member of the Hamilton family for weeks after the pamphlet was published.

But that changed when one afternoon, when Thomas was sitting in his home study, and he heard a knock on the door. He made no move to go get it; he knew one of the maids would answer the door. But he did look up at the sound of a familiar voice.

"Is Mr. Jefferson here?"

Thomas walked out of his study and into the hallway, where he had a clear view of the parlor. Philip was standing there, talking with a maid. He was anxious, he could tell from the way he held himself, how his hands clenched and unclenched, how he was pleading with Cassandra.

"I just need to talk to him, that's it," he was saying.

The head maid shook her head. "I'm sorry, but-"

"Philip?" Thomas spoke up, and the boy turned his head. The maid turned too. "What are you doing here? Mind you, you're welcome. But I would have thought your father took you and your mother back to New York."

Philip stepped away from the maid and over to him. "It doesn't matter. Everywhere we go, we're the laughingstock of the town."

Jefferson put a hand on his shoulder and led him into his study. "Let's talk in here."

Philip sat down heavily in one of the chairs in front of Jefferson's desk, Thomas taking the one next to him.

"We can't go anywhere anymore," Philip continued. "Our name is ruined. Pa might have cleared his name in politics, but he's ruined our public one. And my mother-" Philip's voice caught, his hand balled into fists. "-my mother is heartbroken. She can't look at him anymore, I think she's afraid of what she might do if she does." He laughed harshly. "She made him sleep in his office that night. I'm sure she wanted to throw him out, but she couldn't bring herself to do so. It's been almost two weeks now, and he still sleeps on the couch. She's angry, yes, but also so incredibly sad."

His hands shook, and Thomas reached out and put a hand on his upper arm. "And your aunt? Isn't she staying in the city?"

Philip scoffed. "She won't stay in the same room as Pa, let alone sleep in the same house as him. She got a hotel room close by and comes by everyday. She'll only speak to us kids or Ma." He sighed. "I've just never seen my family so angry before."

"And what about you?" Thomas asked. "How are you holding up?"

Philip gave a sharp inhale, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees. "What do you think?" He ran his fingers through his thick curls in desperation.

Thomas rolled a pen between his fingers. "I have to ask. He's your father, I'm sure this isn't easy."

 "Of course it's not." The boy stood to his feet roughly, pushing the chair back. He paced to the other side of the room, to the map with the pin labeled Africa, and the picture that still hung there, the one that Philip himself had drawn all those years ago. He ran his fingers over it lightly.