The Venom in my Veins

by history_punk101

Summary:

In another world, this never would've happened.

A tavern keeper never would've risen so high. A bastard orphan, son of a whore, never would've held so much power. A preacher never would've taken up arms...and invisible ink. A son of South Carolina never would've died how he did.

Come along and read about a very different version of the founding of America. The world will never be the same, since, after all, this isn't our world.

1774- Benjamin Tallmadge is a new minister freshly arrived at his new post in Albany, a city teeming with rebellion and overwhelmed by some interesting characters.

1777- John Laurens entered Washington's headquarters to accept his position as an aide-de-camp. He finds himself drawn into a complicated web of lies, intrigue, and even murder, all before the new country was even born.

1779- Alexander Hamilton gets quite the rude surprise while at camp, a surprise that he must learn to deal with as the betrayal of an up-and-coming general comes to light.

Updates every Friday

Chapter 1: Arrival

Summary:

ar·ri·val
/əˈrīvəl/
noun
the action or process of arriving.

Notes:

Hey everyone! Future History Punk here- if you're reading this for the Lams romance (Hamilton/Laurens), go ahead and skip to chapter 15!

You can of course read the Halemadge romance, but its not super essential to the plot. You'll still understand the fic!

Part 1: Benjamin Tallmadge, 1774

---

I was twenty years old when I first stepped foot in the city of Albany, New York, a recent graduate of Yale college. Back then, the entire United States was under the control of His Majesty, King George the Third, and like all residing in its boundaries, I was a subject of the crown. Though, that would not remain the case for long.

I had been sent to Albany in order to act as the minister of the church. As one might assume, I was quite young for a minister, though I was thoroughly qualified. After I first entered the city, I followed my instructions to make my way over to the church I was to lead, which led to one of the most important chance encounters of my life. As I was passing by one of Albany’s numerous taverns, I locked eyes with a man roughly my age who was unloading a cart full of casks of spirits. He was taller than me, with dark hair that was pulled back in a queue, and gray eyes that seemed to be alight with energy. For some reason I will never understand, he smiled at me when we first met, and I smiled back. Then, he put down the cask of ale he had been unloading and walked over to me.

“Nathan Hale. My family owns the tavern over there.” He said, extending his hand and nodding towards a building with a sign that proclaimed it the Hudson Tavern .

I took it and replied: “Benjamin Tallmadge. I’m to be the new minister.”

“Oh God!” He laughed, “The last thing this town needs is another preacher!”

When he could tell that I did not appreciate his remark, he quickly added:

“You ought to stop by soon, I will even give you a drink on the house, Mr. Minister.”

“I will.” I told him, he seemed friendly enough, if a bit rash.

A man yelled at him to get back over there and help him, and Nathan Hale gave me a half bow, before returning to his task. It would not be the last time we met. 

After our encounter, I continued on my way towards my church, where I was greeted by the former minister, and his wife who seemed all too eager to get out of the city. While the minister’s wife waited outside in a wagon with all of their possessions, the minister hurriedly showed me around the church, a small but tidy building, and the small home I would occupy. As soon as he dropped the keys to the church in my hand, the minister wished me good luck and then promptly left the city as fast as humanly possible. At the time I didn’t know why he was so glad to be leaving Albany, but I would soon learn.

Standing in the main room of my new home, I sat the satchel that contained my meager possessions down on the table and began to scan my surroundings. The house provided for the minister was only three rooms: a bedroom with a sturdy bed and a washstand in the corner, the room I was currently standing in that had a large fireplace, table and chairs, and a hard backed chair, and a small kitchen that seemed to at some point been ravished by a fire given the scorch marks of the brick surrounding the fireplace which contained a single sad pot, and the lingering smell of smoke.

I organized my pitiful belongings in the chest of drawers in the bedroom, in which I discovered a threadbare quilt that I placed on the bed. By the time I was done unpacking, my stomach was growling from hunger, and I remembered Hale’s invitation. The tavern wasn’t too far from my new home, so I threw on a coat, grabbed my only few coins, and headed over there. The Hudson Tavern was fairly empty when I stepped in, there were only a few patrons at one of the tables, and Nathan Hale was talking to a woman a great deal shorter than him with her hand on her hips. I sat down at a table, and pulled out the book I’d brought to read.

“So you did decide to come!” Hale said, standing next to my table and grinning down at me, while he polished a pewter tankard with a dirty rag. For some reason my cheeks began to grow hot and I suddenly became very conscious of the fact that I was still wearing my dirty traveling clothes, while the thought that Hale was very handsome bounced around my empty head. He grinned, a very handsome and friendly grin that put me at ease for reasons I could not fully understand.

“Y-yes.” I stammered, oh god, why was I nervous, “I am starving.”

“Well, then, I supposed I might be able to help with that!” Hale laughed, his grey eyes shining. He turned on his heel and exited the main room of the tavern, which made my heart fall a bit. However, he returned a moment later holding a plate with a generous slice of meat pie and two tankards of ale. He placed the plate and one tankard of ale in front of me, and sat down opposite from me with the other. As I demolished the pie, he talked to me, rambling on about everything from how the tavern was run, to the last minister in Albany who Hale’d made leave the city in such a hurry that some people were only just realizing he was gone.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the last bit of information, and Hale looked at me, his grey eyes sparkling with merriment as a wicked grin lit up his face.

“How in god's name Hale, did you manage to run a minister and his whole family out of Albany?” I laughed, taking yet another swig of ale. During the duration of our conversation, I’d become quite drunk, and evidently Hale was too.

“First off, my name’s Nathan, there’s too many of us fuckers for you to call me Hale, and second, I didn’t run off the minister, a ghost did!” Nathan waggled his eyebrows and I nearly spit out my mouthful of drink. For some reason in my inebriated state, this was hilarious and the two of us laughed until our stomachs hurt.

“What the hell happened?” I demanded after we both regained our composure.

“Well, the old minister was a Tory bastard who liked keeping an eye on his parishoner’s morals just a tad too much, but above all else, that man was as superstitious as they come. He’d preach in his sermons about fairies, and ghosts, and demons, to the point where you’d barely know you were in a church, and not witnessing a storyteller practicing his craft. He also hated me and my siblings with a burning passion, so I was determined to drive him out.

The old bastard consistently mentioned that he was terrified of a certain ghost that he claimed had been following his family for generations-yes, that is as ridiculous as it sounds-, and I had the luck of getting to hear the story of the ghost first hand from the minister’s son Edward. Edward told me the old family legend, and I’m guessing you’ll want to hear it too.” Nathan emptied his drink and grinned at me, his eyes for some reason resting on my lips for a split second longer than I thought was proper.

“Of course I want to hear it!” I exclaimed. He leaned low over the table, and spoke in a low, slow voice, and a part of me relished in the intimacy of the moment that I was sharing with a man that I’d never met until today.

“Long before Edward’s family ever came over here to the colonies, long before this city ever existed to come to, his family lived in a moderately sized house in a small town in the old country. One night, long before anyone alive now could ever remember, a traveler knocked on their door, on a rainy, miserable night. The stranger was allowed to enter the home and lodge in the spare bedroom for the night, but soon one night turned to two, and two soon turned into a fortnight. While the stranger stayed in the family’s home, things began to go mysteriously awry.

The youngest daughter in the family broke her arm, their best laying hen was slaughtered by a fox, however that was just the start of the misery. Later the family’s oldest son fell ill and died, and his wife went insane. So the father made up his mind. The stranger was to blame for the sudden streak of misfortune. After over a month of the strange traveler lodging with them, late one night the father took the ax out of the barn, and hid it under his bed. The whole family, and the stranger ate dinner, and then the stranger reterted to the attic room the family had provided. Once the final candle was extinguished, the father silently grabbed his ax and crept towards the bedroom where the stranger was sleeping.

He raised the ax over the sleeping stranger, but just as soon as he was about to deliver a fatal blow, the stranger awoke with a screech and with awesome strength snatched the ax from the father’s hands and threw it on the ground. Then the stranger flew from the bed and fled the family home, but not before uttering a curse.

‘For all your cruelty towards me, I shall give back to you tenfold!’ The stranger screeched, ‘Your bloodline will be cursed for a thousand generations!’

The stranger was never seen again, yet nevertheless the curse remained true. Every generation of the family was plagued by hardship and untimely deaths. They tried to escape the curse by moving across the ocean, however they were found by the stranger. Generation after generation lived and died, tormented by the ghost of the traveler that their ancestors tried to murder. The specter of a traveler wrapped in a long dark cloak appeared after each member of the family was killed, some say to this very day it torments them.”

“So how did you run them out?” My question was somewhere between a plea and a demand, and Nathan looked smug that his story so captivated me.

“Simple. I acquired a long black cloak, and hid in the church late one night as the minister was tidying up. When he extinguished the final candle, I exposed myself and chased him all the way back to his home. Almost before I reached his house, I disappeared into the woods and ran back home. The next time I checked on the minister’s family, they were frantically packing their belongings in order to move far away, in hopes that the spector wouldn’t be able to find them.”

He leaned back ginning at the memory of his exploits. We kept talking, but soon the same young woman I’d seen him talking to earlier, threw a rag at Nathan’s head.

“What the hell you do that for Hannah?” He protested.

“I’m going home. Close up, and stop bothering the minister.” Hannah grinned at him. She couldn’t have been older than six and ten, however she acted like an older sister. As soon as she appeared, Hannah disappeared and the two of us were alone again in the tavern.

“I ought to be leaving.” I said, gathering up my things in my arms.

“Do you have anything to eat in that old shack they call the minister’s house?” Nathan had begun to wipe down an empty table, and looked up at me with what might have been genuine concern in his eyes. It'd been so long since I’d had someone truly concerned for my safety and health that I’d forgotten what it looked like.

“No. My larder is pitifully empty." The confession just slipped out of my mouth and I knew I began to blush again, possibly from shame. I was fine, whatever help he would inevitably offer me, I did not need.

“Here, let me get you something.” He disappeared again and I had one foot out the door before he came back. In his hands was a small bundle wrapped up in a handkerchief.

“There’s some bread and an apple in here, it should be enough to hold you over. Tomorrow morning there will be a market down in the town center, and Hannah, Ollie or I can take you down there to get food.” Nathan hurriedly added, pressing the handkerchief into my hands. His hands were strong and steady, despite our earlier drinking, and warm. I grinned and thanked him, reluctant to refuse the gift, though on the inside I was screaming. Why did you give me this? Do you see me as something to be pitied?

Hastily, I stepped out onto the deserted streets of Albany. My home wasn't a very far walk. When I did reach it, the entire place seemed cold and foreign, but I still wrapped myself in the quilt, and layed in bed, waiting for sleep to come.

Notes:

Bonus points if you noticed the Hamilton song references in the summery. Extra Bonus points if you can guess what song I got the title from.

Chapter 2: Market

Summary:

mar·ket
/ˈmärkət/
noun
a regular gathering of people for the purchase and sale of provisions, livestock, and other commodities.

The next day I awoke early to examine the state of my new church. Most of my morning was spent sweeping it out, since that chore had evidently not been performed since Nathan literally chased the old minister out. Once I finished, I sat down on one of the pews and ate the bread and apple from last night. As I was eating, there was a light knock on one of the walls, and Nathan appeared, leaning against the door frame.

“Good day. Why are you here?” I greeted him.

“I said I’d take you down to the market, and I plan on keeping my promise.” He smiled at me, and only then did I notice how exhausted he seemed to be.

“That’s most generous of you, however, my request for a forward on my salary was not accepted so…” I looked down at the ground. I’d gone hungry before, and there was still enough of the bread left to hold me over until Sunday, when I would receive my pay.

“I’ve got to get foodstuffs for the tavern, I’m sure the patrons won’t miss a few coins worth of victuals.”

“If you insist.”

We walked down to the market side by side. Every few houses or so, I’d steal a glance over at Nathan. Yes, I was sure that he hadn’t slept last night, but why was the real question. Both of us had had a fair amount of drink, and I distinctly remembered falling asleep with a belly full of ale. By the time we’d passed our third stray dog, I resolved to ask him about it.

“Are you alright?” I questioned, Nathan was a fair bit taller than me, so I had to look up at him.

“I’m fine.” He answered, far too quickly and automatically to quell my suspicions.

“But-” I began.

“Oh look, here's the market.” Quickly, he deflected my prospective question, and gestured to the market.

Farmers had come into the city to sell their wares, and several merchants were looking for raw materials to buy up and sell. In between all of the adults, children ran chasing hoops, playing together, and generally being very merry.

“I’ve got to go resupply the tavern’s stock of apples, you go find some food, and I’ll meet you shortly.”

“But I-” Before I could inform Nathan that I had no money, he had disappeared into the crowd at the market. As I started to search for him, I heard the jingle of coins in my coat pocket. When I reached in, I found more money than I had come to Albany with. He must have slipped the coins into my pocket while we were speaking, however I had never noticed his hand open or close the pocket. This was too much. He’d given me more than two weeks worth of salary, from a man who’s tavern did not seem to be a very popular establishment, this must have been several days worth of profits. I couldn’t take this. I’d give it back to Nathan, spend my last few coins on just enough food to hold me over, and hopefully never interact with him again. His generosity over the last few days had been…stifling. The meal at the tavern that I’d never been asked to pay for, the handkerchief filled with food, and now this. It was too much.

I looked around in a half hearted attempt to locate him, but I knew deep down that he would refuse to take the money back and insist I have it. So, instead of giving it back to him, I wrapped the coins up in the handkerchief he had filled with food for me the night before, and left the market. When I passed by the Hudson Tavern, I entered, only to place the money on the counter. Sure Nathan would be pissed that I abandoned him at the market, but he was practically a stranger, I had known him for two days, that did not exactly merit my concern over his feelings. In all likelihood, I would catch glimpses of him around the city, perhaps be served by him in his tavern, wave to him and a pretty lady on his arm, and then when my time as minister in Albany was up, we would never see eachother again, and the memory of Nathan Hale would fade from my memory until he was nothing more than a shadow who once told me a ghost story, the exact components of which I had long forgot.

But, a small part of me yearned to remember him. Hale was handsome, quite handsome, and the same part of me was filled with a sort of rage at the idea of him  parading a lovely lady around on his arm. When I imagined him living out the rest of his life in the city, running the tavern with a wife and a brood of dark haired children that possessed the same enchanting grey eyes as their father, I could not help but feel sick inside.

I pushed the thought to the back of my mind. My appointment in Albany was a temporary one, and my acquaintance with Nathan, no Hale would be the same. I could not keep referring to the man as Nathan, it was far too intimate for a man I had only known for a day.

I barely had to walk a minute past the tavern before reaching my church. The entire place was bathed in the day’s dying light. I must had been at the market for longer than I thought. Tomorrow was Sunday, and I needed to preach a sermon. The minister before me had left several books full of sermon ideas after he left, so I decided to start by looking through them. I settled myself on a pew and began to leaf through one of the books. At random I stopped on  a sermon that I believe was intended to accompany a wedding.

“And on the subject of love between two individuals, so long as they love and yearn for each other with their whole hearts, then the love is pure and good.” It was a seemingly fine sentence until I saw the one that was directly next to it. “But the man who lusts for the love of another man is a sinner who, through his lust, infects others with sin.” Which was less fine, and for some reason struck a cord of dampened rage and melancholy somewhere deep inside of me.

Notes:

Sorry, I know this is kind of a shorter one. But, it took me a while to write since I had to attempt to figure out the market situation in Albany in 1774.

Chapter 3: Encounter

Summary:

en·coun·ter
/inˈkoun(t)ər,enˈkoun(t)ər/
verb
unexpectedly experience or be faced with (something difficult or hostile)
noun
an unexpected or casual meeting with someone or something.

Given my church’s ironic proximity to the Hudson Tavern, rarely a day went by when I did not glimpse one of the Hales. From what I had managed to gather, there were three Hale siblings, Nathan, Ollie, and Mercy. Nathan was obviously about my age, and sometimes, when I was returning late at night from cleaning the church, I would see him slipping in or out of the tavern, appearing to be trying to avoid being seen by anyone. Interesting. I would have to pay more attention to the eldest Hale’s comings and goings. The second oldest was Ollie, which I assumed was short for Oliver. He seemed to be courting the very same Hannah who had assaulted Nathan with a rag my first night in Albany. Both Hannah and Ollie were at least six and ten. In comparison, little Mercy Hale could not have yet reached ten years of age.

In the two weeks that had passed since the coin incident, I had not spoken to Hale. He had thankfully seemed to realize that I did not need him to help me, I did not need anyone’s help. Earlier that morning I had gone to the market to purchase more cheese and apples, along with a copy of a newspaper. So far during my stay in Albany I had fallen behind on the news. As I walked back to my home, a small body crashed into me, nearly knocking me off my feet.

A small girl had run into me while chasing her hoop. After slamming into me she’d fallen down and apparently hurt herself.

“Are you alright?” I asked, setting my market purchases down and dropping down to check on her.

“Yes sir.” She said, wiping away tears and getting to her unsteady feet.

“Here you go.” I handed her my handkerchief and she cleaned her face, smiling up at me with her…grey eyes.

“Mercy, there you are!” A man came running up behind the girl, panting. He’d evidently been chasing her before our collision. As I looked up at him from my crouching position, the sudden realization of who he was flooded over me. It was Hale. Oh god. From this perspective he looked even better, and as extended his hand and helped me to his feet, I could not help but notice how strong he was. Once I stood up again, we were standing almost face to face, and he smiled faintly.

“Hello.” He said.

“Hello.” I echoed. There were a thousand things I should have said to him, told him that I did not need his help, yelled at him to leave me alone, pleaded with him to stop appearing when I closed my eyes to sleep at night, with his enchanting eyes, and wide, inviting grin, and way of making me feel like I was the most important person in the world every time I spoke to him.

“I am so sorry that my sister knocked you down.” Hale truly looked sorry, though there was a sort of hunger behind his eyes that seemed to manifest every time he gazed at me.

“I have been assaulted by far worse.” I shrugged, trying to throw off his gaze. It made me nervous, but in a way that I also desired.

“You ought to come and join us for supper at the tavern sometime, I quite enjoyed our previous conversation.”

“I-I am not quite sure…”

“I insist.” He insisted. “The tavern will be closed tonight, why not then?”

“I will be there, so long as I am not forgetting any prior commitments.”

“Wonderful, I shall expect you.” Hale grinned at me.

He and Mercy walked with me the rest of the way to my home. In addition, Hale insisted on carrying my purchases from the market, and when we reached my home, he also insisted on helping me put away my purchases.

“My god, Mr. Minister! How many cherries can you eat?” He exclaimed after noticing just how many cherries I had bought.

I blushed and laughed, before realizing something. “Why do you call me Mr. Minister? I believe that I gave you my name at our first meeting.”

“You did, Benjamin Tallmadge, but based on our prior encounters, I assumed that you would prefer it if I did not call you by it.”

“I-”

“I was not offended.” He said, meeting my eyes, with a gentle look on his face. “I gave you something that you did not ask for, you had every right to reject my gift.”

“Thank you.” I muttered.

Hale, no, he was Nathan again, reached out and placed his hand on top of mine. My face suddenly grew incredibly hot, and I drew my hand back and held it to my chest

“I think it is best that you leave now.” I stammered.

“Of course. I shall see you tonight?”

“Yes. You shall.” I showed him out the door, closing it behind him, and pressed my body weight against it. Clenching my eyes shut, I held the hand Nathan touched over my heart, and thoughts that I never expected to run through my head did. I wondered what it might have been like to have his lips pressed against my own, and just how it would have felt to have the length of my body pressed up against his, my hips to his hips, our chests pressed together, and legs tangled.

My lips wordlessly formed the words: “No, no, no, no, no!” Well, at least I meant to only wordlessly form the words. This was wrong, everything I had ever learned taught me that wanting Nathan Hale in the way that I desired him, the same way that a normal man would desire a woman, was oh, so wrong. But nothing had ever felt so right.

Notes:

This fic takes place in June of 1774, not sure if I mentioned that. Yes, the gayness has started.

Chapter 4: River

Summary:

riv·er
/ˈrivər/
noun
a large natural stream of water flowing in a channel to the sea, a lake, or another such stream.

Despite my moral revelation over the feelings I suddenly possessed for the owner of a tavern that I had known for very little time, I still made my way over to the Hudson Tavern after Mercy came and knocked on my door to inform me that it was time for supper.

As soon as I entered the tavern, I noticed that Ollie and Hannah were hunched over drinks together at a table, while Nathan tended to the bar. As he poured a drink for a rather inebriated man that I thought I recognized from somewhere, we locked eyes and he grinned at me like I had not just had everything I believed about myself thrown into question because he touched my hand. Clearly we would both be conveniently forgetting the events that transpired only a few hours earlier, for the duration of the night. 

“Mercy, go show our guest to where we eat, I’ll be over once I finish with Horace.” Nathan nodded to his sister, and she took my hand and very energetically gave me a tour of the tavern, as we walked to what I could only assume was the kitchen. In one corner of the kitchen, there was a small table with four chairs, and I realized that that must have been where the Hales ate. It dawned on me that I was intruding on a private family affair, that the strange minister who had been in Albany for scarcely a month, had no right to join in on.

Mercy eagerly showed me a doll that Hannah had made for her, and I listened to her talk about her day until her older siblings came in. There was something about talking to a child that always made me feel warm inside, perhaps it was their constant joy and innocence. The mere fact that the word innocence crossed my mind, made me feel horrible, knowing the way that I had thought of Nathan Hale.

“I am quite glad you could join us Mr. Minister.” Nathan crouched down so that he would be at an equal level to me, from my position on the floor with Mercy.

“Speak of the devil.” I muttered under my breath.

“What was that Mr. Minister?” At this point he was almost teasing me.

“I said that you do not have to call me Mr. Minister.”

“Then what shall I call you?”

“Seeing as you have me call you by your first name, Benjamin shall suffice.” Goddamn it. I had not intended to become on first name terms with anyone in Albany, but there was just something about Nathan Hale…

“Well then, Benjamin, we ought to find you somewhere to sit, unless you would be content on the floor with Mercy.” Now Hale really was teasing me, and the glimmer in his eye seemed even more alluring.

“Oh no, the floor will be fine, so long as you join me.” I jested. Of course I wanted him to sit next to me, but the floor was a little extreme.

Much to my surprise, Nathan sat down next to me, so close that our shoulders touched. I knew that it was in every way wrong to put myself in a place of such temptation, however, I made no action to move away.

“Why in god’s name are you both sitting on the floor?” Ollie had entered the room, carrying a jug of spirits on his hip.

“Benjamin asked me to join him.” Nathan shrugged, and Ollie just rolled his eyes. We both stood up and I dusted off my breeches, since, after all, the summer kitchen was not exactly the cleanest place ever. 

Soon after, Hannah came in, and the four people who were old enough to hold an adult conversation ate supper, while Mercy consumed her’s in her room. As we drank and talked, the cool summer night air seeped into the kitchen through an open window. The four of us talked of the recent news of the Coercive Acts, and how this would impact everyday life. Nathan got quite passionate about his hatred of it, and suddenly I found myself sitting next to a fervent son of liberty as he ardently proclaimed how horrible the crown’s treatment of her colonies was.

“Why should a government who has never cared for us previously suddenly change her views and decide to rule her people with an iron fist? The king has never previously bothered to take care of us, but now, when citizens rise up against tyrannical laws, he decides to enact swift and harsh punishment. The Bostonians were merely attempting to stop the enforcement of a law that was forced upon them without their consent, and now their whole port is closed, their people are not allowed to assemble, and their homes swarm with bloodybacks!” When I finished my tirade, both of the Hales and Hannah were looking at me in disbelief.

“Dear god Mr. Tallmadge, I had no idea you were such a patriot!” Ollie exclaimed, his usually quiet shell broken by the outburst.

“Almost as radical as our Nathan here.” Hannah added, laughing and grinning at Ollie. He grinned back at her and a spark went through their gaze. Something not so innocent would be occurring tonight.

“I cannot fully express my joy at finding a partner in my revolutionary ideals.” Nathan leaned back in his chair and gave me a sly look. Oh god, did he think of me the same way I thought of him?

“Thank you for your hospitality, however, I must really be going.” I stood up and pushed in my chair. To want Nathan Hale in the way I do is a sin, to want Nathan Hale in the way I do is a sin, to want Nathan Hale in the way I do is a sin, to want Nathan Hale in the way I do is a sin. I kept repeating in my mind. 

“Oh Mr. Minister, do not leave just yet!” The object of my sinful thoughts teased. “Why, I have heard that despite your stay in Albany, you have never had the privilege of swimming in the Hudson by starlight.”

“I do not fancy a swim tonight, it is far too cold.”

“Skipping stones is nearly as interesting.” Nathan objected.

“For god's sake, just go with him.” Hannah was drunk, and she interrupted her effort of making eyes at Ollie in order to pester us both. All the better to shag Ollie Hale if the older brother is gone, I thought.

“Well, Ms. Merlow has spoken, you are now bound to join me.” Nathan stood up too. I could see the spirits running through his body, the way they made his eyes light up was quite extraordinary, and I could also feel the same spirits running through my veins, perhaps they made me a bit bolder than usual.

“Why Mr. Hale, I suppose you are right. Ms. Merlow possesses the power of a god, and as such has commanded us to complete her will.” I quipped yet again. And yet again Nathan laughed, a sound which I desired to hear more than anything.

He threw on his coat and took my arm in his. Where our extremities touched, it felt like light was radiating through my skin. I knew he was only doing this as a jest, but I wanted him to keep holding onto my arm forever. “Good night, Hannah, in accordance with your demands, we are off.”

Hannah and Ollie waved us off, and despite what I thought, Nathan did not let go of me the second we stepped off of his property, instead he kept holding onto me. I did not object. As we walked through the city, everything was eerily quiet. Apart from several stray dogs, there was no one else with us. Nathan had had the foresight to grab a lantern to lead us through the ink darkness. During our journey to the Hudson, fireflies and crickets fluttered around us, playing waltzes and dancing dances only known to them. Neither of us said anything for a long while, my thoughts were too busy attempting to convince me that what I was doing was both a sin, and exactly what I needed to do, however Nathan did break the silence once we reached the outskirts of Albany.

“My father used to take Ollie and me down to the river on nights like this to skip stones. We would wade in the river and swim when it became the peak of summer.”

“Where is your father now? I do not believe I have been acquainted with him.” I naively asked. Nathan’s face became sober, and I immediately knew the answer to my query, even before he spoke.

“He passed shortly after Mercy was born.”

“I-I am sorry for bringing it up.”

He looked at me again with a sad smile, and then I saw another layer of Hale, beyond the headstrong, yet kind man I knew, I saw a boy who had been forced to grow up very fast, very quickly, and who had not been able to fully grieve. We stopped walking and I turned to face him, gently placing my hand on his cheek.

“It shall be alright.” I murmured.

“Ben-” I kissed him, softly, all the while my mind screamed at me that this was so, so wrong. For a moment I thought I had made a grievous error, but Nathan kissed me back, getting a hand on the small of my back and pulling me closer. I kept one hand on his cheek and wrapped the other around him. We slowly broke apart after several of the best minutes of my life.

“Ben are you-” He gasped.

“I suppose so.” He did not quite seem ready to be kissed again, so I rested my head on his shoulder and we just stood there, on the bank of the Hudson, embracing each other, until he tipped my head up and our lips met again.

“We should be getting back.” I whispered once we broke apart again.

“Ollie and Hannah will not miss us.” Nathan objected.

“I do not fancy sleeping by the river.”

“Oh, Mr. Minister, you have such refined tastes.” He laughed, and I gave him a playful swat. Yet again, he took my hand in his as we walked back into Albany. About halfway to the city, I remembered.

“Oh, Nathan, I am so sorry, but I do not believe we were ever able to skip rocks.”

“Do not worry Mr. Minister, we shall just have to go again.”

Upon our arrival back in Albany, I was again sure that he would drop my hand, however, again, I was wrong. We held hands all the way until we reached my home. The minister’s house had never looked so pitiful, and I knew that some people viewed me in the same way I viewed the house, they saw me as the young stranger, in over his head, who needed help. I did not require help. Nathan gave me a kiss goodnight, and we parted ways.

I lay down in my bed with a grin on my face and fell asleep to dreams of being kissed down by the river as fireflies and crickets conducted a grand ball all around me.

Notes:

Oh don't worry, this is only the beginning! I don't know if two men could have walked to a secluded part of the Hudson river at night and not have been seen kissing, but that's what artistic license is for.

Chapter 5: Clash

Summary:

clash
/klaSH/
noun
a violent confrontation.

Notes:

This is where the violence starts, so if you aren't comfortable with that, I'd recommend finding something else to read.

After my first kiss with Nathan Hale, I began to spend more and more time at the Hudson Tavern. Once I finished tidying the church or visiting parishioners, I would pop into the tavern and get a drink while I read or talked to Nathan. When the tavern was rather empty, Mercy would come out from helping Hannah in the kitchen, to play with dolls on one of the tables. Oftentimes one of her older brothers or I would join her in her game. Mercy had such an enduring little smile and was so sweet that Hannah, the Hale brothers, and I all spoiled her mercilessly.

Seeing that I never fully stocked my kitchen, most evenings I ate supper with the Hales. This apparently was fuel for rumors. However, I could not have cared less what whispers circulated about me. For once in my life I was some semblance of content.

Late one night, once Mercy was long asleep, and Hannah and Ollie had retreated to their bedrooms, I was left alone in the tavern with Nathan. We’d both drunk a fair bit that night, and the two of us were left sitting alone in the tavern. Upon Hannah and Ollie’s exit, I had moved closer to him, and he took my hand in his and pressed a light kiss to my cheek.

“You ought to sleep here tonight.” He murmured, gently running his free hand through my queue.

“I do not wish to do what it seems you are suggesting tonight.” I pulled my hand away from him and turned to face him. Kissing and hand holding were one thing, but the sort of intimacy that could have us both hung…well that was a whole other.

“Oh, no, I am not suggesting that, merely that you sleep next to me tonight instead of that shack they call the minister’s home.” Nathan looked just as surprised as I had been and thankfully corrected himself. “However, if you ever wish…I would not be opposed to the idea.”

“Thank you.” I rested my head on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around me.

“I care for you Mr. Minister.”

“As do I for you.”

We sat like that for a long while, together, but I could not help but wonder what would happen if some curious passerby happened to poke his head in, or long for a drink. Nathan was reckless, he shamelessly introduced himself to strangers, and kissed men on the banks of a very popular river. Though, perhaps I was reckless too, as when he went up to bed, I joined him, and we slept next to each other all night, or so I thought.

Before dawn I awoke with a sense of dread in the pit of my stomach. Something felt wrong, however I could not quite place what was off. At first I attempted to convince myself that it was because I was sleeping in a strange place. Then I knew Nathan Hale was gone. I sat up and glanced around the bedroom. He was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he had gone to attend to Mercy? Mercy slept in Hannah and Ollie’s room, now that I thought about it, it was odd that a young man and a young woman, both of marrying age would be permitted to share quarters.

Still, I silently crept over to their room and peaked inside. Hannah was asleep in the bed with Mercy by her side, and Ollie was on a pallet on the floor. A candle was next to him, still alight. Seeing that he was asleep, should the candle not have burned down hours ago, and have been nothing more than a pile of melted wax?

There were voices coming from the tavern’s basement. At least three distinct ones. Two men, one of them Nathan, and a woman. I crept closer to where they were, close enough to see that they were moving small kegs.

“This should be enough payment for those furs.” A burly man I did not know grunted, hauling one keg from the pile and passing it to Hale.

“If it ain’t, I’ll be damned.” He agreed, paused then added. “Be quiet Baker. Hannah and Ollie leave, and you suddenly think that your big mouth will not wake anyone.”

“And who else is here Hale?” Baker sneered, “Two youths who refuse to be normal, and a kid too little to know this is wrong?”

“What in the King’s name is going on here?” A man I knew too well, Harrison Lloyd, a member of my church, and an ardent supporter of the English crown, stormed into the operation in his nightshirt.

Without giving an answer, Nathan took out a pistol and shot him. The bullet must have hit its mark as a patch of red blossomed in the middle of Lloyd’s chest, and he crumpled to the ground like a discarded rag doll forgotten by its owner. Blood gurgled out of the poor man’s mouth and he thrashed around for a moment before becoming still. From my hiding place, I had to make a valiant effort not to throw up. While I held my hand over my mouth, my mind raced. The man who I had just kissed and fallen asleep next to, had taken a life without a second thought. Sure Lloyd was annoying, but he did not deserve to die. I had to leave.

As I started to creep out of my hiding place, I was noticed by Baker, who aimed yet another pistol at me.

“Found one more, Hale!” He yelled.

“Hush!” The woman muttered and she tied poor Lloyd’s hand and legs together with a length of rope.

Nathan hurried over, and his eyes blazed when he saw me. “What the hell are you doing here!” He demanded.

“Looking for you?” I knew it was a pathetic excuse, but it was truthfully what I had been doing when I came across what I would have to guess was a smuggling operation.

He cursed, the string of which I would not have expected to come out of the mouth of someone who had charmed me so only hours before.

“Who’s this Nathan?” The woman seemed to appear out of nowhere and teased him. I guessed she was pretty, with dark skin and hair that was covered in a deep red scarf.

“The minister.” His voice dripped with something akin to loathing. He could not have truly hated me, could he?

“Lovely to meet you, Lavina Goodwin.” Lavina extended her hand and I tentatively shook it.

“Benjamin Tallmadge, pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Well, then, I ought to get back to hiding a body! You two should be perfectly capable of figuring this out.”

She strowed away, dragging Baker with her by the ear. For someone who was rather short, she was quite strong.

“And now to deal with you.” Nathan glared at me with his arms crossed, not one hint of the fondness I was used to seeing in his face.

“I really did not intend to-”

“It does not matter what you intended, it matters what you have seen!” He hissed, “You are a man of god, and I know that you have more convictions than half the people in this godforsaken city. Them, well they can be paid off, but you…”

“I did not see the bullet enter Lloyd, thus I did not see you kill him, and I shall not report you.” I said. I did not believe he would threaten me, but I was not quite sure what he would do.

“Really?”

“Yes. Goodbye Mr. Hale, I do not keep company with murders.”

I turned and left to go back to the place I was actually supposed to be at this early hour, asleep in my own bed, in the minister’s house, not being threatened by a man I had thought a friend. As soon as I reached my home, I laid down and dug my nails into my palms. The pain almost distracted me from the fact that the man I was in love with had just murdered someone in cold blood. Perhaps this was a sign from the almighty, that coming to Albany was a bad idea.

Chapter 6: Slaughter

Summary:

Slaughter
/ˈslôdər/
verb
kill (people or animals) in a cruel or violent way

Notes:

Yet again this chapter contains a very, very descriptive confrontation. Just wanted to give a head up. If graphic violence really disturbs you, just go ahead and skip this whole chapter, you won't miss too much.

On a slightly lighter note, a molly was a name for a gay man in the 1700s, and sodomy was the crime of two men having sex. If you're reading this, you probably already know that, however, if you don't, it should hopefully help you understand what some of the characters mean in this chapter.

I did my best to avoid everything Hale related after that day. There were no more lazy evenings at the tavern, or little Mercy helping me clean the church. I was fully independent of a family of murders that I had grown concerningly close to, but I was also alone. 

Some days I did not speak to anyone other than apologizing to whomever I bumped into on the street. I rose with the dawn, performed my duties as minister, and then read until my eyes grew heavy with want of sleep. My days were routine and, quite frankly, boring, however, I was not forced to depend on anyone but myself. Mybe, I thought, late one sleepless night, that that was why I had been so repulsed by Nathan, not by his actions, but by how much I relied on the Hale family for both emotional support and food. Then I recalled how remorselessly he had shot a man to death, and the thought dropped out of my mind.

Of course, with how annoyingly close I resided to the Hale’s tavern, I could not help but see them constantly. Little Mercy would still wave and smile at me from the front steps as I walked by, Ollie would give me a nod of recognition if we ever crossed paths, however Nathan never spoke a word to me. If I had been a sentimental man, I would have guessed that he was ashamed of the fact that I had seen him kill a man. I was not though, and I knew perfectly well the gleam of indifference in his eye when he looked at Lloyd’s body. Another realization came over me, Lloyd had not been the first man Nathan Hale had killed, in fact I was certain that he was far from it.

Knowing this, I felt disgusted with myself for the amount of sympathy I gave him. I was still swept up in this sense of revulsion when, late one night, a woman knocked on my door.

“Widow Baker, it is lovely to see you.” I said, escorting the old lady into my home. “Though I must ask of the reason for your visit.”

“My son, Mr. Tallmadge, is ill, and I wish for him to settle his soul.” Her eyes welled up with tears, and I offered her my handkerchief. She whipped her eyes as I collected my coat and Bible. Up to that point in my very short career as a minister, I had not yet sat vigil by the bedside of a dying man. This would be my first time and by god, was I nervous.

Widow Baker silently led me to her home. It was a respectful place, though I coud not see much of it in the dark. The waltzes plaid by the crickets and performed by the fireflies now seemed sickeningly chaotic and my tired mind picked out something like a melody in their chirps: Poor Ben Tallmadge, born of the grave, destined for it now, poor Ben Tallmadge. I tried to block it out, it did not work. 

“Poor Ben Tallmadge, born of the grave, destined for it now, poor Ben Tallmadge. Poor Ben Tallmadge, born of the grave, destined for it now, poor Ben Tallmadge. Poor Ben Tallmadge, born of the grave, destined for it now, poor Ben Tallmadge. Poor Ben Tallmadge, born of the grave, destined for it now, poor Ben Tallmadge! Poor Ben Tallmadge, born of the grave, destined for it now, poor Ben Tallmadge!” They screamed now, the sound echoing in my ears, I gripped the bible I was holding tighter, until my knuckles were as white as snow, and I wanted to yell and demand them to stop taunting me!

“Mr. Tallmedge, my son is in here.” The Widow motioned towards a door. I had not realized that we had entered her home. As soon as she spoke the chants faded, sputtered out, and died. My torment was over, though I dreaded stepping foot outside again.

“Thank you ma’am.” I entered the room, but she did not follow behind me. 

The son lay stretched out on a bed in one corner of the room. The bear of a man was still, but his face, glistening with perspiration, was one I recognized. It was Baker, the man who had noticed me hiding on the night of Lloyd’s murder. He showed signs of the measles, death would come soon. Luckily for me, I had contracted the sickness while I was still in school, and was thus immune.

I kneeled next to Baker, but he did not stir. What was I supposed to do? Pray. I was supposed to pray. But for what? The recovery of a man who I knew to be in leagues with murders and smugglers? No. He deserved to die. I hated myself the second the thought crossed my mind. No one deserved death, not even Baker. Opening the bible, I began to read a psalm, that seemed safe enough.

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…” Baker stirred. “He maketh me lie down in green pastures…” His eyelids fluttered. “ He leadeth me beside the still waters…”

Baker opened his eyes, and stared longingly at the pitcher of water beside him. I poured some into a small cup and held it up to his lips, all the while praying that in his feverish state, he would not remember who I was, nor our previous encounter, for if any of the three others who witnessed Llyod be shot, wished for my death to cover up the secret, I believed it to be Baker.

Seeing that he did not recognize me, I picked up my bible and began to read from it again. I finished the psalm I had begun, and had started a passage from Luke, when Baker lifted his hand from beneath the blankets and shakily pointed something at me. It took me a moment to realize that he was holding. In his hand was a knife used for bloodletting.

“You.” He whispered, in a voice still scratchy from the fever, but still filled with the same sense of detesting as ever. 

“Mr. Baker, please put down the knife.” I inched away from him, holding my bible over my chest.

“That bastard Hale said you would not dare turn us in, oh, but I know better,” Baker hissed, “All you mollies are the same, lying little shits that ain’t been loyal a day in their lives.”

My bible hit the floor with a thud. Baker knew. He had seen me and Nathan. Before I knew what was happening, he lunged at me with the knife, and a searing pain erupted from the forearm. The man had stabbed me. The knife’s blade was buried in my arm. Quick as a flash, almost before I could register what had happened, Baker pulled the blade out and moved to stab me again, but I caught the blade in my hand. He pushed it against my palm and I felt the blade slash deep and blood being drawn, however, I managed to pull it away from him.

He jumped on top of me and both of us tumbled to the floor. In his feverish state, Baker was still much stronger than me, but I stood a chance. While he was trying to grab my bible to slam it down on my head, I pushed the knife into his stomach, twisted it, then pulled it back out before Baker could reclaim the weapon. He momentarily let go of me, and I kneed him in the groin, before shimming out from beneath him. Blood spurting from the wound in his stomach, Baker sprung up and charged at me. In a moment I was under him again on his sick bed. Without any other options, pinned beneath a bear of a man, I brought the knife into contact with the only part of Baker I could reach, his neck. 

My action seemed to have a similar effect to slitting his throat, though I was not quite sure if that was what I did. Blood poured from him, and Baker fell off of me, onto the floor, and after a moment stopped moving.

I just sat on the bed, soaked through with blood, staring at Baker’s body. That was when the door to the bedroom opened. The first and only thought that rushed through my head was: At least I will not be hung for sodomy. A very, very stupid thing to think.

Standing in the doorway was Nathan Hale. He looked down at Baker, and then at me, soaked through in blood that was not all my own, clutching a bloodied knife and staring blankly. Very slowly, Nathan approached me, crouched down in front of me, and placed a hand on my wounded arm.

“Benjamin. Are you alright?”

I burst out in tears. I had just killed a man! What on earth did he think? My free hand moved up to cover the stab wound on my arm, and I realized that that was the hand I had caught the knife with.

“Oh God.” Nathan was staring at my wounds.

“He would not stop.” I whispered between shaky breaths. He produced a handkerchief and pressed it up to my stab wound. 

“It shall be fine.” He tried to calm me, while glancing around the room. Almost the entire place was covered in a mixture of Baker’s and my blood.

“I just killed a man! Nothing is alright!” I wailed, trying to bury my head in my hands. Removing his grip from the handkerchief, Nathan grabbed both of my wrists.

“I can fix this. But you are going to need to help me.” He stated, so matter of factly, that I had full confidence in him. “However, before we do anything, we need to get you cleaned up.”

“What about the widow?”

“Lavina and Hannah will deal with her.”

I did not want to think about what Lavina and Hannah may do to Widow Baker, but I nodded and Nathan helped me to my feet. I was still shaky, and the pain coming from my arm and hand was finally starting to register in my mind. We made our way to the tavern by way of alleys and cutting through several people’s yards. 

Upon finally reaching the tavern, I had never been happier to lay eyes on a place so much in my life. With a hand on my arm, Nathan guided me up to his bedroom and had me sit on a chair while he disappeared for a moment. When he returned, he was with Ollie, and in his hands, Ollie held bandages, and all of the other equipment necessary for dressing my wounds.

“Take off your shirt.” He said, setting everything down, then turned to Nathan and added, “You ought to help him.” Then Ollie turned back to his medical supplies as Nathan set down the flask of ale he had in his hand and moved over to me to help.

“Can I?” He asked, his hands positioned slightly above my shoulders, as if he were about to remove my coat.

“I suppose so.” I tried to use the hand attached to my arm that had not been stabbed to start removing my coat, but I visibly winched when the wound on my palm came into contact with the fabric of my coat.

Nathan did not say anything, he just gently lifted my coat off my shoulders, and draped it over the foot of his bed. The blood soaked into it had dried, but I knew it would never come out. He was surprisingly careful with my ruined jacket, maybe he knew that it was the only one I had. I stared at the dried blood on the buttons and the way the blood had seeped into the fabric around the place I was stabbed. I was so hypnotized by my ruined coat that I did not notice that Nathan was speaking to me.

“W-well we had better get started.” He stammered. It hit me that Nathan was embarrassed to start undressing me.

“Go ahead.”

After only a moment of hesitation, Nathan unbuttoned my waist coat, and I shrugged my shoulders back as far as I could without too much pain in order to allow him to ease it off. He laid it next to my jacket and then turned to me.

“Now for the caveat.” He leaned closer to my neck, his fingers brushing my neck in several places that I had not known I wanted someone to touch me. Once he undid my caveat, we both stared at each other.

“I-uh, I need to take your shirt off.”

“Alright.” I whispered faintly, lifting up the wrist that I had not managed to unbutton the cuff of my shirt so that he could undo it.

He tenderly unbuttoned the button at my wrist, making sure not to touch the slash on my palm. Then Nathan paused for a moment before bringing his hands up to my neck, and undoing the collar of my shirt. We sort of just stared at each other awkwardly before Ollie spoke.

“Just take his goddamn shirt off Nathan!” 

With the prod from his younger brother, Nathan helped me remove my shirt, which was easier said than done since my left arm hurt too much to move to much extent. Eventually, through a combined effort, we managed to get it off, and I realized just how much of Baker’s blood had soaked through it. In fact, my breeches were also soaked through with blood that was not my own.

With my wounds finally exposed, Nathan stepped back, and I noticed he was blushing. If I had not been in so much pain, I would have laughed. After his brother stepped back, Ollie came forward, holding what would be necessary to clean my wounds. Whatever liquid he had dipped a rag in, and was now pressing to the stabbing on my arm burned so much that, despite my best efforts, I let out a small whimper.

“Get him the whiskey.” Ollie said, lightly lifting the cloth off of my injury. His brother grabbed the flask and brought it to my lips. The whiskey burned my throat, but it also dulled the pain. I closed my eyes to attempt to block out the rest of the pain, and when I opened them again, Ollie had bandaged my hand and arm. He gathered up the medical supplies and headed back to the tavern, leaving me and Nathan alone.

“I did not know that your brother had experience with dressing wounds.” I remarked as I inspected the bandages on my hand.

“I have an affinity for injuring myself, and either Ollie or Hannah had to gain the skill, Ollie was just the one of them who happened to be better.” Nathan shrugged. “Now, we ought to deal with old Baker. Get your old clothes back on, and we will take care of him.”

I was able to get my shirt on without problems, but when it came to doing the buttons, I was only able to get my right cuff and neck, since my right hand had been bandaged in a way that doing buttons was pretty much impossible. Nathan helped me, and placed a light kiss on my injured hand as he did so. In any other state I would have flinched away and glared at him, however, the whiskey had taken hold in my mind, and it very much wanted a kiss from Nathan Hale…and perhaps more.

Getting my waistcoat back on was easy enough, though buttoning single-handedly was slightly more difficult. Of course Nathan sat by with a smug grin on his face as I struggled. However, once I finished, he approached with my bloodied caveat in hand. With our faces level, and me staring deeply into his eyes, he tied the caveat. As I expected, his hand strayed to a position where he was cupping my face, thumb gently stroking the stubble on my cheek. For some reason, I decided to do something that was very, very stupid. I leaned forward and gave him a peck on the nose.

Chapter 7: Firsts

Summary:

first
/fərst/
noun
the first occurrence of something notable.

Before I knew it, Nathan had his lips pressed to mine, and when his tongue pressed against my lips, I accepted the invitation. Our last few kisses had been closed-mouthed and chaste. But this, this was something else entirely. A sense of euphoria ran through my entire body, and in the blink of an eye, Nathan got a hand under my ass and pulled me up so that the entire lengths of our bodies were pressed together. I clung to him as he maneuvered the two of us in a way that ended with me pressed up against a wall and one of his legs pressed between my thighs.

He did something that sent a bolt of pleasure to my groin, and I audibly gasped. With that Nathan broke from our kiss, and practically tore the caveat he had just tied out of the way in order to press his lips to my neck. As he did this, I moaned and got my hand between my lover’s legs. That got a curse out of Nathan, and he practically dragged me onto the bed, a comfortable weight on top of me. Sounds came out of my mouth that I had never expected to make, and as bare skin met bare skin, everything felt overwhelming, yet perfect and exhilarating at the exact same time.

We went further than I ever had with anyone, man or woman. I knew I should not have, but, god it felt good. Hell, good was an understatement, I felt amazing. The sky was fading into the beginning of the sunrise when we were done. Nathan ran his fingers through my hair, as I cuddled up to him and rested my head on his bare chest. I just kissed him, and we laid, languishing in silence and sin, until I finally spoke.

“We still have got to deal with Baker.” I muttered.

“Fuck.”

Arguably the two of us took longer than we should have redressing ourselves, but in my defense, I was injured, and Nathan was thoroughly occupied with kissing every inch of my skin he could gain access to. Once we finally got dressed, I had to ask him the question that had been lingering on my mind since we had begun.

“Why wear clothes with blood already on them?” I asked. Clearly I was covered in a combination of both mine and Baker’s blood, and Nathan also had bloody handprints covering his clothes from helping me over to the tavern.

“The process of hiding a body is quite a um, messy one, and it is far more effective to just wear the clothes that you murdered them in, since you need to burn them anyway.” He shrugged, tying a bandanna around the lower half of his face, then handed me one.

“But you did not…do away with, Baker.” I protested, wincing slightly at the reminder of my horrendous deed. Doing what I did with Nathan had taken my mind off of my grisly act. As I attempted to tie my bandanna, a spasm of pain rushed through my arm, clearly the whiskey had begun to wear off. After downing the rest of it, I managed to get the bandana tied.

“Oh, I was planning on doing away with Baker anyhow, you were just unfortunate enough to have been the victim of his wrath, and for that I am so, so sorry.” He did truely look sorry, and perhaps I was just gullible, or it was simply the whiskey, but I believed him.

“Why?”

“He was a liability. Can you carry this?” Nathan tossed a satchel over towards me. I somehow managed to catch it, but it was heavy and aggravated my poor arm.

“What is in here?” I questioned, attempting to peek inside.

“Supplies.” Clearly , that answered my question.

After seeing that I had the satchel, Nathan opened the door and pressed a finger to his lips. We had to be silent. Creeping out into the hallway, I followed Nathan, careful to not wake the singular guest who stayed at the tavern, it was not a very popular establishment. Upon reaching Ollie and Hannah’s room, he gently opened the door, just a crack, in order to peek in on his younger siblings and Hannah. Hannah and Ollie were cuddled together in bed, with Mercy banished to the pallet. Soon all three of them would be rising to start work for the day, hopefully we would be back before they noticed our absence.

The walk over to where Baker’s body was, was not a particularly long one, but before we stepped foot off of the Hudson Tavern’s property, Nathan made sure to grab a hatchet. I knew what it was for, however, I did not want to think of the gruesome act we were about to commit. On the way to Baker’s, we stuck to alleys, of course two men walking around in bloodstained clothes was suspicious.

Once we finally got to the Baker home, Nathan led me around the back. He opened the back door, and we snuck inside. For the most part the house was the same as it had been the last time I had been there, only a few hours prior. But, there was no Widow Baker, I never bothered to ask what happened to her, and the hallway was in disarray. Moving onwards towards the location of the murder…of Baker, by me, produced much the same result. Nothing noteworthy was missing, however, upon entering the bedroom, we met quite the gruesome sight.

Seeing that I had been fighting for my life the last time I had set foot in there, I had not taken the time to notice just how much blood coated the floor and walls. Standing there in the doorway, staring down at a grisly scene of my own making, a sudden and severe urge to vomit came over me, and I emptied the contents of my stomach onto the hallway floor. As the gravity of what I had done finally settled over me, tears silently ran down my face. I cried not from the pain of my wounds, but from pure shame and self-hatred. I had taken the life of a man, torn a soul from its place in time, cut short an existence laid out long ago by god. Nathan pressed my head gently into his shoulder, hugged me as sobs racked through my body, and attempted to comfort me, whilst steering the two of us to an area that was not covered in bodily fluids. 

“Hush, my dear, hush.” He whispered, rubbing his hand in circles on my back. This did not stop me from crying, I only buried my head further into his shoulder, and hugged Nathan tighter. With his other hand cupping the back of my head, he rocked the two of us back and forth, continuing muttering things that were supposed to calm me. 

Eventually I tore the two of us apart. “Thank you.” I managed to sniffle through the inevitable hiccups that appeared every time I cried.

“Ready to deal with Baker?”

“I-I hope so.”

The second time I gazed upon Baker’s corpse, I was able to resist the urge to vomit, and instead retrieved the contents of my satchel upon Nathan’s request while he examined the cadaver only feet from me.

“You made a fair job of this.” He remarked, stretching out his hand for the rope I was holding.

“Please refrain from mentioning that.” I winced, handing it to him.

“Of course my dear.” Nathan tied the hands and feet of Baker’s lifeless body together.

“What did you call me?”

“My dear? Do you like it?”

“Yes, why I believe I do.” Despite the blush spreading across my cheeks, I gave Nathan the canvas from his supplies. My dear, I kind of liked it. At the very least it was better than him calling me Mr. Minister all of the time.

“Help me.” Grunting, Nathan got his hands under Baker’s shoulders. Next to Baker was the canvas all laid out. Clearly he meant to lay wrap the corpse up in the canvas, perhaps to disguise it. After only a moment of hesitation, I grabbed the feet as best I could given my injuries, and we hoisted Baker onto the canvas. Bracing himself against the floor, Nathan rolled Baker up, and took the rope to tie him up inside the canvas. 

Suddenly a pounding on the door shattered the silence we had been working on.

“We need to get out of here.”

Somehow, Nathan managed to get Baker’s body thrown over his shoulder, and the two of us raced out the back door and deep into the surrounding woods. After a while, Nathan stopped, and dropped Baker.

“You good?” I managed to ask through gasps of air.

“Jesus fucking Christ that son of a bitch is heavy.” He exclaimed, while leaning against a tree to attempt to catch his breath. “Did you get the supplies?”

“Yes, I managed to.” Somehow, in the midst of our escape, I had remembered to grab my satchel and the hatchet since Nathan had his hands full with Baker. By then the sun was clearly rising. “How long do we have?”

“Not long.” Shucking his coat, and rolling up his sleeves, he moved over towards Baker’s body, then took a knife and before cutting the rope holding the canvas closed, turned to me. “Are you going to vomit again?” He asked, I could not tell if he was genuinely concerned or mocking me.

“Oh hell no.” As he removed the canvas, I busied myself by looking through the satchel. Apparently the only thing it had held beside the rope and canvas, was a strange vile. Inside of the vial was a strange amber liquid that I could have sworn I had seen before. Cautiously, I uncorked the vial and took a sniff. It was perfume, almost sickeningly floral, yet still perfume. Seeing that I had found said perfume, Nathan took it from me, and, removing his bandanna, poured a splash on the fabric that covered his nose. 

“Bodies start to smell quite quickly.” He noted, before handing the vial back to me. I did as he had, having only started to notice the nauseating scent of rotting flesh. I supposed that it was better to take my chances with intense flowers, than decay. 

“Give me the hatchet.” Nathan stretched out his hand and I gave it to him. As I watched he hacked Baker's body into as many pieces as he could. A spray of blood coated him, and I tried my best to avoid both the blood and putrid odor that emanated from the corpse. 

Later it would take me years to attempt to forget what Nathan and I did to Baker. Only the forest was our witness, and it would remain forever silent, both a witness to our crimes, and the final resting place of the corpse. Never again could I walk by those woods and not remember the sights and smells of that early morning. Some in Albany claimed the patch of trees was haunted by spirits. Was it really? Of course not. There were no real ghosts in that old forest, just memories. But, perhaps that was all ghosts ever were, memories. At the time, I did not know that the man I had spent the early morning with would eventually become my ghost, a memory that refused to leave my mind.

However, in that moment, Nathan Hale was as young and handsome as ever, exactly how I always wished to remember him. Removing the bandanna from his face, he grinned at me, though his eyes were filled with pure exhaustion. Obviously I was tired too. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep.

“Our work here is done.” Nathan noted as he slung the bloodied hatchet over his shoulder.

“Thank the Lord.”

Side by side, we meandered through the woods, all the way back to the tavern. Once we finally set foot there, the dawn had finally come, and the world was bathed in rosy light. Wordlessly, Nathan set the hatchet down behind the summer kitchen and I placed my satchel beside it. Hannah, or Ollie, or someone would deal with them. For now, sleep was the only thing on my mind.

Notes:

Geez! That was a long one. Hope you enjoyed it. If you've got any feedback, feel free to comment it. If you found any errors, PLEASE let me know. Update: Thanks to st4rsw0rld for letting me know about the vile/ vial mixup!

Chapter 8: Rest

Summary:

Rest
/rest/
verb
cease work or movement in order to relax, refresh oneself, or recover strength.

As soon as we entered the Tavern, it was clear that Nathan and I were not the only ones awake. Ollie sat by the fire, with a cup of…something that most likely involved spirits in one hand, and a book in the other. Upon realizing that both his older brother and I were in the room, he put the book down, allowing me to see that it was on the topic of surgical medicine, and turned to the two of us.

“Hannah told me to tell you that she’ll personally kill both of you if you get more blood on her precious sheets. ‘M sure you already know Nate, but tonight’s going to be rather busy. Best be up by then. I am never manning the bar again.” With that, Ollie turned back to his book and yet again, completely ignored the two of us. He was an odd one, but never outright rude, just sort of awkward.

“Perhaps you could help us tonight?” My partner in crime mused as we ascended the stairs, “The Tavern shall be quite full, and Ollie always tends to get the slip on me and help Hannah in the kitchen, so I could use another hand.”

“Will the customers not think it odd that the minister is serving them at a Tavern?” If I were an anonymous citizen of Albany, I would certainly find it strange if the man who led my church randomly started tending bar with a man who kept making eyes at him.

“Oftentimes, those who stay at Taverns will work to earn their keep. Your house, if anyone can even call it that, is a shithole. Last minister never even set foot in the place, only used it to store shit, the minister before him stayed with his sister’s family and…well point is, no one will think it odd.” He shrugged, the true reasons for his invitation tactfully left unsaid.

The two of us reached the door of Nathan’s room. I had not had a proper chance to inspect it, seeing that the last time I had been in there, only a few hours prior, my time had been filled with both my wounds and…well, that. Thus, I was finally able to properly glance around. The walls were unpainted plaster, in one corner there was Nathan's bed, miraculously made, opposite from the bed was a desk, and there was a chest. Nathan strode over to the chest and removed clothes from it while I longingly stared at the bed. There were very few things that I would not do at that moment for rest.

“Ben. Ben! Benjamin Tallmadge!”

“Yes?” Given my sheer lack of sleep, it had taken me a moment to register that Nathan was even speaking to me in the first place.

“Take these.” The eldest Hale abruptly shoved what seemed to be a full set of clothes at me. I just stared blankly, contemplating if falling asleep on the spot would be a good idea.

“We’ve got to go down to the river to bathe, seeing that both of us are covered in blood. In order to get down there, we’d better stick to the woods, of course avoiding Baker’s grave and then…”

As I followed Nathan out of the Tavern that was finally starting to wake up for the day, back into the woods, and down to the river, I learned two important facts. The first was that, when sleep deprived, Nathan rambled, constantly. I had to tune him out. Secondly, and possibly most importantly, was that whilst he blabbers incessantly, I merely let my senses take charge, and everything just passes in a blur, my hands and feet moving, despite the fact that I did not seem to be ordering them to. On that incredibly early morning, I remembered following Nathan to a secluded river bank, where we both stripped and washed the blood off ourselves.

There was no more shame at seeing each other's naked bodies, and I was not entirely sure if that came from the fact that the two of us had been up for the last day, or that during that time, been intimate. It was probably a combination of the two. However, during that bath in the river, I was oddly aware of the sensation of the stones at the bottom of the river between my toes.

Once we were both thoroughly free of blood, we both dressed in Nathan’s clothes, yet another gift that I did not technically need, but in my state, I was not dim enough to refuse them, and journeyed back towards the Tavern. Given that we were both free of mine and Baker’s blood, we could finally walk through the well traveled avenues of Albany’s streets without being questioned. The moment we reached the Tavern, I desired to collapse into bed, but instead, Nathan directed me towards the kitchen, where we both deposited our bloodied clothes with Hannah, who seemed to be inspecting them to see if they would be fit to be made into rags, or merely burned.

Only then, could I finally sleep. I threw off my shoes and collapsed into bed next to Nathan. His head rested on my chest and our legs were as tangled together as our hands. It was by no means the most comfortable position I had ever slept in, but within only a few moments, sleep heavied my eyelids and I drifted off. My sleep was dreamless, unlike the fitful nights that would soon follow, and the only thing capable of arousing me from it, was Nathan’s face two inches from mine.

“Get up, Mr. Minister, time for me to show you how a Tavern is run.”“But I never ever-” I protested, but Nathan was holding the door open for me, a sly grin on his face. Consigned to my fate, I put on my shoes and followed him downstairs.

Notes:

This is a shorter chapter, but I promise more Nathan/ Ben romance is on the way!

Chapter 9: Repercussions

Summary:

repercussion
/ˌrēpərˈkəSH(ə)n,ˌrepərˈkəSH(ə)n/
noun
plural noun: repercussions
the recoil of something after impact.

Notes:

I just couldn't wait to publish this one! I really hope you enjoy it, it's super long, but one of my favorite ones yet! If you like TURN, you should see a familiar face.

The Tavern was much fuller than I had ever seen it. Almost every seat in the place was filled. In one corner, a man read aloud the news to a group of those eager to listen, a few paces away there was a heated game of cards, while still others seemed content merely to eat and drink. This was nothing like the almost deserted place I had grown accustomed to. Ollie stood behind the bar with a sour look on his face, and I could only assume that Hannah and Mercy were in the kitchen preparing food.

In fact, as soon as the thought passed through my mind, Mercy came out of the kitchen carrying a plate that was loaded down with some of Hannah’s delectable cooking. She gave the plate to a grandfatherly looking man who passed her a coin and ruffled her hair.

“Look Nathan!” The little girl rushed over to her oldest brother and held up the coin,her face filled with pure joy. I smiled despite myself. It had been so many years since I had been that happy. 

“That is wonderful Mercy!” Nathan exclaimed, grinning back.

“Did you see Mr. Benjamin?” She turned to me and demanded.

“Why yes I did, you are one lucky lady to have such a wonderful coin.”

With that the girl turned and skipped back to the kitchen, most likely to show Hannah the coin. Ollie also followed her, stepping out from behind the bar, and shoving his apron at Nathan.

“Have fun.” He mumbled.

As Nathan put on the apron and slipped behind the bar, I followed him for lack of anything else to do. At the very least, I intended to ask him about his brother’s odd behavior that oftentimes came off as exceptionally rude. However, instead I learned that Nathan looked quite handsome with only a waistcoat and shirt on and his sleeves rolled up. Even with this interruption, I did not have to inquire about the strange behavior of Oliver Hale, instead my question was answered for me.

“I must apologize for my brother’s behavior.” Nathan said, in between serving patrons drinks. “He does not enjoy new people, or, in fact, people in general. Most of the time Ollie tends the horses out back instead of serving drinks. But I am certain that he shall warm up to you…eventually.”

“I understand. Though it is quite interesting what a pair Ollie and Hannah make. One is assertive and talkative and the other is rather shy.”

“Perhaps they were created so that one would equal out the other.” He mused, a gleam of amusement in his eye. If we were not in the middle of a crowded tavern, I probably would have kissed him. But, alas we were, and just as the man I was in love with finished his sentiment, yet another group of men entered the Tavern.

“Speaking of you helping out in the Tavern,” Whispered Nathan, “Go see Hannah and see if she needs any help.”

I obeyed and gave Nathan a small smile, as he greeted the group of new customers. As I had suspected, Hannah and Mercey were both in the kitchen, although they were accompanied by someone I had not expected to see again.

“Hello Mr. Tallmadge!” Lavina exclaimed as she sliced a loaf of bread and Hannah stirred a pot of stew on the fire.

“Ms-Ms. Goodwin! I did not expect to see you here this fine evening.” I stammered. Be polite Ben, my long gone mother’s voice screamed in my ear. As a child I had always been taught to be polite to ladies, and Ms. Goodwin was a lady, albeit a lady who was involved in what I could only assume was a smuggling ring and who did not seem too concerned when a man was shot right in front of her. 

“Lavina helps me in the Tavern kitchen.” Hannah shrugged, taking the pot of stew off the fire with her apron. “Speaking of help in the tavern, would you mind retrieving another cask of cider from the cellar? The key should be over by Mercy.” 

“Yes ma'am.” 

After grabbing the key from a table and being shown Mercy’s coin again, I made my way down to the cellar. It was as dark and slightly depressing as every other cellar I had ever set foot in. Pilled in one corner of the cellar were several dozen casks, presumably the same casks I had seen Nathan, Lavina, and Baker hiding. However, in the opposite corner was another group of casks, all of which were neatly labeled. This must have been the Tavern’s actual supply of spirits. There was nothing in the world that at that moment could have convinced me that the casks I had seen being moved were ever intended for use in the Tavern.

Ignoring the stash of smuggled goods, I grabbed one of the other casks that was neatly labeled “ale”. Even though it was not very large, the effort of picking it up shot a spasm of pain through my arm. A curse escaped my mouth, and I nearly dropped the ale. It had only been a day since I had been stabbed! Why did I think that my arm would be healed already?

“Mr. Tallmadge?” Someone called down to me. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. I shall be up in a moment.” I gritted my teeth and grabbed the cask of ale again, this time using the hand that Baker had merely slashed with the knife. That hurt less, but the pain was still a low throb as I journeyed back up the cellar stairs and to the kitchen. As I passed Ollie, who was tending to a partons horse, without even looking up, he said:

“You ought not carry too much, lest your arm be aggravated.”

“Thank you for the warning.” I grunted. 

Once I reached the kitchen and set down the ale, I encountered people who were far more concerned about my injury than the man who had fixed me up. Lavina and Hannah both made me sit down and drink whiskey for the pain, while Hannah apologized for making me get the ale, since she had forgotten I was injured. I assured her that I held no harsh feelings against. While I consumed enough whiskey that I began to feel lightheaded, I heard the tavern door thrown open and a booming voice call out:

“Hale!”

From my perch in the kitchen, I could see the group of British regulars storm into the tavern, led by one man I had only heard whispers of: Captain John Graves Simcoe. I had not yet had the pleasure of encountering the Captain, but during my short stay so far in Albany, abundant rumors had trickled down to me about the man. Captain Simcoe was a cold yet short tempered man with an affinity for both drink and violence, however he had none of the easygoing charm of a man like Nathan and instead preferred to gain those things through intimidation and the redcoat he wore.

“Captain Simcoe, if you recall, you are not allowed in the Hudson Tavern following your actions of last April.” Nathan calmly told the man from his post behind the bar. Good idea Nathan, I thought from my seat in the kitchen, stay calm, get angry, he gets angry, and we do not need that.

“I am not here for anything but you and your accomplices Hale.” Spat Captain Simcoe. He was glaring daggers at Nathan, and I would have bet money that if he had not been feigning cluelessness, the man I had shared a bed with, would have been doing the exact same.

“My accomplices, Captain? Why in order to have accomplices, well that would imply that I had also committed a crime!”

“Of course you committed a crime. You and your crew of bastard friends are responsible for most of the lawlessness in Albany.”

“Who is named as accomplices?” Some brave bar patron called out. I made a mental note of his voice in order to remember his bravery. All the others in the tavern were scared into silence by the soldiers.

“One misters Nathan Hale, and Benjamin Tallamdge.” A soldier next to Simcoe with a piece of paper in his hand declared. At the sound of my name, I went numb. Nathan had assured me that no one would know. We were careful, both when it came to Baker…and the more intimate actions we had participated in.

“The minister?” Someone else gasped.

Yet another soldier grabbed Nathan from behind the bar and must have tied his hands with something, as they seemed to be fastened behind his back. Now any facade of ignorance was gone, and he was staring at Simcoe in a way that, could looks have murdered, would have torn the man from limb to limb, paraded his corpse through town, then hacked it into pieces and strewn them through the forest. The soldier forced the men at the card game out of his way as he dragged Nathan to the group of soldiers.

“And is Mr. Tallmadge here?” Captain Simcoe queried.

Something prodded me in the back. 

“Go with them. They shall be easier on you. We will get you out in a few days time.” Hissed Hannah. Thus, I did what I was told, and, with a final swig of whiskey, walked out into the still quiet Tavern.

“He is I.” I said, giving a nod to Captain Simcoe.

Captain Simcoe did not seem to appreciate the fact that I made much less of a fuss about my arrest than Nathan and merely shot a look at another one of his soldiers, who came up behind me and tied my wrists together with a round piece of rope. The rope rubbed against the skin of my wrists and Nathan and I were marched out of the Hudson Tavern, through the empty and dark city streets, and to, finally, the jailhouse. The jail was not a very large building, however it was made of solid brick, and, as I learned upon being shoved into a cell, possessed stamped dirt floors.

Nathan and I were alone in the cell, and neither of us spoke for a while. I, for one, took the opportunity to attempt to figure out what on earth I could have done to find myself in this position in the first place. Well, obviously I knew what I had done that broke the law, the real question was what had gotten me caught. Oh god. Not even a summer in Albany and I was already thinking like a criminal, not like the polite preacher boy that my Aunt and Uncle had intended for me to become. The second that the idea of the people who had raised me crossed my thoughts, I banished it back to where it had come from. There was no need to dredge up bad memories. Instead, I pivoted to recalling happy moments in my life. Without a doubt, one of the most prominent was my first night in the city, when Nathan Hale had told me one of the most amusing stories I had ever heard and talked my ear off. Speaking of Nathan, ever since we had been thrown in the cell, he had been uncharacteristically quiet. Not a single word had escaped his incredibly kissable lips. This was very, very odd given how much he tended to ramble.

I glanced over at Nathan, who was sitting next to me on the floor of our cell. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, and his head was in his hands. Evidently he had managed to undo the rope our captors had used to bind us.

“Nathan?” I placed my hand gently on his shoulder and attempted to capture his gaze.

In lieu of meeting my eyes and replying, a coughing fit wracked my lover’s (?) body. I kept one hand on his shoulder and found that my other had come free from the horribly tied bindings, using it to attempt to bring the handkerchief in my pocket to his lips. As Nathan hacked and only barely managed to bring in enough air, I stayed with him. The fit could not have lasted more than a moment, but it felt like eternity, watching someone I cared for suffer, helpless to ease his pain. Eventually the coughing ceased, but as I removed the handkerchief from his lips, the flecks of red that dotted the otherwise pure white cloth glimmered with a sickening shine in the light of the single lantern in the cell. No. Oh no.

Nathan saw the blood too and he gazed at it wide eyed, both simultaneously unsurprised and terrified. Was it consumption? No, it could not be. Nathan was young and seemingly healthy prior to this. The poor thing raised a hand to his lips to check for more blood, but I did not bother to check the outcome. Instead I gently untangled myself from my lover (yes, he was in fact my lover now), and led him over to the pallet in one corner of the cell. Nathan practically collapsed onto it, and I finagled the two of us in  such a way that he ended up resting his head on my lap. After pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, I ran my hand up and down his back as he still struggled to take in enough air. 

Only once the lantern light had become dimmer, and he could finally breathe properly again, did Nathan speak.

“I suppose you wish to know what just happened.” He said, a hint of something that had to have been resignation in his voice.

“Only if you wish to tell me.” I had moved my hand so that now I was running it through Nathan’s dark hair, having undone the queue on accident ages ago.

“Well I do. As you have clearly figured out, I am sick.” He paused for a moment to cough again, before shifting so that he was sort sitting up, but more leaning against me. “My father was sick too, and as his son, it seems to have been passed on to me.”

“If your father’s sickness was passed onto his sons, then is Ollie ill too?” Of course I had to ask, after all, it would explain the odd behavior of the younger Hale brother.

“Oh no. He would have my head for telling you this, but Ollie was born a man in a woman’s body, so the illness, or whatever the hell this is, was not passed onto him.”

“Well that explains a fair bit.” I mused. Nathan rested his head on my shoulder, and I drew up the threadbare blanket we had been given so that it covered the both of us. “Now back to you. You are ill.”

“Correct.”

“With what?”

Clenching my hand, he whispered, voice hoarse from coughing: “I have already told you more than anyone else, save Hannah and Ollie. If I tell you anything else, you must swear to not tell any others. I do not want them to pity me. There is nothing that I despise more than being pitied”

“I swear.” A quick kiss on his temple was all the conformation that Nathan needed, and he continued speaking.

“You have already seen how I get these..fits. My lungs seize up and I cannot breathe. But even worse are the headaches. They strike almost any time or day, and I have to put on a happy front through the pain to not alarm others. The day you asked me if I was alright, when we were heading to the market, my head throbbed so badly that I wanted to numb the pain with drink and languish in bed until it subsided. My headaches last for hours, and oh, Ben, you have no idea how much they hurt. Somehow even worse is when I faint. Spontaneously, with no rhyme or reason, I collapse, then wake up again perfectly fine. However, a few moments to a few hours later, I begin to ache all over, and soon I am in bed with a fever. Within a few days I heal as much as I ever will, and the cycle begins anew.” All of this was recounted to me with the pain in his voice evident.

I wrapped Nathan up in the tightest hug that I could muster, and he clung to me back. I wanted, no, needed to convey everything that I could not say to him in that hug. How I was so, so sorry that he was ill, and frankly, wanted absolutely nothing more than for him not to be in pain. How disappointed I was in myself for not noticing that he was suffering, then disappearing that refusing to speak to him for days. And most of all, how much I loved him. Above all else, I loved him. At some point my lover’s body shook gently, he was crying, still trying to hide it from me, but I was sure as the crown was evil that tears were flowing down his pale face.

Once our embrace became less tight, I broke away and placed another kiss on his cheek.

“I do not think any less of you, Nathan. I could never think any less of you.”

“Thank you.” He murmured, still in my arms.

“Though if you would grant me one question, I must ask: Are you ill now?”

“I think I must have passed out when we were asleep.” I could barely hear Nathan’s voice, however, the fear in his words was evident. “That happens sometimes, I faint and do not notice it because I am already asleep, then when I am awake, the sickness strikes me with even less warning.”

“Oh you poor dear.” I cooed, laying the two of us down on the pallet. Sure if the prison warden set foot in the cell, he would accuse both of us of being mollies, but, at that moment, what others thought was the least of my worries.

“Do not pity me Ben.” My lover murmured into my chest.

“I would not dare.” I replied, just before slipping into a deep slumber.

Chapter 10: Salvation

Summary:

salvation
/salˈvāSH(ə)n/
noun
preservation or deliverance from harm, ruin, or loss.

Notes:

Again, this is a shorter chapter than I wanted, but the last one was really long, and the next one probably will be too!

When I awoke, Nathan was in the thralls of a fever. I know that he would hate me for pitying him, but I could not help myself from smoothing out his hair and attempting to slightly ease his pain by at least letting him have the pallet to himself. He had fallen asleep directly on top of the arm I had been stabbed in, and the pain once again flared up once I untangled the two of us. Except this time there was no whiskey to dull the pain, but even if I by some miracle had whiskey, I would have already forced Nathan to drink it as medicine.

As the sun rose, I sat by my lover, attempting to wipe the sweat off of his brow with the only unstained handkerchief that I could find between the two of us. When he was sleeping, Nathan Hale seemed so much younger than the calm, yet reckless and caring man I knew. He was still practically a child. Hell, we were both still practically children, but life had forced us to become adults. And now it was forcing a young man to count his remaining days.

I sat by Nathan’s side for the duration of his illness. None of our jailers offered any sort of assistance during the period that lasted until his fever finally broke on the third day of our imprisonment. Even though I had been sitting vigil at the bedside of what was essentially a dying man during those three days, I did not recite any of the prayers or scripture that I had for Baker, in one part because the last time I had done so, I was stabbed, but mostly because I stubbornly refused to believe that Nathan Hale would die. Apparently Nathan was just as stubborn as I was, for the fever did not take him. 

Instead, around noon, when I had become lost in my thoughts and was staring out the window of our cell, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Did our captors bother to give us any whiskey?” A hoarse voice asked me. I did not have to see him to know that it was Nathan. In lieu of telling him that, no, they did not provide us with alcohol, I instead scooped him up in another hug.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” I murmured into his hair. “I thought you were going to die.”

With a tired smile on his face, and pure exhaustion in his voice, he just grinned at me and said: “My dear, it will take far more than a fever to kill me.” I did not say anything back, merely kissed him.

We held each other for hours, until the cell door creaked open. The warden’s daughter was there to give us the loaf of bread that constituted as our supper. If I had to describe the girl, I would guess that she was pretty, long blonde curls, and tawny, doe eyes. But, most of all, I noticed how much she seemed to fancy Nathan. I could only hope that her feelings were not recuperated by the other party. Upon seeing that Nathan was sitting up and, though the blanket was still wrapped around his shoulders and he looked sickly, far more healthy than the previous day, she grinned.

“Are you feeling better Mr. Hale? Is there anything I could do to help you?” Unlike every other time she had given us our supper, the warden’s daughter stepped into the cell and gave Nathan what I think was supposed to be a charming smile.

“Slightly, Ms. Emma, slightly. Though…oh no, it would be far too much trouble.” Nathan shook his head, but also shot me a look that said: I know what I am doing, do not dare interrupt.

“I am sure it would not be!” She was overeager. I almost pitied her, Nathan’s charm was…something, but it was not worth doing him favors. Of course I recognized the hypocrisy in my statement, given that I had spent the last three days caring for him.

“Well, if it would truly not be too much trouble…” He gave her yet another glance, before continuing, “My sister has  medicine that helps with my illness at our tavern. If you would retrieve it, I would be forever in your debt.” 

The poor girl was wrapped around his finger and promised to retrieve the medicine for him. Knowing Hannah, medicine would not be the only thing she would come back with. However, once the cell door closed again, I made sure to grab the bread, and tore it in half, saving half for myself and attempting to give the other half to my lover.

“I am fine Ben.” Nathan pushed his portion of our supper back towards me.

“You need to eat, afterall, you were just ill!” I protested, trying to give it back to him.

We bantered back and forth like that for a while, me insisting that Nathan needed nourishment, and him refusing it. Eventually, I managed to get him to eat a quarter of the loaf, while he was curled up next to me. Both of us had nearly dozed off when the door opened again. A pale hand pushed in a burlap sack into the cell, waved in Nathan’s general direction, then quickly shut the door again.

Nathan grabbed the bag and unceremoniously dumped it on our pallet. Out tumbled a bottle of whiskey, something that looked like medicine, a loaf of Hannah’s bread, some molasses candy, and a note. He went for the whiskey, and I went for the note. As my lover uncorked the bottle and took a very, very generous swig, I glanced over the note from Hannah. Well, to call it a note was probably wrong. She had written a whole letter, using several sheets of paper. Hannah’s writing was not a feminine and schoolgirlish as I had expected, more akin to something that I would expect from Ollie, but never mind that. A few words caught my attention as I skimmed it: lawyer, court, judge, and most importantly of all, Simoce.

“What did she say?” Nathan asked, through a mouthful of bread.

“I thought you said that you were not hungry.”

“Will you just read it?” He groaned.

So I began to read: “Dear Nathan and Mr. Tallmadge, I can only hope that the two of you are alright. As one patron informed me, you are being held at the jail, a fact that I can only hope that you appreciate. If you had been turned over to Simcoe, well, I shudder to think of what he may have done. Inclosed in this bag is food, whiskey, which is to be used as medicine Nathan, and a treat. I hope you both like candy. Mercy insisted on giving it to you.

However, back to the issue on hand: you are both obviously imprisoned. The court will resume in five days, thus Ollie and I have taken it upon ourselves to obtain a lawyer given that these charges will not be ones that you can so easily talk yourselves out of. Simcoe has charged both of you with the murder of Charles Baker despite how little time there is. In case this letter is read, I will refrain from commenting on whether or not the charges are true.

Do not fear, for I have managed to secure a lawyer, but he is a recent graduate of law school and this shall be his first murder case. Mr. Alexander Hamilton was the only lawyer we could afford, he agreed to work for half wages and free spirits. Already, the man has begun interviewing tavern patrons and thoroughly committed himself to the case. I have no doubt that he will be an adequate lawyer. In addition to securing the services of Mr. Hamilton, I have also managed to convince the Warden to allow me and Ollie to visit you, which I plan to do shortly.

In other news, Mr. Tallmadge, attendance of your church has never been higher. The people are united and spend the entire service praying and talking of their wish for your release. I know that you have not been in Albany long, but Baker was also as despised as a certain Captain, and they rejoice at the fact he is dead. Many members of your congregation send their condolences and I believe that you shall have many more visitors soon. As for you Nathan, please at least attempt to not die while in prison.

Good luck to you both- Hannah Merlow, Oliver Hale, and Mercy Hale.”

Chapter 11: Conspiracy

Summary:

conspiracy
/kənˈspirəsē/
noun
a secret plan by a group to do something unlawful or harmful.

It was another day before Hannah and Ollie were able to bribe the warden to let them see me and Nathan. Of course Hannah came bearing gifts, and Ollie news. However, they were not alone. Accompanying the two Hales, was a short man with red curls and fire in his eyes. 

“This is your lawyer!” Hannah proclaimed, while she pulled various papers, three whole jars of jam, a flask of whiskey, some candles, more bread, and what looked like a bible out of her basket. I had no idea how it all fit in there.

“Alexander Hamilton.” Mr. Hamilton said, extending his hand to me. He could not have been much older than me and Nathan, but every inch of his being buzzed with energy. There was pure determination behind his eyes, and his handshake was so firm and energetic that I felt as though my life was in good hands.

“Benjamin Tallmadge.” I could not help but wonder what Mr. Hamilton thought of me as I introduced myself. II knew that he saw a man with dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and a deceptively serious resting face. Despite my youth, many thought me to be much older than I actually was. Perhaps Mr. Hamilton thought the same.

“And are you Mr. Hale?” The lawyer questioned, pivoting to face Nathan. Due to his illness, Nathan was still sitting on the pallet, and it was obvious that he had recently been sick. The whiskey from Hannah had helped, but the light behind his eyes was still dimmer than I would have preferred.

“Why yes I am! Wonderful to meet you Mr. Hamilton.” My lover gave Hamilton a nod, which was returned, and sat up a little straighter.

“Now, let us get down to business.” Hamilton, Hannah, and Ollie all settled themselves on the floor, and I sat next to Nathan on the pallet. He gripped my arm in order to help steady himself. If I had money to bet, I would wager all of it on the fact that Nathan had a headache at that moment.

“Captain Simcoe is accusing the two of you of murdering Charles Baker, who was on his death bed with measles. He claims that you took advantage of the man’s weakened state to spirit him off to the words, where you murdered him for the money he had. As little sense as this makes, the Captain saw the two of you walking to the river, wearing blood stained clothes, and connected it to Baker’s abrupt disappearance. Oliver took the liberty of informing me that you both had an alibi. So I must ask, what is it?”

“We have an alibi?” Nathan looked at me, pure confusion on his face that mirrored the expression on mine.

“If you do not mind, I feel as though I should probably ask one more question before you inform me of the alibi,” Hamilton quickly interjected. In a low voice he asked, “Did the two of you really murder Baker?” 

With a sigh, I decided to tell the truth. “Technically, yes. However, Hale had nothing to do with the actual murder. That was all my fault.”

“What happened?” I glanced at Hannah and Ollie, and saw that they were equally as curious. Something told me that Nathan had not given them the whole story.

“Well, Widow Baker requested that I sit by her son’s bedside since, after all, he was dying. Once he gained consciousness, Baker threatened me with a knife and then attacked me. He ended up stabbing me in the arm and slashing my palm.” My hand mindlessly went to where the blade had penetrated the arm. Glancing around at the others, I continued, my voice slightly shaky. “I got him off of me, and grabbed the blade, shoving it into his stomach. He let up for a moment, then pinned me under him on the bed. The only thing I could do was bring the blade to his neck, and…well, you should be able to figure out what happened next. Nathan came in after Baker was dead, and he took me to the tavern, got me fixed up, then we hid Baker’s body in a way that no one will ever find it again.”

“Is this true?” There was a hint of fear in the lawyer’s voice as he looked from Ollie to Hannah to Nathan, finally settling on me. I nodded tears involuntarily welling in my eyes. If Hamilton and Nathan’s siblings had not been there, I would have collapsed in my lover’s arms and sobbed.

“I bandaged him up.” Ollie said, “I have seen Baker do far worse than he did to Mr. Tallamdge, but it was clear that he meant to kill him.”

“Interesting.” Mused Hamilton. “Now, you could just say that in court, but manslaughter would still carry a sentence.”

“This needs to be covered up.” Hanah insisted.

After a moment, Nathan finally spoke in a whisper. “The only evidence that Ben and I killed Baker is that we were seen covered in what seemed to be blood, and Baker disappeared a few days later. How does Simcoe know that we were not covered in, say, wine, and that Baker was not taken somewhere else to be buried?”

We all looked at Nathan in surprise, until Hamilton finally spoke, a grin breaking out across his face. 

“I could argue that in court that Simcoe misidentified what you were covered in, and that Baker’s body was removed in the dead of night.”

“A letter from a relative and shards of a wine bottle would probably be convincing enough for the jury.” Ollie added on. Hamilton raised an eyebrow at him, then a small smile that I could only describe as rather evil came over his face.

“If you two gentlemen are willing to falsify evidence, then I see no reason why it would not be in our best interests to also create a situation that shall make our dear Captain Simcoe look as foolish as possible.”

Over the next hour, in hushed tones, the five of us concocted a scheme that if it worked, was sure to get me and Nathan off the hook for murder, and portray Simcoe as a complete and utter fool. In the days leading up to the trial, Hamilton, Hannah, and Ollie all completed their parts, while Nathan and I rehearsed our testimony.

Those days passed in a blur. All three of our co-conspirators were far too busy to come visit me and Nathan, but they did make sure to send Mercy to the jail with a book and another loaf of bread for us. In her childlike voice, she politely asked the warden if she could pretty please see her older brother. The warden, himself being a father, gave into her youthful charms, and escorted her to our cell himself. Most of the people in town seemed to be on mine and Nathan’s side, and thus our prison stay was marked by rather relaxed observation from the warden.

The two of us had been talking in hushed tones about things that would have gotten us another trial, when the cell door creaked open, and a young girl bounded in. As we spoke, mine and Nathan’s voices would occasionally become choked with fear, but we pushed any thoughts of our fates aside when we saw her. Mercy went straight to her older brother, giving him a tight hug. He whispered something to her, and then she turned to me and did the same.

After she released me, Mercy dug into the basket Hannah had most likely given her and pulled out…yet another loaf of bread, because, apparently, the solution to incarceration is bread. She then promptly handed it to Nathan.

“Thank you?”

“Ollie told me to tell you to look inside.” Mercy stated.

With an incredibly confused look on his face, Nathan inspected the loaf of bread, before picking it up and realizing that the whole thing had been split in two and hollowed out. Inside of the bread was a small bottle, which was unmistakably labeled as “Laudanum”. While Mercy looked away, he took a generous swig of the bottle, presumably to dull whatever pain he was in. I had been paying close attention to him over the course of our imprisonment, and I had begun to be able to tell when the torment of a headache had settled in his mind. When I looked at Nathan, there was nothing behind his eyes, no energy or wit, he was attempting to block out the pain and continue on with his day.

“Mr. Tallmadge?” Mercy looked at me, a sly look penetrating her innocent aura.

“Yes Ms. Hale?”

“I made this for you.” She pulled a small doll out from behind her back and held it out to me.

I was speechless. My heart felt like it was going to explode from gratitude. The Hale family had shown me so much kindness, no matter how much I rebuffed them, but this, this was so…? I could not describe how much I appreciated the gift, instead opting to pull Mercy into a hug.

“I am glad you like it.” She whispered. “I made it myself, Mr. Tallmadge!”

“I love it. And please call me Ben.”

Mercy smiled, agreed to, and then skipped out of the cell, joyful as ever. Once she left, I wrapped my arms around Nathan and drew him into a hug. I clung to him and rested my head on his shoulder. He ran his hand up and down my back in a sort of soothing motion after he began to feel me shaking.

“Hush my dear.” He murmured, pressing a light kiss to the top of my head. We both wished to be far more affectionate, however, given that we were already to be tried for unspeakable crimes, it was incredibly unwise to add another charge.

“I do not want to die.” I whispered in between silent sobs. Nathan just hugged me tighter and rocked the two of us back and forth.

“We are not dead men. Everything shall be fine.” He attempted to continue comforting me, but the only thought that ran through my mind was that this was so, so pitiful and ridiculous. Two boys were attempting to comfort each other, whilst locked in a cell for a murder that was committed in self defense.

“I am sorry.” The words left my mouth so faintly that I was astonished that Nathan could even understand what I had said.

“Everything shall be alright Ben. I promise it shall be.”

For the rest of the night, the two of us clung to each other in a pathetic attempt to console the other. We were so young then, I had passed my twentieth birthday just a few months earlier, and Nathan appeared to be only nine and ten years of age. In the eyes of the law, neither of us were even adults, merely children. However, we had both been forced to grow up far too early because the real adults in the world had failed us. They had not only failed me and Nathan, but at the very least the whole Hale family. Hannah, despite not actually being related to the Hales, ran a whole tavern kitchen, and acted as a mother to Mercy, despite being no older than seven and ten. Ollie lived as though he had already been let down by mankind far too many times to count during his short time on earth.

Those who were supposed to keep children safe had failed. Both Hale parents and my own were dead. One set left their children to fend for themselves, while the others decided to leave their child with an aunt and uncle who hated every fiber of his being. As Nathan and I cuddled, I mindlessly ran my free hand over the scar that marred my right wrist from when I had broken my aunt’s favorite vase, and she had burned me on the stove as a punishment. Of course as soon as that memory entered my mind, I pushed it back down. Better to live in the present, it was the only chance of survival I had left. I clung to that thought as I drifted off to sleep in Nathan's arms. We were not holding each other as lovers, instead as two scared children who needed the other. I would not fail him.

Notes:

yes, you should feel very, very bad for Ben and Nathan. In 1774, Ben was 20, and Nathan was only 19.

Chapter 12: Victory

Summary:

victory
/ˈvikt(ə)rē/
noun
an act of defeating an enemy or opponent in a battle, game, or other competition.

The next morning, before we left the cell that we had been confined to for the last five days, my lover and I attempted to make ourselves presentable. Since the warden’s daughter still apparently was in love with Nathan, a love which after last night, I knew to be one sided, she had brought us both a basin of water to wash off the last five days worth of dirt with. Seeing as that all of Albany had apparently rallied to mine and Nathan's cause, we were also given shaving supplies in order to make ourselves seem presentable in court.

As soon as we were both presentable, the cell door was once again opened, this time by a pair of british regulars. The taller of the two barked an order for us to get up, while the shorter one held rope. Nathan and I both sprang up, and the shorter guard once again bound our hands behind our backs. As the two went over the orders that they had been given with their backs turned to us, I saw out of the corner of my eye, Nathan carefully undid the knot that bound his wrists, but still held the rope in place. Eventually the redcoats figured out what the hell they were supposed to be doing, an act which took almost humorously long.

“Run and Captain Simcoe’s given us permission to shoot.” The taller one declared, a sort of evil excitement in his eye.

With that Nathan and I were marched out of the jail and towards the courthouse. My lover stared straight ahead, a look of defiance and determination on his face. Only I knew the fear I had heard in his voice the night before. As we journeyed through the streets of Albany, to the place that would determine our fate, the citizens of the city lined the street. They did not jeer, or condemn either Nathan or I, they only stood in solidarity with us. We had their support. I stood a little taller and my lover gained a small smirk on his lips.

Yet more of the Albanians had formed a mob around the courthouse, kept from the actual building by more redcoats. None of them hurled insults or actual objects as us, just gave their silent susport. Something told me that if I got free, my church would be the fullest it had ever been on Sunday.

We were marched straight into the courthouse and told to enter our pleas to the judge. He was an older man with a pink face who I swore I recognized from somewhere. Both Nathan and I entered “not guilty”. From his place in the courtroom, Hamilton wore a smug grin on his face, he was plotting to completely and utterly destroy Simcoe. As we were guided to where we would be sitting for the trial, I glanced out over the crowd in the courtroom. Despite the sweltering summer heat, the entire courtroom was packed to capacity, and I could only assume that those who had not managed to get a seat were outside. Closer to the front of the courtroom were those who seemed to be witnesses. Hannah, Ollie, several tavern patrons, and even Mercy were sitting there. I was given a little wave from Mercy, and I nodded to my pocket, where I had stashed the little doll she had made for me. It had become my good luck charm.

Once Nathan and I were seated, the trial commenced. The whole thing was a blur. It began with the prosecutor laying out Simcoe’s accusations, and Simcoe being put on the stand to testify. The vile bastard spun a tall tale about how he saw me and Nathan walking down to the river with a bloodied ax, while we laughed maniacally and joked about Baker’s death. Of course we had already discarded the hatchet and were attempting to be as quiet as possible, so it was not that hard to guess that what Simcoe was saying was, to put it frankly, bullshit. However, after Simcoe told his tale, Hamilton began to question him.

“Captain Simoce, if it was as early in the morning as you claim, how could you identify what Mr. Hale and Mr. Tallmadge were covered in?” He asked the redcoat. Despite the fact that Hamilton was not an imposing figure, the sheer energy that seemed to emanate from him was enough to make any man nervous.

“I have seen men with bloodstained clothes before, besides the two murderers were also in possession of a lit lantern.” 

“Then why did you not feel the need to mention the lantern in your testimony? In addition, if, as you claim, Mr. Hale was carrying the ax in one hand and goods stolen from Baker in the other, and Mr. Tallmadge was carrying a change of clothes in his arms, then who held the lantern, or did it float alongside them?” This last comment from our lawyer was directed right at Simcoe, but then he pivoted to the jury. “Gentlemen, if Captain Simcoe can not accurately describe the presence of a lantern, despite the fact that he claimed to have watched the accused for the better half of an hour, then why should his testimony about anything else be believed? There is no proof other than the Captain’s word that Mr. Hale and Mr. Tallmadge were covered in blood, nor that they were loudly bragging about a murder.”

With that, he called several people who lived in homes that bordered the river to the stand as witnesses. All of them testified that they had not heard any sort of loud boasting from the river around the hour that Simcoe had claimed. One elderly woman even went as far as to claim that she had been watching the river and had only seen me and Nathan walking down to bathe.

The prosecutor attempted to cross examine the elderly woman, Emma Rosenburg was her name, however, he was only able to make it seem as Nathan and I were participating in quite the usual tradition of bathing in the river. Flustered, the man sat back down again, and Hamilton saw his time to strike.

“I call Ms. Hannah Merlow to the stand.”

Dressed in her sunday dress, Hannah took the stand, looking rather young out of the Hudson Tavern. She recounted how Nathan and I had accidentally spilled a crate of wine all over ourselves and had gone down to the river in an attempt to wash out the wine. Furthermore, Hannah added how she and Lavina had washed the clothes, both noticing the excess of wine. She even joked about how Nathan must have thrown a bottle at me given how soaked my clothes were.

“Is there any proof of this incident occurring, Ms. Merlow?” Yet again the prosecutor demanded. He had been quite rude to Hannah throughout her entire testimony, and I could have sworn that I saw Ollie give him a death glare from the crowd.

“Yes there is Sir. I entered the stained clothes as evidence. Unfortunately, Lavina and I were unable to fully remove the stains.”

Low and behold, two full sets of clothes, both stained with wine were presented to the court. The members of the jury looked over them while the prosecutor's face got very, very pale. Hannah worked some sort of miracle to get clothes that seemed to support our lie. The funny thing was that in that court that day, neither side was telling the truth. Then, as if our version of events needed to be proved any further, fragments of several broken wine bottles were produced.

The prosecutor could only claim that there was no proof that Nathan and I did not murder Baker, merely that we had not been seen washing off his blood. He continued to say this even after Ollie, Hannah, and Lavina placed us at the tavern. They had been the only ones to have seen us as Ollie was working the bar, and Nathan and I were running around behind the senses. Nice touch Hamilton, I thought, no one could claim we were not there, as no one else had seen us. 

Finally, to seal the fact that Nathan and I were not responsible for Baker’s murder, was a letter from a doctor in New York who was very happy with his new cadaver for dissecting. A man who I did not recognize, but Nathan seemed to, talked about how devastated he was over the loss of his cousin, but that, due to Baker’s debts, he was forced to sell the man’s body to a doctor who wanted to learn more about anatomy. He even mentioned that his aunt was so devastated by the loss that she left to stay with relatives in Connecticut, rather than continue to live in the house her only son died in. This final claim was rather dubious, but I could only assume that the crime scene had been cleaned up so well that no one could object to this retelling of events.

During his closing argument, Hamilton retold the facts of the case, brought up witness testimonies, and even mentioned that Simcoe was banned from the Hudson Tavern following an altercation a few months previous, so he held a grudge against Nathan Hale. In comparison, the prosecutor was only able to grasp at straws and clearly gave up halfway through, having already realized that there was no case for him. The jury retreated and came back fifteen minutes later with their verdict.

“Mr. Hale and Mr. Tallmadge, you are both free men, having-” I did not hear the last part of the judge’s statement, as the courtroom erupted in cheers, and my mind was rushing. Nathan and I were untied, an action not necessary for my lover, and released into the crowd. Men and women shook my hand and as I attempted to leave, I was told several congratulations. However, as I passed the British sentry stationed at the door, he whispered something to me that sent a chill down my spine.

“Captain Simcoe will get revenge on you for making him seem like a fool.”

The threat replayed in my mind as I walked with Nathan, Hannah, Ollie, Mercy, and Hamilton back to the tavern. Once we entered the empty tavern, I hesitated right at the door while Hannah and Lavina headed towards the kitchen, and Nathan slipped behind the bar. Eventually I settled on leaning up against the bar while he produced several glasses and poured drinks for everyone.

“Ben, is something wrong?” He looked at me with genuine concern, placing a hand overtop of mine.

“Simcoe threatened me.” I mumbled, somehow unable to look him in the eyes.

“Ben.” My lover cupped the side of my face with his free hand and gently turned my head so that I was looking at him. “I promise that that son of a bitch will not hurt you. I will not let him. No one in this tavern will let him. No one in Albany will let him.”

“Thank you…for everything.”

I might have smiled as Nathan pressed a light kiss to my hand and as I drank my whiskey and talked with Hamilton, but inside, a voice was screaming at me. Why the hell are you so dependent on the Hales? It yelled. They pity you. This is nothing more than pity. Nathan only pretends to care for you because he knows how pathetic you are. No one really likes you, your aunt and uncle told the truth. I hid tears behind a smile before running a gentle finger along the place where the scar on my collar bone would have been had I not been fully clothed.

All around me, a small party buzzed. Everyone else was excited about our victory over Simcoe in court. Everyone but me. I just sat in a chair and watched, but saw nothing. I laughed and joked but said nothing. I drank and danced but felt nothing. I was completely numb inside. At least there was no voice inside telling me what a horrible person I was.

I kept drinking until my vision went blurry and all I could comprehend was the fact that someone was half dragging me up the stairs and then depositing me in a bed. I tried to kick my shoes off before a warm body wrapped itself around me, its head on my shoulder, pressing light kisses into it, and an arm wrapped around my stomach. A small wave of safety began to wear away the numbness in my mind. By the time I finally drifted off to sleep, I was content in someone else's arms and a small ember of something like hope burned in my mind. I was safe. No longer could I be accused of murder, I was as close to a home as I would ever be, and I had others who cared about me. Perhaps that was enough.

Chapter 13: Precipice

Summary:

precipice
/ˈpre-s(ə-)pəs/
noun
a hazardous situation

The day after the trial was a Sunday, which meant that I was to lead services at my church. Of course I had woken up in a rather sinful state, hungover and wrapped up with Nathan Hale. As I untangled myself from his mess of limbs, he pressed a kiss to the small of my back since it was pretty much the only place that he could reach. My breath caught in my throat when he did, and despite the realization that I would very much like to be intimate with Nathan for a second time, I still left the comfort of the bed to dress. In order to nurse my headache, I took a swig of the bottle of ale that was for some reason in my lover’s bedroom. 

I was pulling on my clothes from the night before, when Nathan finally properly woke. He yawned, rubbed a pale hand over his face and raked it through his dark hair, before falling back onto the bed.

“Nathan?”

“Yes, my dear?” He was still groggy and I was not entirely convinced that he understood that I was speaking to him.

“Would you be willing to attend church this morning?”

“Would it make you happy?”

“Yes, it would.” I confessed. A soft grin spread across his face and he sleepily ran a hand through his knotted hair. I recalled a vague memory of messing it up to better kiss him from the night before.

“Then I will. Now pass the ale.”

Of course I gave my lover the bottle, before I gathered up all of my possessions to head back to my “house”. My Sunday clothes were there, and the congregation would notice if I randomly appeared in Nathan Hale’s clothes. Actually, for the last few days I had been wearing nothing but Nathan’s clothes. He had not objected, and I did not mind it. Everything I had stolen from him smelled like pipe smoke, alcohol and a bit of sweat. It was comforting, and I will confess that I kept his shirt on underneath my clothes for church.

The knowledge of Nathan’s presence kept me from nervously rubbing my cuff in between my thumb and forefinger every time I passed a soldier on the street. It shall be alright Ben, I could hear him saying, I refuse to let any of those bastards hurt you. Somehow, I managed to make it to my church with only speeding up slightly upon passing redcoats. Those bloody bastards had no right to be here, no right to attempt to show their authority through the means that Simcoe did. Perhaps as a minister I should have known better, but I wanted revenge.

Apparently I was not the only one who despised Simcoe and all things British following my arrest and trial, as when I neared my church, every single person in Albany seemed to be there, awaiting the opportunity to go in. I was forced to push my way through the crowd in order to unlock the door. The mob of people became less mob-like and they politely filled into the church after me.

By the time I made my way to my pulpit, the entire congregation was present, all at rapt attention. Did they expect me to do something? Of course they did, they expected the hymn to begin. Idiot. Before I began the hymn I had to glance out over the crowd just to assure myself. Nathan was just slipping into a pew int he back row and gave me a small smile, and the fact we were in my church be damned, he blew me a fucking kiss. My god, I was in an intimate relationship with a reckless idiot. However, perhaps I was also a reckless idiot given that I had to physically stop myself from returning the gesture. As I grabbed the hymn book one thought ran through my mind: I am going to be forced to repent so much after what I plan to do with Nathan Hale later today.

“Please begin hymn number 112 today.” I said, before flipping through my hymn book in order to find it myself. The hymn was the wrong one, but no one in the congregation seemed to care. At the very least I could hide the blush spreading across my face by burying it in the book.

The hymn began and I attempted to clear my mind by singing along, however, I could not keep myself from seeing the two soldiers that were stationed directly across from the church from my pulpit. While this had not been threatening only a few weeks previously, now I could not help but think that the two of them had been sent by Simcoe to watch me. I managed to get through the sermon by preaching about something so painfully generic that I forgot what I had said the minute the words exited my mouth. During the second hymn, Nathan seemed to understand my distress, and quietly blew me another kiss, while silently pointing to the inside of his coat. The fool had brought a gun to church, but I could not be more grateful for his actions. However small, they brought me a sense of mild security, and the final part of the service was less nerve wracking than the first. I still chose the wrong prayer for the day, and still no one noticed. I could only assume that they believed it only to be exhaustion from my time in prison.

Only after the last prayer was said and hymn sung of the service, did I breathe a small sigh of relief. I would be free to leave and go back to somewhere that did not possess the lingering threat of soldiers. Of course my congregation wished to speak to me before that happened. 

I shook hands and thanked people for coming for the better part of an hour, before the church had finally emptied out enough that I could begin tidying it up for the next Sunday. Even after everyone else had left, Nathan stayed. Hannah, Ollie, and Mercy had gone to tend to the tavern, but my lover was still there. He sat in the front pew, lazily flipping through a bible that I knew for a fact he was not actually bothering to pay attention to, as I took away the melted candles and attempted to figure out where the missing prayer book had gone.

“Ben?” He asked.

“Yes? Do you require something?” My back was to Nathan, but I did not need to see him to know that there was a sly grin on his face.

“I was hoping that you would be willing to explain a verse to me.” Innocent enough for anyone but Nathan Hale.

With a small sigh, I ended my search for the prayer book, and sat down next to him. The bible was open to Leviticus, and I knew the verse he was looking at perfectly well. It condemned pretty much every interaction that I had ever had with Nathan as a horrible sin. Where was he going with this?

“It means that everything you tend to do with me is a sin.” I said.

“So,” He mused, “Would this be a sin?”

“Would wha-”

I never got the chance to finish my statement, as Nathan pressed our mouths together, and cupped my cheek in his palm as we kissed deeply, agin and again. His thumb gently ran over my stubble and I got one arm around his waist. Between the two of us, we managed to get me on top of his lap and one of Nathan’s hands on the small of my back before we separated.

“Would you consider explaining to me exactly what that sin is, Mr. Minister?” He asked, eyeing my chest in an absolutely not innocent way. 

“Nathan we are in a fucking church.”

“Why should I not have you here?”

“We are in a church you idiot!”

He kissed me again, most likely to shut me up. This time the bastard got a hand under my shirt and on my hip beneath it. A chill went up my spine and ok so maybe I would not be averse to being intimate with Nathan in my church. In response to him kissing me, I was forced to get a hand between his legs and what I did produced the desired reaction. My lover pulled away from me to curse before I pressed my lips to his neck. A plethora of curses which really were never intended to be in that sort of building were the very satisfying product of that action. However, I did eventually pull us apart.

“My ‘house’ is a moment away. Nat, I care for you but I refuse to take you on a pew.” The words came out far more breathy and desperate than I intended.

“Perhaps I would like you in a real bed again.”

I took his hand and we ended up in my bed. Nathan pressed kisses over every inch of my skin and I reciprocated as best I could while he essentially laid on top of me. What we did was enough for us both to have been hung and more, but the feeling of pure contentment and safety that filled me as Nathan pulled on his clothes while I languished in my bed, was worth the risk. Many years later I wished that I could have frozen time in that moment and lived in it forever. Just me and my lover, comfortable and happy, him reluctantly tugging on clothes, as I laid tangled up in my blankets, totally nude and giggling as he made some stupid jest. It was easily the happiest I would ever be in Albany, as from that point on, the descent into hell began.

In fact, it began the very same day. Of course in the evening I made my way to the tavern. During my time in Albany, the summer had passed, June had faded into July, and July into August. So by the time I made the journey to the Hudson Tavern that would make the beginning of the end of any joy I felt in that god forsaken city, a cool August breeze made my queue flutter. A thunderstorm was coming, and I hoped that the evening would be spent cuddled up next to Nathan Hale, listening to the pitter patter of fat raindrops on the roof above us.

When I did enter the tavern, a rumble of thunder shook the air, making me ever more grateful to enter the room. The scene I encountered might have seemed mundane at a glance, but  as I shut the door behind me, and slipped over to the bar, where Nathan was waiting with a mug of  ale already ready for me, I was not aware of just how much I would despair at the fact that I never took the time to appreciate the last time I would ever set foot into the Hudson Tavern  and feel at home.

“Mr. Tallmadge!” Hamilton called out to me. I had not seen the lawyer much since the trial, although it had been merely two days since the event had passed, instead what was curious was that while Hamilton stayed at the Hudson Tavern, I had not run into him at all, despite the significant amount of time I spent around the tavern. However,  Hamilton was charming enough, and well known enough from winning the case, that I had a feeling he had spent time in the homes of several local women.

“Mr. Hamilton!” Placing my ale back down on the bar, I walked over to him. Hamilton had satchel thrown over his shoulder and had on traveling clothes.

“I am leaving Albany, Mr. Tallmadge,” He said, “I merely wished to wish you and Mr. Hale well before I depart.”

“So sorry to hear that, I can only hope you enjoyed your time in this…unique city.”

“It has been interesting.” He confessed. Of course in Albany, interesting did not always mean good. Over the course of my very interesting stay I had fallen in love with Nathan Hale, seen him shoot a man, been attacked, killed my attacker, hidden his body, been arrested for the murder, be found not guilty of the murder, and almost been intimate with Nathan Hale in the very church I was the minister of. So yes, it had been interesting. I could only assume a similar situation befell the lawyer who represented me and my lover in court.

“Albany will miss you.” Nathan called over from the bar.

“I do not expect to miss it.”

And with that Hamilton was gone. The small red headed man with fire in his eyes had departed from my life and disappeared with a summer storm. It would not be my last interaction with Mr. Alexander Hamilton, who would eventually become the most famous man in the country. I was one of a select few to have known him before the war, but I would not be the last to know his name, in fact, I would be far from it.

Once Hamilton departed, the rest of the tavern began to clear out. No one fancied spending the night there, especially when their homes were so close. Only a few travelers, the Hales, and I remained after a few minutes. There were about five travelers, and an older man who seemed to be in charge approached me after a minute.

“Sir, could you acquaint us with our lodgings for tonight?” He asked me.

“I am quite sorry, but I do not run the tavern, nor am I heavily involved in its day to day operations.”

Thankfully Hannah butted into the conversation and managed to get the gentlemen and his party lodging without involving me. They followed me upstairs and further into the tavern. I could only assume that with how eager she was, Hannah was severely over charging all five for their rooms. That left me and Nathan alone in the tavern. Ollie was god knew where, and Mercy was asleep on her bed. I settled in a well worn chair by the fire and read a book that I had tucked into my pocket before heading over. The night was almost perfect and I began to drift off, between a combination of my drink and the day’s prior…activities, I was exhausted. As I stared into the twisting and dancing flames of the fire, Nathan cleaned up the bar, and rain finally began to fall against the roof. I stretched out my legs so that I was resting my feet closer to the hearth, and began to drift off.

“Ben?” 

“Hmm?” Was I fully awake? Of course not. But I could tell that Nathan was kneeling down next to me, and probably plotting how to get as much of me in his arms as possible.

“I have an idea…and a roll. If you listen to the idea, then I shall give you the roll.”

“Sounds like a fair exchange.” I mumbled, finally opening my eyes. Nathan was drunk, not exactly a surprise, and he was holding a roll, which I snatched out of his hands. If I was listening to him rambling, then I would be eating my roll while doing so.

Dropping his voice to barely above a whisper, my lovers eyes gleamed with cunning and he began to speak:

“Old Captain Simcoe does not deserve to have done what he did to us and go unpunished. The court did not do it, so I suppose we do. The bastard wanted us hung, so I propose that we return the favor and make him suffer. We ought to go into the house that he invaded and now resides in, go though the son of a bitch’s shit and find some sort of letter, anything in which he admits to doing any sort of atrocious act. Preferably some sort of act that is punishable by hanging. Then, we can blackmail him into leaving the city, giving us money, and perhaps even doing irreversible damage to both his legacy and that of the British government!”

“Yes. I believe that this shall be the perfect way to execute revenge on that bastard!” I was patriotic and foolish and caught up in a youthful desire for vengeance, only spurred on by my company, and thus I readily agreed, not knowing just how horrible of a decision this truly was.

Notes:

So yeah, its been nine whole days since I've updated this. Midterms FINALLY ended, so I've been kind of busy. Also, this chapter was supposed to go in a completely different direction, so I did a ton of research for that before realizing it was pretty stupid, and changing course. On top of all that, I've been crazy stressed since well, I'm in the US and queer, so pretty easy to guess what I'm concerned about. Plus, I've been really neglecting my actual novel in favor of this, so I promised myself I'd get more of that done before putting out another chapter of this. Sorry for my ramblings, its been a long week. I'd really appreciate some kudos or even a comment if you enjoy Nathan and Ben being chaotic little fucks. Promise Lams is coming soon, like within a few chapters soon. If you bothered to read this...I love you!

Chapter 14: Ruination

Summary:

Ruination
/ˌro͞oəˈnāSHən/
noun
the action or fact of ruining someone or something or of being ruined.

I woke up next to Nathan again the next morning. He had wrapped himself around me, desperate not to let go, so I did not. My lover had gotten his head on my shoulder, legs wrapped around mine, and was hugging me as tight as he could. The more I think about that moment, the more I realize that he was most likely in immeasurable pain, and had turned to me as some sort of comfort. Of course that point was proven when he lifted his head so that his eyes met mine, and it looked like he had been crying in the night, presumably from pain.

“Hush, it shall be alright.” I muttered as I rubbed my hand in small circles on his back. By the time the gentle whimpering ceased, the dawn had begun to creep into the dark sky, and a bird had begun its song, deep in the forest.

Nathan finally untangled himself from me, and I gave him a small kiss. He smiled at me, but there was nothing behind the smile, it was merely a facade to keep others from questioning him. As I pulled myself out of his bed, my lover took a small bottle out of his coat pocket and downed some of the liquid in a single gulp. Seeing as that laudanum and whiskey were his vices of choice, I could only assume that the bottle was filled with something that one would not usually consume directly after awakening. We dressed at the same time, but without a word passing between the two of us. However, right before I stepped out of his bedroom, Nathan drew me into a passionate kiss. I did not want to leave him, I wished only to stay in that room and kiss him for all eternity. I was so foolish and in love that it sickens me looking back. 

“Shall we go through with our plan tonight my dear?” He whispered into my hair. I just cupped his chin with my hand and kissed him as a reply. It was the wrong decision.

With that, we parted our separate ways for the day. Nathan went to join the other Hales in the Hudson tavern, whilst I performed my duties as minister. But all day, our plan was on my mind. It was a good plan in theory, and Nathan’s experience in both smuggling and various other criminal ventures that I did not wish to know the extent of, would help us get into the home and out unscathed. The only useful skills I possessed for executing such a plan, was my ability to move almost silently, and quickly read correspondence, both products of my less than savory upbringing. However, our shared desire for revenge was clearly the real reason I was to be involved. Although I did not often demonstrate it while residing in Albany, I was an ardent patriot and willing to do anything to get back at a government who treated its subjects in the way Britain did.

Nathan and I met up in order to fulfill our plan at the back of the Hudson Tavern after sunset. He had instructed me to wear dark clothes, so I did. There was a chill in the air, despite it being August, and I wrapped my coat around me tightly. Upon reaching the arranging meeting place, I saw no one. Perhaps Nathan was just late, or he had a bout of illness, I thought, he would be there shortly. No sooner had I finished my thought, than did a shadowy hand grab me! I did not cry out or thrash, instead my entire body went rigid, and I braced for the inevitable blow. But none came.

“Ben, are you alright?” Nathan looked both terrified and concerned at the same time, and I realized that I had begun to shake.

“I am fine.” I said, wiping away the silent tears that had leaked out of my eyes with the handkerchief my lover had handed to me. He looked at me and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of my hand.

“I can not apologize enough for scaring you.”

“I assure you I am fine.” I wrapped my arms around myself tightly. There was nothing I desired more than for Nathan to console me, however I knew that if I gave into that desire, we would accomplish nothing at all, and I believed revenge on Simcoe to be far more important than that.

We began to walk towards the house Simcoe had invaded and used as both a headquarters and his own personal home. My lover held a dim lantern in one hand, and held mine with the other. The streets of Albany were deserted and there was no concern of us being seen. Hell, I could have kissed him full force in the middle of the street, and the stars would have been our only witness. Every footfall on the street sounded like a cannon shot in the tranquil night air. I squeezed my lover’s hand lightly. Something felt wrong, perhaps it was some sort of premonition. My chest was tight and I dug my nails into my palm. I suppressed whatever harbinger of doom was beating itself at the back of my head, and forced a calm look on my face.

It was not long before we had reached Simcoe’s lair. The windows were all dark and there was no movement coming from the house. Most everyone in Albany knew that the bloody backs loved to get drunk as often as possible, and Simcoe facilitated the desires of his men in order to keep them all completely and utterly loyal to him. So instead of walking into the dragon’s lair, occupied solely by the dragon, we would be entering the dragon’s lair, occupied by the dragon and his army of intoxicated minions.

With a nod, Nathan led me around the back of the house, drawing the two of us back to the tree line that bordered the property. He drew something out of his coat and pressed it into my palm. It was a gun. I looked up at him quizzically. Was it really a good idea for me to have a gun? I had never fired one before in my life.

“If any of those bastards try to lay a finger on you, I want you to pull the trigger and aim for their chest. Do not even bother with trying to get them in the head. Chest or stomach. That will get whoever is trying to hurt you on the ground.”

“I shall. Do you have a gun too?”

“Of course I do, but do you promise to not try and fight any redcoats on your own?”

“I promise.” I pressed a light kiss to his cheek, and Nathan made a small noise that sounded like he was about to cry. But within a second, any symptom of the fact that he might not be as confident and cocky as he presented himself to be disappeared. My lover gave me a lopsided grin and we both tied the bandanas from our last illegal excursion around our faces.

The back door was unlocked, for what reason I did not know. Perhaps the bloody backs had left it open in order to better leave while inebriated. More likely, they had simply forgotten to lock the door. Nathan gently pushed the door open, and I clutched my pistol tightly, should any of our enemies become aware of our presence. But not a sound came out of the house. We both stepped lightly onto the floor boards. Not even a creak. I motioned up, if there was anything important it would be upstairs. Nathan nodded, and we began to inch our way towards the staircase. There was not a soul in the kitchen, nor in the dining room, however in the parlor, there was a gaggle of drunk soldiers. My breath caught in my throat when I saw them, but I kept on moving. My years of experience sneaking around a sleeping house had come in handy, in fact, this was far easier than what I had done in my childhood. Drunk men were far heavier sleepers than an aunt and uncle who waited awake in an attempt to punish you for sneaking out. 

I had plenty of practice moving up stairs without being detected, although it was clear that this was a skill that Nathan lacked. I was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, and he was just a few steps away from me, when he must have put too much weight on one foot, and the stair creaked. We both froze and peered around to see if we had been noticed. There was no noise from anywhere in the house, we were safe…for the moment.

Once we had both reached the top of the staircase, we encountered yet another problem. Neither of us knew where Simcoe’s study was. So, like the two underprepared children who thought that they knew what they were doing, we were, I started checking the doors on the left side of the hallway, and Nathan did the same on the right. After checking three doors, all I had found were a linen closet that someone had apparently placed a bottle of sherry in sometime in the last century, and one bedroom, in which resided, one very drunk and very naked lieutenant, a prostitute who was evidently also as drunk and bare as her companion, and oh so many empty bottles. It was obvious to me that the man was not Captain Simcoe, seeing as he was very clearly one of the men who had dragged me and Nathan from our cell to the courthouse, having evidently garnered himself a promotion. I did not recognize the prostitute, but I had no doubt that the small pouch that she clutched in one limp hand was her employer's wages. Well, at least the British were being stolen from for once.

Evidently Nathan had not been able to locate Simcoe’s chambers either, since we both met each other at the final door in the house. It was open a crack and there was a bit of light coming out from under it. Probably from a candle that no one had bothered to put out. Everyone else in the house was black out drunk, there was no reason for me to assume that Simcoe was in anything but a similar state. However, an all too familiar sense of dread filled the pit of my stomach as I stood in front of my door. I felt even more apprehensive when Nathan placed his hand on the door knob, and pulled it open. Light flooded into the hallway, and I felt as though I might throw up.

Nathan stepped into the room, and motioned for me to join him. As I pushed all fear aside, I followed him. At first glance it seemed as though we were alone. There was no one sitting at the desk, or laying on the bed…or any other surface in the room. Within two strides, I made my way over to the desk, and began to rifle through it. Simcoe kept his military papers on top of everything, however I had grown up around too secretive of people to be convinced that that was everything in the desk. Pushing away a layer of maps of Albany, proved my theory correct. At the bottom of one of the drawers was a small wooden chest, and in that chest, I could only presume were the target of my ire’s personal correspondence.

“What in god’s name is going on here?” A voice bellowed. The first thought I registered was “Oh thank god it is not Simcoe.”

My lover grabbed my hand and we bolted. I dropped the box somewhere along the way as we hurried down the stairs, the angry soldier hot on our heels. Reaching into my coat, I grabbed the pistol and pulled it out. Whoever was behind us was most likely armed, we were in a house of soldiers after all. However, he was also drunk, and as I rushed down the final steps of the staircase, the crack of a gunshot went off behind us. I braced to see a bullet whizzing past me or Nathan, or perhaps, even worse, to feel the impact of the lead with my body. But neither of those phenomena occurred, presumably because the soldier chasing us was far too drunk to shoot straight. However despite the fact that the man could no longer shoot straight, he was still sober enough to shout.

“Thieves!” He bellowed.

I rushed to get out the door before the rest of his fellow soldiers were roused. As I passed the parlor, there was the crack of a gun, and the buzz of a bullet passing right over my shoulder. I barely had time to comprehend what could have happened if I was any slower. Nathan grabbed my hand and pulled me along. We managed to trip out the back door just before the soldiers were finally all roused, and bolted towards the woods. During our flight, I clutched my pistol even tighter, finger directly on the trigger. Evidently, Nathan was thinking the same, as he shot his gun away from us, in an attempt to injure our pursuers. A scream pierced the night air, so he must have succeeded.

The soldiers were catching up with us. I could hear the crack of twigs in the first as they caught up. A bullet struck a tree limb a few meters above my head, so I turned around for a minute and shot back. I had no cue if I had hit anyone because Nathan pulled my arm so hard that I thought he might have dislocated it. He tugged me into a hollow tree trunk that he must have known from his smuggling ventures. With one hand he covered my mouth and pressed us together, with the other, he held the gun in front of us. If anyone had seen us, they probably would have assumed that Nathan was holding me hostage, not that he was attempting to save me. Seconds felt like hours as the bloody backs' footsteps neared us, and then passed us. None of them had bothered to check the tree. We waited another minute that felt like an eternity, before jumping out of the tree and rushing back towards Albany. Since we both wore bandanas, none of our pursuers had seen our faces. We would be safe so long as we made it to the tavern.

As we neared Simcoe’s lair, we came across the British soldier who Nathan had hit. He was laying on the ground, clutching his stomach and groaning in agony. Before I could even register what was going on, Nathan took his pistol and shot the poor man in the chest. Blood gurgled out of the wound and he trashed around for a few seconds then went still.

“What the fuck!” I spat at Nathan, glaring at him in disgust.

“Let us discuss this at the tavern.” He said, trying to pull me along with him.

“No.” I stopped moving and stood my ground. “I refuse to go with you. You know Nathan, you really managed to trick me into believing that you actually gave a fuck about me! But I saw your true nature that night with Lloyd. You think you can play god and control the lives of others as if they were your own personal playthings. I never should have believed that you could actually care about me. You are nothing but a mindless, manipulative butcher! Good bye sir.” I practically screamed the last few words at him and stormed off to my home.

That was the last of Nathan Hale I would see for many years. I left as soon as he had revealed his true form to me. I tore the bandanna off my face and threw it as hard as I could in the Hudson. That lying bastard had kissed me on the banks of the very same river, a night that he had probably only orchestrated so that I would turn a blind eye to any murderous escapades of his that I may have accidentally witnessed. When I reached my house, I began to shove my meager belongings back into my satchel. Everywhere in the shack were memories. Goddamn it. I needed to get out of this hell hole of a city. There was paper on my desk. Within five minutes I had drawn up a letter of resignation.

In the morning I posted the letter. It would arrive at my superior's office by Sunday, and by then I planned to be long gone from Albany, New York and all the vices and squalor it facilitated. As I glanced around the minister’s house one final time to see if I had left any vital possessions, I spotted the doll Mercy had made for me lying discarded on the floor. Even though I had sworn off Nathan Hale, it did not mean that I would discard such a sweet gift from an innocent child. With any luck, Mercy Hale would grow up to go down a very different path from her siblings. I tucked the doll into my coat pocket, placed my hat on my head and walked out of the chapter in my life that involved love, betrayal, and murder, and into the next.

Notes:

And with this, we have come to the end of Ben Tallamdge's stay in Albany! Jeez has it been a journey. I hope you enjoyed watching these characters as much as I have! This is my first fic on Ao3, and I'm so glad to have had as positive of a reception as I have! The next part is going to be John Lauren's POV so get ready for some LAMS! If you've liked this, please leave kudos or a comment, knowing that people like my ramblings really makes my day!

Chapter 15: Initiation

Summary:

in·i·ti·a·tion
/iˌniSHēˈāSH(ə)n/
noun
the action of beginning something.

Notes:

I'm back baby!

I gazed out upon the grassy fields and wild forests as I rode along the quaint country road. Warwick, Pennsylvania was the sort of place that would have been otherwise unremarkable, had the most decisive land conflict in the history of our young nation been occurring so close to it. Washington was headquartered at a house that I was told was at “the crossroads” when given directions for how to locate it. As I rode, one hand mindlessly tapped the inner pocket of my coat, where the letter proclaiming that I was to be an aide-de-camp for General George Washington lay. I had been forced to fight tooth and nail for the position. My father was the president of congress, and he despised the idea of his only son going to war. But for once in my life I had managed to convince him to let me have my way, and know I was on a path to gain glory in battle…and if I was lucky the same glorious death that was associated with it. As I neared a sentry who wore American colors, I pushed the thought to the back of my mind, much like how I had pushed my sketchbook to the back of my bag while I was packing for the trip. I was finally to be free from the reaches of my father’s influence, and could finally be my own man.

“Pass and reason for entering camp.” The sentry barked. I fumbled with the button on my pocket for an embarrassingly long time before I was able to grab my pass.

“Here it is sir. I am to be an aide-de-camp for General George Washington.”

The soldier stared at the letter for a moment before handing it back to me and stepping aside from the entrance to the road so that I could enter on my horse.

“Go on sir.” He saluted me, and I returned it as best I could. There was no reason that the man would have known that I was merely a volunteer and possessed no military rank. Oh well, at least someone showed me respect. One of the fears that had kept scraping at the back of my mind the whole ride over from York was that all the soldiers in the camp would laugh at me and ridicule the fact that a polished son of South Carolina’s gentry would come and fight a poor man’s war. Of course they had no idea what the scars on my arms symbolized and how very little I fit the mold of the son everyone expected me to be. Perhaps this appointment to the General's staff would change everything.

After the sentry let me pass, I still had to ride for a good ten minutes before I reached “the crossroads”. At least the ride was a pleasant one, the August sun beating down on the shoulders of the plain coat I wore, and occupants of the tent city I ventured through jovial and merry. Once I did reach the “crossroads”, I was surprised by the headquarters situation. Washington’s headquarters was located in a house that looked like someone had tacked three houses together and expected them to function as one, however the size of the structure was useful given the sheer chaos that typically emanated from places like that. Outside of the “crossroads” were at least a dozen people scurrying around. I dismounted my horse and approached one of the men wearing a continental uniform.

“Good day soldier. I was instructed to report to his excellency General Washington.”

“Good day.” He repeated, recounting the documents he held. “The General is inside. Private Stonewall can take your horse.”

A young soldier who was closer to being a boy than a man approached me and I handed him the reins of my horse with a nod. Removing my tricorn and tucking it under my arm, I made my way into the house, attempting to count backwards in French to calm my nerves. Dix, neuf, huit, sept, six, cinq, quatre, trois, deux, un. As I entered the headquarters I presented the letter to a soldier posted at the door. He nodded at me in acknowledgement and pointed me to where I could meet the General. Dix, neuf, huit, sept, six, cinq, quatre, trois, deux, un. I walked through the hallway to the door, over the floorboard sustained by muddy boots and walls darkened by pipe smoke. Each of my steps sounded far too loud. Everyone in the place could hear me and knew I was out of place. Sweat began to run down my back. They knew I should not have been there. Dix, neuf, huit, sept, six, cinq, quatre, trois, deux, un. Against my better judgment, I knocked on the door.

A deep voice said, “Enter soldier.” It must have been the general, I swallowed back my fear and did just that.

The first time I set eyes on General Washington, I had the same reaction to meeting the great man as many other soldiers. There was something about the man that commanded respect. He was tall with broad shoulders and greying hair that in his youth must have been red. The face was sober but inspired confidence and I understood why so many had put their faith in him as a General.

“John Laurens, Sir.” I said, trying to not let my voice obey my nervousness. Where on earth was the letter?

“No need for the letter son.” He chuckled, almost in a fatherly way. “I know perfectly well who you are. Your father and I have corresponded.”

“Th-Thank you sir.”

“Let me introduce you to some of the men you will serve alongside.” The general nodded to the two other men in the room with him.

“Major Tallamdge, this is John Laurens, he will be a member of my staff.”

“Major Benjamin Tallmadge, 2nd Continental Light Dragoons.” A serious looking man about my age with honey blonde hair and blue eyes that matched his uniform, who before my appearance had evidently been studying some sort of map, held out his hand for me. He gave me a small smile. There was something about the man that seemed…off. Though that may have been merely because of my inexperience with army matters.

“And Hamilton.” There was almost a sort of fatherly fondness in the General’s voice when he introduced a man who was furiously scribbling at a desk in the corner of the room.

“ Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton.” The soldier at the desk stood up to introduce himself. He was possibly the most handsome man I had ever seen. Auburn curls pulled back into a queue, deep blue eyes that were made even more striking by the dark circles under them, delicate, almost feminine features, but the confidence and fierceness of a soldier. His eyes burned like fire, and bored into my body, lips twisted into a scowl. Hamilton could not have been a year my elder, yet he had authority. The man was far shorter than the others in the room, however his spirit seemed to make up for the height difference.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton.” I managed to sputter while my thoughts screamed at me about how wrong I was for finding the man attractive. Just look how it had turned out with Francis!

He gave me a curt nod and returned to his work without a second thought. I could have sworn that I heard Washington sigh and shake his head. He was fond of the rude and handsome aide, despite the way that Major Tallamdge clearly glared at Hamilton in annoyance. They were clearly acquainted with each other, though it did not seem a willing acquaintance on Tallmadge’s part.

“Your Excellency, perhaps Colonel Hamilton could show Mr. Laurens the details of his new position given that he is one of the most experienced aides.” Tallmadge suggested, sending a glare his fellow soldier’s way.

“Yes, Major Tallamdge, Hamilton should show Mr. Laurens what he is to do and procure him a uniform.” Agreed the General. I just stood there awkwardly whilst the three soldiers seemed to mentally challenge and refute each other. Eventually Hamiltion put down his pen and rose whilst Washington and Tallmadge relapsed into the conversation they must have been holding prior to my intrusion.  He led me out of the room silently fuming, while I followed meekly behind him. We trudged to the room opposite where Tallmadge and the General still were. 

Inside of the room were about as many desks as could have been placed in there, all covered with papers, inkwells, and enough quills that it seemed as if a flock of birds had come to rest in there. Hamilton strode over to a desk and snatched up a paper. He was still scowling, and still quite handsome. I mentally kicked myself for still admiring the man, but that one part of my mind, the one most susceptible to sin and vice kept remarking that Alexander Hamilton must have looked very, very good without a shirt, or trousers…or any other garments. Goddammit! Dix, neuf, huit, sept, six, cinq, quatre, trois, deux, un.

“Now, Mr. Laurens, I require you to understand one key fact.” He said, glaring at me, now holding a piece of paper. “You may belong to the echelons of society, however in the army, you shall be treated the same as every other soldier. You shall have the same workload as the rest of us and be held to the same standards.”

“I-I understand Colonel Hamilton. Let there be no mistake, I am a soldier the same as you and expect to be treated as such.”

Hamilton nodded at me, then scanned the paper and made as if to read something off of it when another man entered the room. He had on the same uniform as Hamilton, but he was a Colonel, not a Lieutenant Colonel like the man who had been designated to acquaint me with my duties in the camp. He was about average height, with brown hair and eyes of the same, along with a rather prominent nose which bore a slight crook in it. The man introduced himself as Colonel Joseph Reed, the man who was in charge of Washington's staff.

“Major Tallmadge considers himself in a position to give advice on the going ons of this office, Mr. Laurens, I must assure you the Major’s assumption is wildly incorrect and he holds no sway over these matters.”

“I believe I understand, sir. Do not listen to Major Tallamdge.”

“Quite right, and completely ignore every one of his notions of Colonel Hamilton. The two of them do not get on.” Reed eyed Hamilton at that last remark. The man had returned to one of the desks, apparently having considered himself relieved of me.

In fact, Hamilton’s incorrect assumption was actually quite useful for me. Colonel Reed was quite useful and before I knew it, I had a continental uniform, and was appointed as an aide de camp. I was made a Lieutenant Colonel like the other aides, despite the fact that the process usually involved being a volunteer for several months, congress had recently approved the General's request for several more official aides and I had been the first appointed. The exact details of my becoming a Lieutenant Colonel were rather hazy given the mixture of the sheer excitement of the day and my general anxiety of saying the wrong thing or disrespecting the wrong officer. However, I do distinctly remember signing papers, swearing an oath to the continental congress before being handed a uniform and thanked for my enlistment. 

Reed directed me to his tent so that I could change out of my civilian clothes. He pulled aside who seemed to be yet another aide and the two of them discussed the new sleeping arrangement given that a new aide, me, had been added to the military “family”. Of course my familial relationships had been turbulent at best, so the idea of being a member of another one was not the most appealing prospect. As I removed the last signs of my civilian existence, I donned the military uniform and fixed the green ribbon that denoted me as an aide to his excellency, General George Washigton, across my chest. This was to be a new beginning, one where I was not automatically tied to my father, and I finally had a chance to pave my own path, either obtaining fame from the war, or meeting a glorious end on the field of battle. At the moment, I could not quite determine which path seemed more appealing. However, what was appealing were the open august skies and general energy of the camp, full of patriots who were ready to give their lives for their country, quite the change from my experiences in Europe, but a welcome one.

Notes:

Everyone say hello to our favorite John Laurens! Before i get too far into this next part, I just want to set a few expectations for this fic in the imminent future. These chapters take a much longer time to write, mainly because writing about army life is a bit harder that making Nathan Hale suffer. Thus, I have to do a lot of research, since even though this is technically set in an alternate reality, the historian in me is still a stickler for accuracy. So, I have decided to link any major sources that I use to write at the end notes. I highly recommend checking them out if you want to learn more about the people I write about!

However, I do think its important to set several expectations right now. First, this is not a historically accurate work, no matter how much research I do, this is not going to be following the same route as our American revolution, its alternate history. Battles might not happen at the same time or place, entire campaigns may never occur in the first place, and historical figures will be killed off and resurrected at will. Second, I do not share the same opinions as any of thee people in this work, they are all from the 18th century, and views have changed. Finally, I may be inaccurate in my portrayal of people who are a bit more obscure. I'm sorry, but not going for accuracy here!

This is my main source on John Laurens, and I highly recommend reading it through!

https://works.swarthmore.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1200&context=suhj

Chapter 16: Inception

Summary:

in·cep·tion
/inˈsepSH(ə)n/
noun
the establishment or starting point of an institution or activity.

My wrist ached after my first day as a member of Washington's staff. After explaining that as a member of the staff, I was responsible for handling the General's correspondence, transcribing meetings, sending letters to congress, and translating papers, Reed had put me to work. I had made the mistake of allowing him to know that I spoke French, so he placed me under Hamilton, who still held animosity towards me, in order for the red haired man to instruct me on translation techniques, as well as how to function in my new position. We sat at a desk together, and as I put instructions into French, I could not help but feel the animosity that radiated off of Hamilton. He had not spoken a word to me, other than to rebuke my work and tell me that it ought to be done over. At the other desks around us, men laughed with each other and taunted their fellow compatriots. However, I was resigned to sitting in silence due to the nature of Hamilton. Reed came by once in order to check my work and he declared it to be satisfactory, an opinion that got an eye roll from Hamilton. When the sky darkened and the other aides began to pack up, I felt an immense relief wash over me. I would finally be free of Hamilton.

There were still plenty of things I needed to do, the first and foremost unpacking my belongings, I had merely been given the chance to deposit them in a rather messy tent before returning to the office. Setting foot outside of the crossroads was relieving. The cool night breeze whipped the grass every which way, and a summer storm was brewing off in the distance. It was a lovely night, the sort of night that if I had been home in South Carolina, I would have walked down to the creek and begun my search for turtles. Those little shelled reptiles were some of my favorite creatures to walk the earth. Snapping turtles, basking turtles, all so adorable and the object of my every thought. If given the chance, I would have very much liked a turtle as a pet, keeping it as some might keep a dog. Several pages of my sketch book were filled with sketches of turtles, and my younger siblings made sure to inform me if any new reptilian friends were found at our home.

My thoughts were filled with pleasant visions of my armored green comrades. Perhaps a pet turtle would be a better idea than I had previously given it credit to be. My father despised my affinity for shelled creatures, however I was now far from the reaches of his influence on how I was to live my life. Thus, turtles! It took a good while for me to reach the tent that I was to share with an unnamed partner. Reed popped his head in to make sure that I was in the correct space, and once confirmed, he told me that I ought to be prepared for another day of work tomorrow. As my mind was still mainly occupied by my beloved turtles, it took me a moment to respond.

“Of course Sir. I shall be prepared for yet more translations and Hamilton’s ire.”

Reed barked a laugh at my last comment and told me that the desk situation should hopefully not be permanent, information for which I was endlessly thankful. No matter how attractive I found Alexander Hamilton, he for reasons unknown to me hated me, and getting distance between ourselves was certainly in both of our best interests. Thus, having summed up my feelings on my desk mate, and unfortunately resigned my thoughts of the wonderful animals known as turtles to the back of my mind, I turned to survey the tent I was to call home. Inside of the canvas structure the space was divided into two. Two cots and two trunks at the foot of said cots. One half of the room was evidently far more messy than anyone in a military camp probably should have kept his space, with clothes tucked sloppily into the truck, which was still open, and books and papers strewn about. In fact, these papers encroached on the side of the tent which was to be mine, so much so that, after removing my jacket and hat, I had to spend the better part of half an hour cleaning them up. 

I barely look at the papers, instead opting to gather up those which crossed the invisible line I had mentally used to split the tent, and piling them neatly on my fellow soldier’s cot. Once the papers were taken care of, I removed my boots, tucked them on the cool grass that acted as the tent’s floor, and sat on my cot flipping through a book on the natural life of South Carolina. I was completely engrossed in the whole chapter devoted to the greatest of all god’s creation, the turtle, thus it took me a moment to notice that the man I was to share a tent with for the duration of my military service was sone Alexander Hamilton.

“Why did you move my papers?” He demanded, still wearing his full uniform, hands stained with ink.

“Your papers covered the entire tent, I merely moved some so that they were not on my side.” I shrugged and prepared to return to reading about my beloved turtles. A few years previous I had drawn some soft shell specimens for a journal and I felt compelled to review my sketches.

“Do not touch my things again.” With that warning, Hamilton removed his coat, caveat, and boots, before crawling into bed and putting out the lantern. Within a few moments, light snores began to emanate from his side of the tent, and I fell asleep wondering how I had been so unlucky to be assigned to bunk with the one man who despised me. 

The next few days were hardly any better. I spent every hour the sun was up in the office, transcribing letters to congress, translating documents into French, even answering General Washington’s correspondence. All the while Hamilton was there, sharply correcting me on any misspellings and glaring over my shoulder if one word of a translation was off. From the way he acted, one would have expected him to be the leader, but that was Reed. Reed was dubbed the old man by the other aides, Meade, Tilghman , and Fitzgerald. With their affinity for giving fellow aides nicknames, Meade and Tilghman had already begun strategizing what to call me, however their creative endeavors were fruitless given that neither knew me enough for the name to be effective. To all I was Laurens, given the sheer number of Johns in the army this was the only practical outcome to the dilemma. My father had to be referred to by his full name in order to differentiate between the two of us, and for once I was glad to know that I was the member of the Laurens clan that came first. One small victory.

Only on Sunday was I finally free in the afternoon and I took advantage of my knowledge of the natural habitat of box turtles to go down to the creek which was situated only a short walk from camp. The sky was bright blue, marred by only a few wispy clouds and as I meandered through the encampment, passing countless tents and somehow even more countless soldiers. As I passed the thick trees, limbs bowing under the weight of bright green leaves and birds singing, I gripped my sketchbook and ran the tips of my fingers over the smooth pencils I had stashed in my pocket. It had seemed like an eternity since I had been able to sketch, simply spending the afternoon admiring the landscape and how the sun reflected off of the water, trying my hardest to capture the memory into a tangible object.

I took a seat at the side of the creek bank, right where the stream turned and a weeping willow dipped its branches low enough to just barely graze the surface of the water. Pulling out my sketchbook and running a hand over the smooth paper, the faint scent of gunpowder drifted over towards me on a breeze. The soldiers must have been drilling. I put pencil to paper and began to capture the broad strokes of the scene. Just as I had begun to shade the branches of the willow, there was a rustling on the bank to my right and I scanned the creek to find the origin of the disturbance.

Storming through the woods was Major Benjamin Tallmadge. Tallmadge was tossing rocks into the creek as he walked, with far more force than necessary, and muttering under his breath as he did so. It took me a moment to discern that he was cursing someone by the name of Nathan Hale. When he came within a few yards of me, Tallmadge abruptly stopped, startled.

“Did you hear anything Laurens?” He demanded, slightly blushing from embarrassment.

“No sir. I did not hear anything.” I fibbed, “Though if I may ask, are you alright sir?

“It is quite complicated.” He sighed and sat next to me on the bank, running a hand through his dark gold hair. “God has no idea the toll this war is taking on the country.”

“That is war.” I mumbled.

“Feeble and cowardly men romanticize it to convince young men with the ideas that all this is, is glory on the battlefield and nothing more. No waiting, no second guessing every decision and praying that you made the correct one.” Tallmadge shook his head and gave me a tired look and bittersweet smile. “Have fun Laurens, whatever you think is horrid now, I can only assure you it will get far, far worse.”

“Worse than sharing a desk with Colonel Hamilton?”

“Ah, so you were thrust right into the center of the suffering.”

“Clearly you have experience with him. The man refuses to allow anyone to encroach upon his ambitions.” I mentally rolled my eyes at the thought of Hamilton. The handsome bastard was impossible to deal with.

“I knew him before the war. A complete, if you would forgive me for my language, asshole, but ten times better with a quill than any man has a right to be.”

“I believe your assessment of Hamilton to be fairly accurate. If only it was not true.”

“Glad to know that we share a common enemy.” Laughed Tallmadge, his mood evidently improved. “Best of luck to you with your future endeavors in this army, Laurens. Something tells me that you shall require it.”

“Thank you Major Tallmadge.”

“Please, call me Ben.”

Evidently a hatred of one Mr. Alexander Hamilton was not the only trait Ben and I shared, we both shared a similar appearance. Blonde hair, blue eyes, rather lankly. Oftentimes in the camp, Ben and I were mistaken for each other by people who really ought to have known better. But I did not mind, I had found one ally in this camp, and that was more than enough.

Notes:

The venom in my veins is back baby!

Was John Laurens historically as obsessed with turtles as I make him out to be? No, he wasn't. Is it still one of my favorite tropes so I will forever use it? Oh hell yes!

This isn't a very historical chapter, but I did have to bust out the wikipedia page for Washington's aides, so here that is:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Washington%27s_aides-de-camp#Military_secretaries

Also Hamilton and Laurens did share a tent at some point during the war, but I can't be assed to figure out when that happened, so artistic license for the win!

Chapter 17: Lull

Summary:

lull
/ləl/
noun
peaceful or quiet period before a time of argument, difficulty, or activity.

I was down by the creek at my childhood home, just walking through the reeds and observing the churning of the river over the rocks. A bird called to another while I attempted to locate my beloved turtles. But something felt off. The trees were in slightly different positions than I recalled them being. Everything within my sight was bathed in golden sunlight, however that somehow was off too. Nothing was right. The bird calls did not resemble anything I had ever heard in South Carolina. The croak of the bullfrogs, just out of sight, was either too sharp or too low. However, the worst part was when I noticed the figure slowly creeping towards me. It was painfully familiar. Before I could run, the silhouette of my father appeared on the horizon. Fear overtook me when I realized that he was chanting something.

“Useless son shall become a useless soldier. Failure, failure, failure!” He barked, over and over and over and over.

My throat felt dry and panic set it. I wanted- no needed to flee, but my feet were stuck to the stop. My father came closer. His face was hidden by shadow, however a pair of bright red eyes shone from the darkness. The same shade of red began to flow freely out of my arms. There was no pain, though I wanted to sob the minute I became aware of the blood. Then the world began to shift. The sky went ashen, and the trees lost their leaves. Below my feet, the creek ran red with blood. I tried to scream but no noise made it past my lips. He was catching up to me and-

I sat straight up in bed. It was a dream, nothing but a night terror. My heart still raced in my chest, and I quickly looked around the tent in order to make sure that there were no demonic figures lurking in the shadows. The only other occupant was Hamilton, and he was fast asleep, his blankets thrown over his curly red hair. Other than my fellow aide’s peculiar way of sleeping, nothing was off about the tenant, and I laid back down, wrapping my arms around myself as a pitiful form of comfort and drifting into a thankfully far less eventful slumber. In the morning, I could still recall the dream painfully well, and as I tied my caveat, it became obvious that I was not the only one aware of what had transpired the previous night. 

“Laurens.” Hamilton called after me, right before I was to exit our tent. 

“Yes?”

“Are you well? I heard a disruption around midnight.” He said. There was an ever so slight note of concern in his voice which made my heart skip a quick beat. Why was Alexander Hamiton, who seemed to be nothing but abrasive and argumentative to me, concerned that I woke up in the middle of the night? More importantly, how was he aware of this?

“Yes, I am alright. I merely woke up.” I shrugged. With that we parted ways for the day, but the odd conversation stayed in the back of my mind while I worked. It had been so unlike Alexander Hamilton to ask about anyone’s well being that when I mentioned it to Meade, he looked at me with surprise and commented that he did not know Hamilton was capable of finding concern for others. Meade did say so in a jesting tone, I knew he, Fitzgerald, Tighman and Hamiton were rather close, being aides far longer than I. However all three of them whose first name was not Alexander viewed our fiery comrade as an interesting specimen. But unlike me, Hamilton jested with them and they all had a sort of brotherly bond. Tallmadge and I seemed the two people in camp he despised the most. There seemed to be an abundance of animosity between the two men. Why, I did not know.

The incident, as I dubbed it, marked the beginning of a noticeable shift in Hmailton’s attitude towards me. As we worked, I got less noticeable glares and he even began to stop correcting my spelling errors so pointedly. August morphed into September. The nights became cooler and I started to tug my quilt just a bit tighter around me at night. Many of those evenings, I would either talk with Ben, who was quickly becoming my foremost companion in the camp, or meander along the creek in an attempt to catch a glimpse of my favorite creatures, the magnificent turtles.

One day near the beginning of September, Fitzgerald stopped me right before I was to exit the office. John Fitzgerald was one of the most trusted aides and a bit more serious compared to Meade and Tilghman. He spoke with the sort of accent to be expected from his Irish heritage, and had red hair, although it was far more dull than Hamilton’s.

“Laurens, the other aides and I are to visit a tavern this evening, and Meade implored me to grant you invitation. Should we expect you to join us? There seems to be an abundance of pretty young country women in Pennsylvania, eager for adventure.”

I could not help myself but to wince slightly at the mention of the country women. What Fitzgerald intended to do with them was obvious, that sort of deflowering followed every step the army made. This was not at all the sort of activity I enjoyed, though it was assumed by my brothers in arms that it was.

“I would quite enjoy accompanying you on this excursion, however I have already made arrangements for this evening.” It was a blatant lie. Neither did I enjoy the sort of revelry that tended to occur in the sort of establishment that Fitzgerald had proposed I patronize, nor did I possess any prior arrangements that would prevent me from accompanying them. However, I did not care very much for the company of my fellow aides, they were all far too loud and boisterous for my taste. No, I would much rather prefer to spend the evening sketching and conversing with Tallmadge. He was at least reserved enough to not get inebriated every chance he was presented with, along with generally just being the best company I had found in the army.

As I made to leave the office for the day, to hopefully seek out Tallmadge, I could not help but notice the sharp tones emanating from the General’s office. There were two participants in the confrontation, and given that I truly did not have anything more urgent to do, I slowly creeped towards the slightly ajar door. Once I did so, it became more obvious that the two disagreeing souls were General Washington himself and my despised tent mate, Alexander Hamiton.

“Sir, the British will continue on if we do not make a stand!” He protested, gesturing at something on a map that I was unable to view.

“Hamilton,” The general sighed, looking rather weary, “I am perfectly aware of your opinions on this army’s actions, though I must remind you that you are not the general, nor do you even command a single troop!”

“Sir, with all due respect, you are the one who has not given me a troop to command!” Shot back Hamilton. As he fumed, someone else approached in the hall behind me.

The man behind me could not have been older than twenty years of age, but wore the uniform of a major general, and thus I knew his identity in a heartbeat. The Marquis de Lafayette, the youngest major general and a Frenchman who came to aid us in our crusade against the tyrannical British government. General Washington had taken the younger man under his wing and was a sort of father figure to the young frenchman. Lafayette had been off in Philadelphia up until then, and I had not had the honor of meeting him. 

“Est le général dans?” (Is the General in?) He asked me.

I gave him the proper salutation for his station and replied in my rusty french, “Il s'agit du général Lafayette, mais le général et Hamilton sont actuellement mêlés à une dispute et il ne semble pas probable qu'ils mettent fin à leur discussion de si tôt.” (He is, General Lafayette, but the general and Hamilton are currently embroiled in an argument and it doesn't seem likely that they'll end their argument any time soon.)

“Et sur quoi porterait cet argument ?” (And what would this argument concern?) Instead of being furious at me for eavesdropping, Lafayette seemed as interested as I was, and I quickly filled him in. “Ah, ça devrait être intéressant.” (Ah, this ought to be rather interesting.)

With that the two of us oriented ourselves so that we were both able to see into the office and observe Washington and Hamilton. Washington was as calm and in control as ever, however there was a slight twitch in his eye, the only evidence that he was annoyed. In stark contrast, Hamilton had drawn himself up to his full height, although it was not very much, and his red curls were starting to escape from his queue as he gestured wildly.

“And why am I not fit for a command?” The younger man demanded.

“I require you as a translator, and your skill with a pen is unmatched, Hamilton. You are far more valuable to me as an aide.”

“Laurens is fluent in French,” My annoying tent mate protested, “Besides, congress does not even bother to open your letters. You do not require me here!”

Washington pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and shook his head. “I need you alive son.”

“I am not your son!” Hamilton fumed, storming out of the office and almost pushing me and Lafayette down. We just looked at eachother. Whatever business the two of us had with the general could certainly wait till tomorrow.

I took advantage of my freedom for the evening to go locate Ben, like I had intended all along. He was in his tent, which was not a very lengthy stroll from headquarters, maybe five minutes. When I arrived, I could just make out the figure of Tallmadge seated at the small desk he kept in his tent, intensely examining the papers atop of said desk. As I waited awkwardly outside of the tent for Tallmadge to acknowledge the fact that I was there, a soldier came up to me and handed me a note from the general. He addressed me as Major Tallmadge, and despite my protests, refused to believe that I was not in fact the intended recipient of the order. However, this disturbance did manage to draw my friend from his tent and he soon managed to clear up the confusion.

Glad to release any responsibility I might have for the note, I handed it off to Tallmadge who thanked me, and opened it to read it. Once he got to the second line, Ben’s brow furrowed and determination danced behind his eyes. Within a moment that order was in the pocket of his uniform and he had turned to speak to me.

“We have got to prepare for battle tomorrow Laurens.” He said, a bit of fire creeping into his vibrate blue eyes, “I’ve got to ready the Dragoons, and I’d advise that you go find your horse and a gun. Tomorrow will help decide the war.”

Notes:

Hey everyone! I know its been a while since the last chapter, but I've had tech week for my school's musical, accidentally let several friends know I like women, and then I got sick, so I haven't had very much time to write between the three of them.

A few notes for this chapter:

-I'm pushing the creation of the spy ring forward a bit so that Ben has something to do

-Hamilton would have gotten in a ton of trouble for talking to Washington like that, but I kind of need him next chapter so deal with it

-Yeah the french is shit, I used google translate, just wait until we get to the language I'm actually learning in school

-I may be a history nerd, but I don't have time to thoroughly investigate the lead up to the battle of Brandywine, sorry! Story might be different if it was the battle of Gettysburg, but this chapter is already late enough

Chapter 18: Brandywine

Summary:

Brandywine
bran-dee-wahyn
noun
a creek in SE Pennsylvania and N Delaware: British defeat of the Americans 1777.

I urged on my horse in an attempt to report back to the General. To say that things were going badly would have been a severe understatement. The British had crossed Brandywine creek at the single ford we had not managed to fortify, the single ford! Now we were being overwhelmed. Lafayette was trying to rally his men, and as I dashed past him on horseback, it seemed as though the young general had been wounded, though I had no proper time to check. During times of battle, the aides were expected to act as carriers for General Washington, so as some led glorious charges, I was relinquished to acting as a messenger, riding just as hard, though gaining none of the glory. As I clutched the orders for General Green, a stray bullet buzzed past me, sounding almost exactly like the fat bumblebees I was so accustomed to seeing on lazy summer days. I simply urged my horse on and uttered a silent prayer that I would emerge from the carnage unscathed.

From somewhere on my left I heard a desperate shout of “Hold the goddamn line!” that I could have sworn came straight from Tallmadge’s lips. As I rode on, the shrieks of men falling prey to British bullets and bayonets rang in my ears. All I could do was urge my horse on faster and clutch the orders for Green. Within a few moments I handed the order off to a member of his staff and rushed back towards Washington’s Headquarters. When I skirted the edge of Brandywine creek, I could not help but wonder how it had become a place of tranquility to a place of chaos in only a few short hours. The place where I had been hunting for turtles, the magnificent little armored animals that they were, would be the last place many men would ever live to see. While I passed past where I could have sworn I had heard Tallmadge, my eyes perked up in an futile attempt to try and catch his voice again. My thoughts drifted back to the other men I was acquainted with in the camp. 

There was very little of my concern left to spare for the majority of my fellow aides, Meade, Fitzgerald, Tilghman, the whole bunch would be fine on their own. Besides, they were not the type of people I enjoyed keeping company with, there was nothing wrong with them, I simply did not enjoy that type of company. Hamilton was more complicated. Given that he both seemed to slightly care about my well being and despite my existence at the same moment, I had no idea whether I was to obey logic and not devote any time to pondering his outcome in the battle, but there was also that little part of my mind, the one that thought him handsome and filled with glee every time I got a small grain of praise from him, that said I ought to very much care what happened to him. However, instead of being forced to listen to the competing forces of my heart, I instead got to endure one of my worst nightmares.

Across from me, on the other side of Brandywine, a sharpshooter loaded a bullet into his musket, peering through the brush and pulled the trigger. Two seconds later a burning pain seared through the top of my left shoulder. Although hot pain seared through the top of my shoulder, I managed to keep enough of my wits around me to urge my horse on so as to get out of range of my assailant. A few moments later, I managed to reach Washington's headquarters, still clutching my reins as tight as physically possible. The Headquarters were as chaotic as one would expect in the middle of battle, although one head of red hair stuck out through the muddle of soldiers. Hamilton. He should have the next message for me to take. Maneuvering my horse through the camp, I finally reached my ornery bunkmate. Still midconversation, Hamilton was instructing a courier on Washington's orders for him when I appeared. He quickly sent off the courier and set his sights on me.

“Do you have orders for me, Colonel Hamilton?” It was rather peculiar to be looking down on Hamilton from my perch upon my horse, although his diminutive stature made it so that I was almost always gazing downward upon him.

“What happened to your shoulder, Larens?” He demanded, eyeing the wound on my shoulder.

“It is only a scratch.” I protested. The bullet had merely grazed my shoulder and the pain was nowhere near the worst that I had ever experienced. Nothing about the wound prevented me from functioning as a messenger. However, my head did feel as though the space behind my eyes was being tightly packed with cotton.

“Get down from your horse, messengers need to not be actively bleeding while riding.” Hamilton ordered, there was such force in his voice that I dared not disobey. As I dismounted my horse and tied the best of burden up, it became painfully clear to me that the enemy projectile had penetrated far deeper into my shoulder than I had previously believed. Glancing down at my injured extremity proved such. Nearly the entire shoulder of my deep blue uniform coat was soaked in deep ruby red blood. Some men may have fainted upon seeing the fount of warm life sustaining fluid seeping out of their own body, but it was a sight that I knew to be familiar and swallowed any fear at the sight while I followed the force of nature that was Alexander Hamilton.

Hamilton forced his way through a hoard of soldiers until we were within sight of the medical tents, emanating with the cries of wounded men and those being treated for their injuries alike. The smell of blood and flesh in the relentless afternoon sun was enough to turn my stomach and I was forced to physically prevent myself from gagging. While I attempted to not empty the contents of my stomach onto the trampled grass, my fellow aide had found the man that he had clearly sought. A fellow a good few years both of our juniors, with his coat long tossed aside and shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, yet still tainted with blood, dark hair constantly escaping his messy queue was the object of Hamilton’s march.

“Dr. Hale!” He called out, the man with the bloodied clothes raised his head and peered through the blinding afternoon light to eventually root out Hamilton’s small frame. In said afternoon light, the sun’s benevolent rays hit Hamilton’s deep bluish purple eyes in such a way that they seemed to be the brightest and most pure color in the whole dirty camp. Though, that might have just been the shock of battle talking.

“Colonel Hamilton.” Dr. Hale acknowledged, “Do you require my services for a wounded man? The hospital is quite full at the moment, however I am sure that we could acquisition a cot.”

“No need, doctor. One of the aides was grazed by a bullet and we simply require banadages in order for him to still function in his capacity as a messenger.” Dr. Hale finally took a moment to gaze upon me and his eyes immediately located my wound.

“Just a graze?” He muttered to himself, “Damn bloody backs hit deeper than just a fucking graze.” Despite the fact that Dr. Hale swore like a sailor, neither Hamilton nor I reacted. There were some things that you simply ignored in the heat of battle.

Dr. Hale disappeared into one of the medical tents for a moment and I feared that he had simply pronounced my wound not mortal and left me to help others, but in a moment, he reappeared with a roll of bandages, which he gave to Hamilton.

“I assume that you understand how to bandage a wound.”

“I do.” Hamilton confirmed. It would be a horrible lie to say that I was not slightly concerned that my fellow aide, who seemed to despise me, would be the one treating my injury. However, in my defense, most people would be reluctant to leave an actual doctor in favor of the treatment of someone whose feelings on them were more confusing than the causes of the war.

With that being said, Dr. Hale went back to tending to the more grievously wounded soldiers and us two aides left the hospital area. Hamilton said not a single word to me, merely walked as I followed. My shoulder had begun to truly ache, and I knew that the loss of blood was the cause of my pounding headache. I desired nothing more than to lie down and sleep until the pain diminished, however I had a duty to the army and thus had to stay awake. Much to my surprise, Hamilton ended up back at our tent, which I could have sworn was a much further distance from the medical tents, although my memory may have simply been playing tricks on me. Upon reaching the tent, I made the decision to mentally rifle through the contents of the satchel that had contained all of my belongings in order to determine if there was anything in it that might diminish the pain. Still silent, Hamilton went the route of searching through his trunk, which was as much of a mess as the rest of his side, while I suffered.

Right as I was about to go and see if there was anyone else who might be able to bandage my shoulder so that I could return to my duties as a messenger between generals, an “Ahah!” came from Hamilton’s side of the tent. His red hair was practically all hidden within the trunk and I could have sworn that he was practically entirely inside of the thing, but he had clearly located the object of his search. Hidden in the very bottom of his trunk, was a small leather flask. I raised an eyebrow when both the owner of the flask and the flask were finally both free of the confines of the trunk, which granted me an explanation.

“It is whiskey.” Hamilton explained, “It ought to help with the pain and to clean your wound.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your efforts.” The words that came out of my mouth sounded wrong, and were most certainly the wrong thing to have said, but Hamilton still nodded and merely passed me the flask so that I could attempt to dull the pain. I passed him the roll of bandages and while he inspected them so that he might be able to unroll the thing, I mentally laughed at the events which had unfurled before my eyes only a minute previous. By far the most entertaining sight I had seen in the last month as an aide was Hamilton practically inside of his trunk and rooting around for the flask. It was so out of character for such a serious and resentful man to be so interested in finding something, muchless something that was to aid me. A switch had clearly flipped in my diminutive and fiery companion’s mind. He no longer seemed to resent me, at least that was what his eagerness to tend to my wound indicated. After observing that I had in fact consumed some of the spirits, Hamilton nodded and then finally spoke again.

“I believe you ought to remove your shirt so that I may reach the wound.” He said. While I stripped off my jacket, Hamilton checked to see how much whiskey was left. I knew it was standard practice to pour whiskey in the wound to clean it, yet I was also aware that knife wounds healed perfectly fine without any intervention and mere bandages. Although I very much wished to be spared the burning sensation of whiskey on wounded flesh, I also understood that the questions that would follow upon my comment of the lack of need for whiskey would be far more painful than any physical sensation.

Thus, using the arm attached to my unwounded shoulder, I also removed my caveat along with my bloodstained coat and unbuttoned my shirt in order to allow it to slip down far enough as to allow access to the injury I had sustained. The pain was reduced to a mere throbbing in my body once I focused the majority of my energy into studying Hamilton’s actions. The man had pulled a book out of his trunk and was studying a page of it, the book held at waist height so the red curls that had long escaped his queue fell down around his face, delicately framing his features. If he were not standing directly within my line of sight, I would have sworn that Hamilton was a figure from a painting of a man at war, not a flesh and blood soldier. His lips were pursed slightly and there was that small, sickening urge in the deepest pits of my mind that told me my tent mate must have been a rather wonderful man to kiss. But if God had made Hamilton so perfect on the outside, he must have remembered to also make the man as perfect within. He was obviously not ill as I was, not cursed to feel attraction to men as one should to women. No, if the world had any sense of decency, it would be smart enough to leave me alone in my detestable affliction.

My thoughts were rudely interrupted when a burning suddenly increased the pain on my arm and I yelped. Standing to my side was Hamilton who had poured the whiskey on my wound. He looked slightly apologetic, however there was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, like a schoolboy who played a successful jest on his schoolmaster. I glared at him, although Hamilton suddenly realized that I was a good head taller than him and could have fought him well even in my injured state, and decided that the best decision would be to actually apply the bandages to my wound. Ever talkative, Hamilton rambled on about what he had read in the medical book he for some reason unknown to me possessed, and his vague interest in medicine. Due to the fact that my arm was in excruciating pain following the whiskey being dumped on it, I for the majority of the time elected to ignore Hamilton and instead began to wonder about the whereabouts of my horse. Within a few moments he had finished with my shoulder and as he removed the extra bandages, a few of Hamilton’s thin, ink stained fingers gently brushed against my collar bone. I for one was left reeling at the sudden contact, especially in such an intimate palace, and a bit of blush penetrated between the owner of those finger’s multitude of freckles upon realizing what he had done. As he mumbled an apology, I pulled back on my bloodied coat. Messengers were in short supply and given that my wound did not severely impede my riding ability, I vowed to continue my efforts on the battlefield. Besides, if another projectile was to hit me, the bloody backs would hopefully be capable of hitting their mark this time.

“Do try and not be so reckless this time Laurens.” Sighed Hamilton as he heard of my intention to return to the battlefield. His tone was an odd mixture of concern and jealousy. Washington kept him behind the lines transcribing orders, yet instead of solely wishing he was at least acting as a messenger, the man was troubling himself with my wellbeing. If he had been a woman doing such before me, I would have kissed him on the forehead to reassure him, but we were both soldiers so I merely granted a verbal reassurance.

“I shall not be, although the bloody backs seem to be concentrating their fire for you unto me, so there is only so much I can accomplish.” At this remark Hamilton chuckled before we went our separate ways, him to his pen and headquarters, and I to my horse and the roar of battle.

For the next several hours I rode hard, dodging even more bullets, all of which buzzed by like bumblebees. I am sure that my fellow enlisted men would have considered me to be a fool if I ever remarked to them what the tools of our deaths reminded me of. Every man on that field fought valiantly yet it was still not enough. The bloody brits pushed through our army and by nightfall, the fight was hopeless and it was clear that the Brits had won. All the bloodshed and furious fighting had been for nothing, and I could only wonder where the war would head.

Notes:

Hey everyone! Did I trick you with the bandaging scene? Unfortunately these two have enough brain cells to know that helping someone with a wound isn't an excuse to have sex. Disappointing, I know. This is a REALLY long chapter that I took a decent historical liberty with. There is no evidence that John Laurens got shot at the Battle of Brandywine, but I'm a sucker for hurt/comfort so it stays. Hey, at least I didn't take as long to get this chapter out as the last one. In other news, the Halemadge romance is now also published in its completed form as: The Minister and the Tavern Keeper: A Story That Ought To Have Gone Very Differently. I'm thinking of doing the same thing for the Lams part so let me know what you think! As always, prove you exist with some comments and or kudos!

Here are the sources I glanced over for this chapter:
https://www.battlefields.org/learn/revolutionary-war/battles/brandywine

28636-medical-services-available-during-the-revolutionary-war-including-treatment-for-soldiers-wounded-in-action

Chapter 19: Hibernal

Summary:

hi·ber·nal
/hīˈbərnl/
adjective
of, characteristic of, or occurring in winter.

With the British now occupying Philadelphia, Washington’s army and consequently me, made the trek to winter quarters. In the weeks and months after the defeat at Brandywine we had desperately fought to keep control of Philadelphia, but alas, the British forces had prevailed, taking the city and forcing congress to flee to York. Thus in early December, the decision was made to make camp for the winter. The location chosen was Valley Forge and the march to that place was easily one of the most miserable military endeavors I ever had the joy of participating in. The winter wind bit into my skin, stripping it of any potential heat as I rode atop my horse. The frigid weather had taken a toll on all of the army as the men I was riding along all looked far more downtrodden than they had three months previous.

With another gust of wind, I pulled my coat tighter around my shoulders. Having never seen the valley, I could only pray that it would provide some sort of shelter from the elements. The days were shorter now than they had been and we were nearing the solstice. Thus the sun had already begun to slip behind the mountains of eastern Pennsylvania as a multitude of men, all devoted to one cause, plodded on towards the place that was to serve as our headquarters for the next few months. Picking my pace up a bit, as to catch up to my fellow aides, yet another bout of wind lifted the hat off of my head. Quick as a flash, I caught it and firmly pressed it back onto my head. If there was anything invaluable in this climate, it was protection from the weather. Within a few moments I had managed to reach one of the other aides, and he was an aide I knew quite well. 

Hamilton was riding a rather ornery bay horse that we had plundered from a farmhouse a few days back. The horse was rather reminiscent of its rider as it refused to obey him and Hamilton’s cheeks were red with exertion by the time I reached him.. He had to yank the reins quite hard in order to keep the beast of burden he was atop from veering off into a nearby field and I got a glimpse at his hands. The wool gloves he wore were both nearly black with ink and so threadbare that I could see the pale flesh beneath them. Said hands were clearly reddened from the elements, and it was painfully obvious that they hurt.

“Quite lovely weather today is it not Laurens?” He grumbled, yet again having to yank the horse so that the beast would stay on the old farm road.

“Some of the best this year.” I remarked as my teeth chattered. There was nothing more alluring in that moment than a roaring fire and true bed. Although there was absolutely no chance of that being in my future.

“Last year was nearly as bad. Our only casualties that winter were men frozen to death.”

“Seems like that ought to be our fate again.” As I spoke, the light blue scarf Hamilton had wrapped around his neck became undone and fluttered in the wind.

Noticing this, he stopped pulling his horse’s reins with all of his might and lifted one hand in order to fix it. Due to the harshness of the cold, this was a necessary action. The troublesome steed took its rider’s brief distraction as an opportunity to bolt. The horse veered off into a field and as it did so, managed to throw its rider. Hamilton landed on the frozen ground only a few steps from the road and as he did, it became clear that something was off. Thus I bade my horse over to him and quickly dismounted in order to assist him. If it had been several months prior, I would have not bothered, fearing the rebuttal from Hamilton, however he had been courteous to me ever since the battle of Brandywine and had ceased cursing me under his breath when I moved his papers along with making less pointed comments on my translations.

Within a moment I had tied the reins of my far more behaved horse to a fence post and was lightly jogging over towards Hamilton. He had not made any effort to chase after the offending horse and his face was twisted into a grimace. Given that his hands were wrapped around his right ankle, it was quite easy to deduce the injury he had sustained. Grabbing a small satchel from where it had landed in a snowbank, I reached him quickly.

“Are you alright?” I pried as I attempted to assess the situation.

“What do you think?” Hamilton grunted as he rubbed his right ankle and winced. It was odd seeing an expression of pain on his face and I was filled with an overwhelming desire to alleviate his pain. My heart ached a bit and whatever the feeling that was coursing through my body was, I could not say. But there was one thing that I did say:

“May I help you up?” I stretched out my hand and Hamilton took it. A grimace spread across his freckled face the moment that I got him upright and in that moment we both simultaneously realized that the ornery horse had severely injured his ankle. With one arm around my neck and one of mine under his ribs, we managed to get him to a nearby stump. Although to say that “we” did it would be rather generous, I supported the shorter man’s weight while he attempted to not cry out too loudly in front of the columns of soldiers marching by us.

Once I deposited him on the stump, I glanced around to see if any other of Hamilton's possessions were in sight, along with to search for a medical officer who might be able to properly assess the injury. Within a moment it was obvious that none such officers were in sight, although I could have sworn I glimpsed the horse that had thrown my fellow aide across a field, saddle nearly falling off. We were nevering getting it back. Thus it seemed that the best course of action would be to yet again turn my attention to Hamilton, in hopes that he might be able to formulate a plan to get him to Valley Forge, or at the very least to Washington and the other aides.

I looked down at Hamilton as yet another freezing gust of wind assaulted us. He had pulled his scarf tight around his neck and was gazing off down the road, in the direction that the endless parade of soldiers were heading. A few paces behind us a soft grunt of annoyance came, and I suddenly remembered my horse, having paid far too much attention to the misbehaved one in the last few moments.

“Do you think you could mount a horse?” I asked my injured comrade.

Hamilton glanced down at his ankle, then back at my horse before replying, “I highly doubt that I would be able to make it up by myself.”

A quick glance over at my horse confirmed this fact. Given that I was fairly lanky, the steed was a fine size, however Hamilton’s diminutive stature meant that he would have had a slightly difficult time mounting under regular conditions, not to mention with a sprained ankle. 

“But,” He continued after seeing my slight frustration, “if I stood on the stump and you aided me, I might be capable of doing so, thus preventing us from being stranded all the way out here.”

I could have kissed him when he presented his plan, and Hamilton looked as though he was rather pleased with himself for figuring out a way he could get back to camp. The sun was still lowering itself behind the mountains as quickly as ever, so we had to hurry in order to not be left behind by the army, all of whom had passed by us, far too absorbed in their own misery to bother inspecting our situation. But nevermind that. Within a few moments, I had managed to bring my horse alongside the stump and also convinced the beast to stay still for a moment, as to allow its new rider to mount. Hamilton’s pale fingers dug tightly into my arm as I helped him stand. Whatever had managed to do to his ankle was quite bad and would in all likelihood keep him in a splint all winter. He drew in a sharp breath as the two of us worked together in order to get him to the point where he was standing atop the stump. 

However, that was when we encountered a rather troubling fact. Hamilton had injured his right ankle, the exact foot that he would need to lead with in order to mount the horse. Even moving the leg seemed to cause him pain, so with a quick glance to each other, I placed my hands around my companion’s concerningly thin waist and boosted him up, as to allow him to settle himself atop the horse. After plenty of squirming, a half dozen curses, and me nearly being kicked in the face twice, Hamilton was atop the horse and looked back down at me.

“My plan was a success Laurens.” He noted a triumphant note in his voice.

“So it was Hamilton, so it was.” With that I stepped off of the stump and made for the side of the horse in order to walk alongside it.

“Do not dare tell me you are planning on walking to Valley Forge!” Hamilton protested the moment both of my boots were on the hardened ground.

“The enlisted men are doing so.”

“They march day and night, of course they are doing so.” He scoffed, “You sir have no experience marching, and besides, the sun shall set before long.

He was not wrong, night was fast approaching and I did not fancy spending the entire ride to camp swaddled in darkness. With a sigh, I waited while Hamilton took himself off of the saddle and rested directly behind it, then swung myself up onto the saddle, this time no stump required. It took a moment for me to settle myself properly, mainly so that I could assure myself that Hamilton was still behind me. When that was confirmed, I clicked my tongue and the horse jolted forward. Clearly unprepared for the sudden motion, Hamilton pitched forward into me and the effort of such an action also pushed me forward. Due to the only bit of good fortune either of us still possessed, neither of us fell off of the horse, although that was just barely.

As the horse trotted towards Valley Forge, we both righted ourselves, and I could not help but notice that Hamilton seemed to have grabbed my coat in order to right himself. The most notable part of this action was in fact where he had chosen to grab. Instead of holding onto the back of my coat or even the side, Hamilton had instead chosen to nearly wrap his arm all around my front, hand resting only a few inches from my stomach. A sort of electric spark ran through my limbs and I realized that I would have very much liked for him to be touching me in far more places. After a moment of hesitation, I switched the reins to one hand and gently placed my free one over Hamilton’s. I braced for him to move away, but he stayed and intertwined his fingers with my own. Within a few moments, he was also leaning against my back and the weight of someone against me was the exact sort of physical contact that I had been unconsciously craving for years.

Thus the ride into camp was strangely enjoyable, even though the wind still howled in my ears, and the cold seemed to bite at every inch of my skin. The sun was nearly almost all gone by the time we reached the old farmhouse that was to act as Washington’s headquarters for the winter. It was not the nicest place, but there was a lantern in the window and a stable for the horses, which was nearly full. Enlisted men continued to file into the winter camp as I dismounted. In order to help Hamilton down, I had to grab his waist again, and yet again I noticed how concerningly thin he was as he practically fell on to me. We were both far too exhausted from weeks of maneuvering around the British behemoth to have considered any other way for Hamilton to dismount, and a little voice in the back of my mind told me that he probably enjoyed being touched as much as I did. But the moment the thought came up, I banished it back down. I was ill, Hamilton was not.

With help from Meade, who for some reason was outside, presumably in order to locate us missing aides, we managed to get Hamilton inside, with him limping and me supporting the majority of his weight, a mass far less than I assumed it to be. He sat before the fire while Meade sent Fitzgerald to go locate a doctor to assess Hamilton’s injury, and I brought in our satchels, the majority of our belongings still a day's march away. Pretty much the entire farmhouse was filled with officers who ought to have had their own tents but did not, all the entirety of Washington’s staff. Since the house was so full, the only free sleeping space was on a makeshift cot in the attic, which I claimed. To call it a cot would be generous, it was far more akin to a nest of quilts on the ground which must have been seized from the previous occupants of the house, but it was far superior to sleeping in a chair, which I feared might have been my situation for the night.

By the time I had managed to locate a place to sleep, which I was sure I would share with Hamilton, Fitzgerald had located a surgeon. The surgeon was the same man that had “assessed” my injury at Brandywine and seemed to know Hamilton. It only took one look at Hamilton’s ankle for him to declare that it was broken and to recommend that we acquire a splint for it. As soon as he finished he left the headquarters, without even bothering to describe how to acquire a splint. It was later explained to me that there was an excess in cases of frostbite following the march, and Dr. Hale was urgently required at the makeshift hospital that had been set up, meaning that Fitzgerald grabbing him to assess Hamilton’s ankle was leaving the hospital quite short staffed. Luckily, one of the officers had experience with creating splints for broken bones and quickly fashioned one for Hamilton. He did it so fast and left so quickly that I never even caught the man’s name. But nevermind that.

After a quick supper of hard bread and salted meat scavenged from the basement of the farmhouse, I was presented with the daunting task of figuring out how on earth I was going to manage to get Hamilton up to where we were to be sleeping. The stairs presented a daunting challenge, but with a few minutes of deliberation between the two of us, we finally agreed that if I got my arm under his and essentially supported all of his weight, nearly in the same way I had managed to get him into headquarters, it would be possible for the two of us to mount the stairs. Once we did so, a process which required me essentially carrying Hamilton at one point, we reached the bedroom, and while Hamilton stripped off his army jacket and remaining boot, I silently prayed that we would not be required to stay in such quarters for very long, although that annoying sick part, in the very very back of my mind, did not mind if we slept in the attic for the rest of the war, so long as I could have Hamilton so close to me, and our bodies pressed together so much. To stave off these sinful thoughts, I removed my coat and boots and slipped into the makeshift cot, where Hamilton was already laying, and put out the single candle that illuminated the attic. Within seconds we were engulfed in total darkness, and an overwhelming desire for sleep began to wash over me.

“Good night Laurens.” Hamilton sleepily murmured from my side, head already cradled in a pillow.

“As to you Hamilton.” I replied, already slipping into a sound sleep.

Notes:

Exactly one week since the last chapter! Are you proud of me?

All jokes aside, this is probably my favorite Laurens chapter to date and its HEAVILY inspired by Striving for Helpful by dumbsharky- here's the link if you wanna go check them out:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26336068/chapters/64134289

Didn't really do any research for this chapter, but I feel like I should mention that most of my information on day to day life in Valley forge came from the book Forge, which I was made to read in 8th grade. Fun fact, John Laurens actually gets a cameo, but he isn't gay :(

Chapter 20: Disintegration

Summary:

dis·in·te·gra·tion
/disˌin(t)əˈɡrāSH(ə)n/
noun
the process of coming to pieces.

Notes:

*Warning!*

This chapter contains pretty graphic descriptions of self harm, if this triggers you PLEASE DON'T READ THIS!

I woke up that morning with Hamilton curled up next to me. He was not truly touching me, but the sight of him, burrowed up in blankets and so seemingly innocent, was enough to strike a cord deep inside of me. If either of us had been a woman, I would have kissed his cheek and wrapped my arms around him, entwining the two of us. Instead, I merely gazed at him for a moment, remembered the true state of my soul, and decided that the best course of action would be to dress for the day. Even by the time I was in my full uniform, Hamilton had not stirred, and I was left to descend down the stairs for coffee by myself.

Despite the fact that we had arrived in Valley Forge only twelve hours previous, the office was already up and running. It was in a far smaller room than the one we had occupied in previous months, to the point where only three desks were capable of fitting in the room. Reed had decided to share a desk with Tilghman, citing the black haired man’s penchant for joking around as a reason for him to have an eye kept on him. Fitzgerald and Meade had found it fit for them to share as well, leaving me and Hamilton stuck at the final desk. Apparently I was to be bound to the man for the remainder of my military service. After acquiring my coffee, I settled at the desk in order to copy down an order for the location of latrine pits, real nice stuff. Within a few minutes, I was completely immersed in my work and was only taken out of it when Fitzgerald tapped my shoulder.

“Hamilton is stuck upstairs due to his ankle and needs help getting down. Due to the fact that you helped him get up there, he is of the opinion that it is your fault that he is stuck and thus responsible for helping him get down.” He said, a slight smirk on his face.

I could not help myself but to chuckle at the remark and replied in the same jesting tone that Fitzgerald had used. “Of course I shall go rescue our darling damsel in distress.”

This got a round of laughter out of the entire group of men and as I left the office in order to help Hamilton, I could hear jokes emanating from the room at poor Hamilton’s expense. He had been rather bossy when we hatched the plot to get him up the stairs, and after the grueling journey yesterday, I felt like having a bit of fun. Thus, after I had helped the injured man down the stairs, I had scooped him up into a bridal style carry and paraded him though the hallway and to the office, all the while Hamilton screamed at me to put him down, but I knew that the sense of amusement that gleamed in his eyes was entirely the consequence of my action, and so my face lit up with a wicked grin. The entreaty of the office roared with laughter when we entered and everyone decided that it would be in our best interests to refer to Hamilton as “Lady Hamilton” for the rest of the day. Every time someone called him such, he would glare at them, as the offending aide stifled a laugh.

For the next fortnight or so, we aides fell into a nice routine. Our sleeping quarters had been consolidated to one room on the second floor, and Hamilton’s ankle had healed enough that he only required a helping arm to lean on in order to traverse the stairs. The room we slept in had been furnished with our military cots, however the room was small enough that there was only enough room for three cots. Thus, I ended up sharing a cramped bed with the shortest member of our group who was unsurprisingly, Hamilton. Luckily for any sinful thoughts that might have occurred with this situation, my bed partner rose early and came to bed late. Some nights the only way that I even knew he had slept was the fact that I stopped shivering in the night. It was odd sharing such a sense of intimacy with a man I had had rather horrible thoughts about, and every rare morning I spent laying next to Hamilton, my heart ached knowing that any future I might have wanted to share with him was both a horrid symptom of the illness I was so ashamed of, and an unrealistic ember of hope that still burned deep in my chest. 

Then it ought to go unsaid that I was filled with endless relief when us aides were informed that we would be sharing the sort of cabins that the enlisted men had built in order to survive the winter. Reed told us that we would be two to a cabin and would finally each have our own beds. A small cheer of jubilation spread through the five of us, which was only interrupted when Reed informed us that we would be drawing names for who would share with who. To my horror everyone was paired off until Hamilton and I were left to share the final cabin. Even worse, this was the singular cabin with a double bed, versus two cots. With my shameful tendencies, this was quite possibly the worst possible outcome for the winter. After helping Hamilton move our things into the cabin, I left him writing out a letter to someone I never bothered to learn the name of.

I needed to get away from everything, from everyone, if only for a little while. During the last few weeks it felt like I was being constantly suffocated. There were piles upon piles of translations that I was required to complete everyday, all translations that I was most definitely not qualified to be doing and was constantly criticized for by practically everyone who actually knew French. Now there was the added stress of this living situation and the piling up of letters from my father, all demanding responses to correspondence that I either never received or had lost due to the fact that the army moved. And worst of all, every two weeks, I received a letter from the one person I desperately wanted to forget existed.

Some part of my stress and sleep deprived and severely addled mind decided to head for the tree line at the edge of camp. Before I even realized that my feet were moving, I had arrived and felt like I wanted to scream. The trees were suffocating me and my breath came in short, painful gasps. I gripped my arms as tight as physically possible, digging my fingernails into my palms so deep that little pinpricks of ruby red blood appeared under my nails. Everything felt overwhelming, like everyone in the camp was staring at me, judging me. I could hear the voice of my father, screaming at me, condemning me for all I had ever done wrong. Still drawing blood with my nails, I sank to the forest floor, ignoring how wet the snow would be getting my coat. Tears blurred the edge of my vision and I had never felt any more pathetic in my entire life. The entire world would be better off without me, if I curled up in a ball and died right then, no one would even miss me.

Suddenly a thought materialized in my panicking mind. There was a knife in my pocket, a small letter opener I had been meaning to return to the office for the better part of a week. But I should not, I could not. One more time could not hurt, could it? I still felt as though I could no longer breathe as I gazed at the small silver blade. It would not be the first time I had contemplated doing such and it would be far from the last. Pulling up the sleeve of my coat and the shirt underneath only revealed dozens of faint scars, crisscrossing my veins and forearm. It was a horrid idea, but I pressed the silver blade to my arm and gently pressed it into the pale flesh. A few ruby red droplets gathered on the edge of the blade, catching the rapidly fading sunlight like little jewels. Overwhelmed with a sort of morbid curiosity and desire to feel something, anything, I pressed the knife deeper. Blood oozed freely from my self inflicted wound now, and some sick temptor in my mind urged me to press it deeper yet. This shall solve all of your problems, it said, no more father meddling with all of your personal affairs, no more pangs of illness everytime you look at your handsome bunkmate, no more guilt knit into the very fabric of our soul. The temptation was too great and I gave in. Just as I was going to do the same on my opposite wrist, shouts of my name broke me out of the sickening trance.

Tallmadge and Hamilton both appeared in the woods with a lantern in hand, breathing heavily as if they had been running all over camp. With his injured ankle, Hamilton was limping and had to lean on a tree in order to rest his injured extremity. He had evidently noticed by absence and most likely recruited Tallmadge to search for me, remembering that we were rather close. The two of them shared a look before the red haired man slowly approached me. He did not say a word, quite the rare occurrence, but merely knelt down beside me on the ground and gently removed the blade from my shaking fingers before taking out his handkerchief and applying it to the slash and pressing the heel of his hand into it to stem the flow of blood. I must have cut deeper than I thought because the blood began to seep out from under the handkerchief and soon began to spread, covering my bunkmate’s hand and staining my coat sleeve the color of wine.

“Are you alright?” He finally said, only after we had both risen to our feet, still pressing the handkerchief over my wound. All I could do was to shake my head and choke back tears. The only thing I wanted in that moment was to collapse into someone’s arms and bawl my eyes out while they comforted me. Deep down I was nowhere near the brave soldier that all expected me to be.

“Oh dear god! What happened to you Laurens?” Tallmadge exclaimed upon seeing my wound. I could barely responde as I was beginning to feel as though my head was stuffed full of cotton and my limbs were constructed solely of wood. Together with Hamilton, they managed to get me to one of the medical tents where a doctor stitched the wound up and conversed with Hamilton as I lay on a cot, sedated via whiskey stolen from a distillery.

“This is not the first occurrence of a soldier attempting to take his own life that I have observed.” The doctor noted, “It has been a rather trying winter.”

“That was what he was attempting to do?” There was a mix of genuine fear and concern in Hamilton’s voice, two emotions quite rare from the man.

The doctor nodded, “Yes, it seems as though that was his intention.”

“You-you mean that if he-he had cut just a little bit deeper, I would have lost him?” Now Hamilton’s voice sounded as if he were about to burst into tears. The pure fear in his words was palpable, and choice of phrasing intriguing.

“Indeed, a slight bit more pressure and he would no longer be with us.”

A small sound, smoothing akin to a whisper, escaped Hamilton’s lips, and that was when the epiphany dawned on me, lying there, inebriated, on an old cot. Alexander Hamilton was utterly terrified of me dying, nay him losing me. He feared neither the bullets of battle nor the might of the British Empire, but the mere thought of my death was enough to reduce him to such a state which no one on that continent had ever seen before. As I attempted to process this information, and discern what on earth this could possibly mean in regards to the relationship I shared with the man, a woman’s voice, presumably one of the nurses, joined the conversation.

“You ought to be ready for this to happen again, Colonel Hamilton. The illness of the mind that prompts these sorts of episodes is not one that is easily remedied.” The nurse’s words were solemn and I could not help but think that she had experience dealing with these sorts of things, although I was not quite sure whether this was good or bad news.

With a nod, my fellow aide replied, “I-I shall try my very best to prepare for such. Thank you so much for the information, nurse-?”

“My name is Hannah Hale, sir. I am wed to Dr. Hale.”

They continued to speak for a couple of minutes, however the whiskey that I had been given had finally decided to take effect on my senses, and before long I had drifted off to a deep sleep. Presumably, while I was asleep, the doctor, who given my previous experiences was almost certainly Dr. Hale, Hamilton, and Mrs. Hale had all moved me to the cabin that I occupied with Hamilton given my position as an aide de camp to General Washington. After a thankfully dreamless slumber, I do not trust that my twisted mind could produce anything positive given the situation I found myself in, this was where I awoke under rather unusual circumstances.

Notes:

Thought I'd give you guys a nice depressing chapter on this lovely Monday. But, this is definitely the quickest I've ever written and posted a chapter, 4 days! Should I have a posting schedule? Yeah, probably, but this is far more interesting!

Anyone caught on to who Dr. Hale is yet? Yes, he is the single person who has to deal with Hamilton and Lauren's NUMEROUS injuries.

I think it's pretty obvious I didn't use any sources for this.

Also! Only the Lams part of this fic is now posted as What Once Was Mayhem is Now a Revolution. Here's the link if you want to leave kudos over there!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64135360/chapters/164569411

Chapter 21: Developments

Summary:

de·vel·op·ment
/dəˈveləpmənt/
noun
a new and refined product, experience, or idea

It was the next morning when I at last awoke from my whiskey induced slumber. I was curled up on the bed that Hamilton and I were to share. The bed was a rather nice one, clearly intended for a married couple than two twenty something men. Outside the wind howled, lending an eerie tone to the otherwise fairly peaceful morning. Or at least the morning had been rather peaceful for me due to the fact that I had just awakened from a thankfully dreamless sleep and was wrapped up in a quilt that was most likely also commandeered from one of the various farmhouses that the army now occupied in our winter camp. My mind was still fairly foggy from a mixture of the whiskey and sleep, and it took a few moments to fully realize my current circumstances. Unlike most previous mornings for the better part of six months, I was not alone in the cabin, nor even in the bed. My head was resting on someone else’s lap and I could just feel the tips of slight fingers run themselves through my hair. Whoever was doing it was being quite gentle, and the feeling was pleasant enough that I dared not move lest they stop. The slow, repetitive motion had managed to keep whatever panic and dread typically rose in my chest after an episode of that sort from occurring…and it also was simply enjoyable to have some sort of human contact that was not the bare necessity.

Whoever’s lap I was resting upon was rather comfortable and I dared to close my eyes again, letting my body yet again try and drift off into that peaceful state. To say that this was the most calm I had felt in weeks would be an understatement. The omnipresent ball of anxiety that typically took root in my chest every waking moment was finally gone, and for once I was content with basic human physical contact. That was when the whispered words began to flow. I could barely tell what was being murmured at first, and quite frankly I was far too exhausted to bother to decipher the words. But that was when the voice grew slightly louder. As fingers were gently run through my hair, the whispers finally formed themselves into words.

“You ought to never do that again, it-it was horrid…horrid for anyone to have ever gone through with such a thing. I feel horrible that you would ever do something like that to yourself. You are such a decent man, nay, better than decent, you are a wonderful man who I wish I was capable of spending more time with. I-I just wish I knew that these awful things went on in such a mind, since you always seem to be fine on the outside. Always respecting every soldier, going along with whatever jest Tilghman has come up with now…even putting up with me. You know, a decent chunk of the camp hates me, they think me an insolent child who does not deserve his place as Washington’s right hand man. Some even murmur that I am his bastard child. His bastard child! But you, you are always polite, and-and I know I correct you too much, criticize everything too much…push away everyone too much.”

At this point that voice speaking became too choked with emotion to continue, and I came to one extremely startling revelation. Alexander Hamilton was the one who was so gently stroking my hair and upon whose lap I had been resting. Many considered him to be the most ornery man in the army, constantly getting into arguments, but here he was, pouring the innermost thoughts of his mind out to me, because he thought I was asleep. Before I could properly interpret this, he continued to speak, sounding as if he were on the verge of tears.

“W-When Tallmadge and I found you lying there, all covered in blood and so pitiful, the-the first thing I thought when I saw you was that this was the most afraid I had ever been in my life. Ben, Ben was a saint. He has always been one. I-I knew him before the war, he was in trouble and I acted as his lawyer. We did horrible things to get him out of prison, horrible things. But when he found you, he told me to go to you, then helped me get you over to the hospital. Never in my life have I had to keep my-myself from crying so much. Laurens, I know you probably hate me, and think I am constantly annoyed with you, and only tolerate you, b-but I feel like, I feel as though if I lost you, I-I would die. And, oh it's so wrong, so so so wrong, though I still think that the only thing I want, other than to forever be remembered, is for you to kiss me.”

With that last remark, Hamilton trailed off, and a very stupid and very sinful, and very horrible impulse came across my mind. Under typical circumstances, when i had control over each and everyone of my urges and was painfully aware how sick and twisted my mind was, I would never have dared act on it, but there was still a little bit of liquid courage flowing through my veins, and the sheer pain in Hamilton’s voice had broken something so deep and dear in my heart that I could not help but to indulge…just this once.

Moving far more tenderly than I ought to have, I regretfully extracted myself from my position on Hamilton’s lap. While I rubbed my right eye in a mimic of removing the sleep from it, I attempted to gauge my friend’s reaction to my “awakening”. His face was a mask of calmness, but I had put up the same mask far too many times to not recognize the fear in his eyes that I might have heard his confession. That was when I began to consider the true implications of what I was about to do. This could get me hung. There was a reason that I was ill, and spreading it to another innocent man was willingly ruining his life. But, that little voice in the back of my mind noted, he said himself that he wanted to kiss you, indulge in your vices for once in your life John! If you are bound for hell as you so clearly believe, then give the devil a reason to welcome you with open arms! With that cheery encouragement from the embodiment of temptation in my head, I swallowed my fear and decided to be brave for once in my life. The wind howled louder outside as our eyes met, dark blue and light blue gazing into each other's souls. We were both afraid, afraid of the consequences of what we both apparently wanted to do. The only question was who would be bold enough to act on their impulse.

Hamilton held my gaze intently, with those blazing eyes that seemed to always have a passionate fire burning in them, and slowly brought his hand up to cup my cheek. He rubbed his thumb over my stubble as we slowly leaned in towards each other. Within a moment my lips were on his, and I had one hand behind his head. We were kissing, we were truly kissing! It was an action I had only done a handful of times before, but it seemed as though my partner was far more experienced in the act than I was, as he had managed to bring his other hand around my back and was holding onto me, all the while pulling us together. Alexander Hamilton tasted like horrid coffee, slightly less horrid whiskey, and vaguely like ink. This was oh, so wrong, but at the same time, it felt oh so right. I felt as though nothing in the world could harm me at that moment, not the might of the British Empire, nor my father’s wrath could reach me then, I was, for once in my life, completely and utterly safe.

This feeling continued long after we had broken apart, and even after I had laid down on the bed next to Hamilton and rested my head on his shoulder. The two of us were tangled together, my arms wrapped around my partner’s chest and head on his shoulder as previously stated, while he essentially held me and ran a hand through my hair, resuming the same repetitive motion that had gotten us into this whole situation in the first place. We stayed that way for several minutes, and during that time I was just appreciative of the fact that the man I had so long considered to be perfect in every way would even consider kissing me, who was broken in nearly every way. Of course I was with Alexander Hamilton, and it was only so long before he began to speak again.

“So I supposed that you enjoyed that nearly as much as I did?” He finally asked. I had no memory of the conversations that had ensued the last few times I had kissed someone, so this seemed as normal a question as any for him to be posing.

“I did quite enjoy it.” I mumbled, “I would not mind if we continued this sort of relationship so that it might occur again.”

Hamilton stayed quiet for a long moment, and I was already cursing myself for proposing something so rash. Of course he would not want that, who would want that? This was a one off lapse of judgment on both of our parts, nothing more, nothing less. However, when he did finally speak again, he completely contradicted what had been my understanding of the situation.

“You know Laurens, I do believe that I would rather enjoy that. We are always together anyhow, and there is no reason for anyone to expect that our actions would come from anything other than the strongest band of friendship. I have no reason to believe that a relationship between the two of us could be any weaker than that between a man and a woman on the sheer scale of gender. Yes, it would be wonderful if I could call you my lover.”

Now it was my turn to be silent for a moment, before finally whispering my response. “Calling me your lover would imply a certain action, would it not?”

“We would not have to unless you were comfortable with doing so.” He quickly answered, moving his other hand so that he could rub it up and down my back. Once I was fully surrounded by him, he continued to speak: “You are a good man and I have full confidence that neither of us would push the other to do something that he would not equally enjoy.”

“That is a reasonable assumption.” I agreed, shifting myself so that I was now gazing upon his face and pressing a light kiss to his cheek before finishing my statement. “I would quite enjoy being your…well what would we be? Lover seems wrong.”

“At this time I do agree, I am not your lover right now, and neither are you mine. And neither are we courting as a man and a woman would, however it seems as though we are to be quite more than merely friends.”

“Then it seems as though that is something we ought to consider later.”

“Quite right, Laurens, quite right.”

It only then struck me that we were to be entering into a rather intimate relationship, yet were still referring to the other by our surnames. This seemed wrong, as even close friends would refer to themselves by their Christian names, and we were to be going far past the boundaries of a close friendship, something far more akin to a romantic relationship than anything else.

“You need not call me Laurens.”

“Then what do you desire for me to call you by?” He asked, genuine care on his face.

“My close family has always called me Jack.” I finally summoned after a moment of consideration. There were always far too many Johns for me to be referred to by my given name.

“Then Jack it is,” Said the man I was laying beside, his voice reminded me of the purr of a cat when he continued, “So long as you are willing to refer to me as Alexander.”

“That I am happy to do.” With that I kissed Alexander again, and we were both happy, if only for a little while.

Notes:

They kissed!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Isn't everyone so happy? I know I am!

Just one update really quickly: I have decided that actually having a posting schedule is probably a good idea, since I'm writing a lot more than I was a few weeks ago. So from now until I decide to change it, The Venom in My Veins is gonna update every friday, probably sometime around 8 pm AO3 or London time.

If you liked this, please leave a comment, they make my day! <3

Chapter 22: Materialization

Summary:

materialization
muh-teer-ee-uh-lahy-zey-shuhn
noun
A sudden and unexpected appearance

Alexander and I’s relationship was quite nice, and it would be a lie for me to say that it had not significantly improved my outlook on life itself. It was rather nice to wake up every cold and miserable morning to a small kiss on the cheek and to be able to share knowing smiles with someone as we labored over the endless hours of copywork and composed dozens of letters to a congress who seemed determined to ignore the needs of the army. This was the sort of repetitive work that could drain a man of his spirit within a few weeks of doing such work. Having a close confidence to suffer through such together made it far more bearable and the fact that I shared a desk with Alexander significantly improved after our kiss. He seemed determined to maintain as much physical contact with me as possible, something that was far easier in our cabin where we could cling to each other as much as we desired, than in the office, where the other aides were constantly present. However, if they were distracted, he did tend to gingerly place one hand on my thigh, merely to find my reaction some times, others simply to be touching me.

Through this arrangement, I discovered the fairly obvious fact, looking back, that I desired physical contact as much as Alexander did. When we were alone in the cabin, often late at night, Alexander would read a book and I could curl myself around him, head buried in his shoulder and arms wrapped around his still concerningly thin waist. Occasionally he would read aloud and have me rest my head on his lap, running his nimble fingers through my undone queue. Once he finished this wonderful action, I would pepper his freckled face in kisses, relishing in how much I could make him laugh as I did so.

However, life in the army did not stop when our relationship commenced, and I was soon tasked with helping prepare for the remnants of the rest of the army to arrive. It was roughly a week before Christmas, and we had been in the camp since the beginning of the month. Thus, it was reasonable to assume that the last part of the army, the part which had faced off against Burgoyne at the battle of Saratoga under Gates, would finally arrive in camp. But, the army was not to be led by Major General Gates, he had made the decision to spend the winter in York in order to “better convince congress to adequately provision the armed forces.” Needless to say, Washington had been furious when he was informed of the news, and Alexander had shared that fury. In fact, the entire higher command of the army was enraged by Gates’s decsion to essentially desert. Regardless of how insubordinate this was, there was also a bit of relief when we learned that Gates was not to spend the winter at Valley Forge. He was quite the difficult man to get along with according to all of the aides and Tallmadge, and seemed determined to undermine Washington at every possible opportunity. Thus, the announcement that one of his Brigadier Generals would be assuming his military responsibilities for the winter was a relief for many, including myself.

General Washington seemed determined to make sure that this Brigadier General, Gates had not bothered to specify which one, would be far more receptive to orders than Gates, and decided that the best way to make a decent first impression on the man, would be to greet him himself, along with all us aides and several other important officers, including Tallmadge. This was how I found myself standing amidst the other aides and officers, feeling the chilling winter wind in every bone of my body, as an endless column of soldiers in tattered uniforms crept slowly towards us. Peering through a pair of borrowed field glasses, I could just make out a figure atop a horse riding at the head of a small group of several other horsemen. This must have been the Brigadier General Gates had sent in his place.

I lowered the field glasses. The man that we were to meet was still a decent bit off, and it would take a minimum of a quarter of an hour from him to reach us. Several of the men around me had begun talking amongst themselves, and if Alexander had been by my side, I would have engaged in conversation with him, perhaps even held his hand and enjoyed that pleasant nervousness in my chest which seemed to occur every time he gazed at me. Those blue eyes could hold so much passion and wit and sheer energy, to the point where I felt as though I would melt every time I met them. It was obvious to me that I was in love, and the object of my affections seemed to reciprocate those feelings almost as fervently as I felt them. Unfortunately Alexander was not by my side, having been pulled aside by the General for a brief conversation, leaving me alone.

Due to the fact that I had not been an aide as long as the others, and was by nature rather aloof, I had only formed a few friends in the camp, namely Alexander and Tallmadge. Although to describe Alexander as a friend felt rather sacreligious, the most technical term for our relationship would to be to refer to him as my romantic partner, however that felt awkward and formal and suffocating. Luckily for my current predicament, Tallmadge was standing only a few yards away from me, and he appeared to be as thoroughly chilled through and bored as I was. So, I decided to move until I was standing next to him, to allow us to converse.

“Good day, Laurens.” Tallmadge nodded, giving me a small smile, “Are you feeling any better?”

“I have recovered significantly.” I replied, attempting to phrase my next statement so that no one who might be eavesdropping would realize the full details of my injury. “Any…external injuries have been slow to heal, but the pain which was the product of their existence has almost completely vanished.”

This was a horrible way to explain to one of the men who had come across me when I was bleeding out in the woods, that I was no longer in pain from slitting my wrist, but the action seemed as though it would leave a permanent scar on my wrist, which would only add to the others. For some reason he actually seemed to understand what I was saying, a miracle worthy of the almighty himself, and inspected me for a moment, most likely to gauge how truthful my statement was.

“You do look far better than the last time I saw you.” He confirmed, “Dr. Hale is capable of working wonders when he desires to.”

“Have you experience with his medical care?” I inquired.

“I in fact do. Before the war, I was in Albany and sustained several injuries, and seeing as Dr. Hale resided there, he treated me. Given that this was a few years previous, he was far younger, however it seemed as though his work was still as decent then as it is now.” Seemingly without thinking, my companion brought one of his hands to the other’s palm and traced a place where a scar must have been if you looked closely.”

“I did not know that you had been in Albany.” I remarked. The city had an…interesting reputation. It was somehow both a pit of sin and squalor and a holy city. An oxymoron of a place if I had ever seen one.

“Well I did.” He seemed almost bitter when he spit out the words, so I quickly butted in to clarify my remark.

“It was not my intent to bring up ill feelings.”

“I know Laurens,” He sighed, “unfortunately I simply have rather strong feelings regarding Albany and my time before the war, and I would much prefer not to discuss them. Perhaps we could talk about a slightly more pleasant topic?”

“Of course we can! Now how much do you know about turtles?”

After subjecting Tallmadge to my thoughts on the great species of animals to have ever existed, and discussing in depth my love for the armored animals, finally ended with my desire to have a turtle of my own, the line of soldiers had finally begun to file past us and into the camp. It was only another moment before the general that everyone had been waiting for arrived. He rode atop a brown horse, who seemed to be ratchet gentle and well behaved, and wore a dark grey wool great coat over his continental uniform. One of the foremost things that I noticed about the man as he approached us, was just how pale he appeared to be. The hue of his skin was not so pale as to indicate illness, but it did give him a rather severe appearance.

Upon seeing General Washington waiting to greet him, Gate’s replacement diverted from his place in the parade of soldiers, many of whom seemed to be putting on their best show for the general, and dismounted from his horse. Since I was a young boy, I have always had a habit of analyzing people as best I could from brief interactions with them, in my experience physical characteristics and how a man carried himself could often allow one to tell an awful lot about him. Thus, I studied the Brigadier General in this way. His skin was as pale as previously mentioned, but beneath his tricorn hat, his hair was dark and slightly falling out of his queue, framing his rather handsome face. Although he walked with confidence, something about his mannerisms were slightly off putting. For some reason that I could not place, he reminded me of a thief. However, given that there was no evidence to prove this assumption, I buried it in the back of my mind and instead moved to join Alexander and the rest of the aides to watch the two generals meet. The Brigadier General, who appeared rather young when I thought about it, gave Washington a small bow when they finally met, face to face.

He said, “General Washington, it is an honor to finally meet you.”

“I can not understate how glad I am to finally have our army reunited, General.” Washington replied. Then the two men shook hands, Washington’s hand encased in fine leather gloves meeting the other which wore only a rather well worn wool glove.

From this minor interaction, I was able to infer several important pieces of information about the new Brigadier General. First, he was quite young, perhaps only a few years my senior. Second, he did not come from the same level of wealth and prestige as many of the other generals. And finally, Gates most likely knew all of these facts and intentionally sent him to Valley Forge, knowing that this would make all of our lives more complicated. Thus, I now possessed the same level of hatred for Gates as Alexander.

Along with the new Brigadier General, our entire party returned to Headquarters for supper, as it was nearing that time of evening and none of us had eaten since noon. In addition, a formal supper would be a perfect way for Washington to judge the new Brigadier General. As we made our way over to the farmhouse, I managed to catch up to Alexander, who was walking ahead of me. I slipped into stride next to him, and he suddenly grasped my hand. This was of course unbelievably risky due to the fact that we were surrounded by others, but something told me that it was necessary. Thus, I intertwined my arm with Alexander's and brought both of our arms up so that my arm was perfectly bent at the elbow. Noticing what I was doing, my dear began to limp as he walked, acting as if he were leaning on me for support. With the majority of the aides being aware of his injury, this was a perfectly innocent scene to them, and only the two of us were truly aware just how hard Alexander was gripping my hand. It was a good few moments before I dared gaze at his face. He was staring straight ahead, and looked rather concerned, a look that rarely penetrated past his cocky and talkative exterior.

“Are you alright?” I finally pressed after waiting for a few more moments.

“I know that man.” He whispered.

“Which man? The new Brigadier General?”

“Yes, him.” There was more than merely astonishment in Alexander’s voice now, and he seemed almost afraid when he uttered his next few words, “That man is a murder and a thief and a liar.”

“Who is he?” I was almost afraid of what the answer to my query would be.

“That bastard is Nathan Hale.”

Notes:

Yeah, that fucker is back. Its time for the canon divergence and alt-history to pick up steam as Nathan Hale reenters the story. Yes, you should probably be scared.

Sorry for getting this out a day late, I kinda forgot that I update this on Fridays, but I did post a new work if you want to go check that out! PLEASE let me know if you are enjoying the story, your comments and kudos make my day <3.

Chapter 23: Familiarization

Summary:

familiarization
/fəˌmilyərəˈzāSHən,fəˌmilyəˌrīˈzāSHən/
noun
the action or process of gaining knowledge or understanding of something.

The supper went about as well as one would expect, which is to say that it was short of an utter disaster. First off, Tallmadge excused himself before it had even begun, and practically ran from the room after making eye contact with General Hale. General Washington let him leave, presumably considering this to be a mere side effect of the removal of the presence of Horatio Gates for the winter. After that rather strange occurrence, I realized that Hale and Alexander were shooting each other glances for the majority of the meal, which, needless to say, was incredibly odd. The conversation was rather odd, and consisted mainly of General Washington and Hale attempting to gauge what the other man thought of him with Alexander interjecting as he saw fit. I believe that myself and the other aides may have said a combined dozen words over the entirety of the evening. It was quite the odd dinner, but the addition of Alexander’s hand on my knee did significantly improve the evening.

He was silently glaring in Hale’s direction by the time that the supper ended, and seemed nearly as happy as Tallmadge was to leave the room. There was certainly some past animosity between Alexander and Tallmadge and Hale. While two of my only friends did not particularly enjoy each other's company, they had managed to get along up until that point for my sake, both seemingly caring a great deal about me, a fact for which I was endlessly grateful. Of course Alexander's exact type of caring was of a far more intimate type than Tallamdge’s, and I was looking forward to returning to our cabin and pressing kisses all over his slight build. However, before I could do so, General Washington held me back for a moment to speak to me.

We sat at the supper table, now devoid of the plates and cutlery that had littered it only a few moments previously. My heart raced with fear. The General had to be reprimanding me for something, or perhaps giving me orders from my father. Part of the deal that I had made with my father was that in exchange for my becoming an aide de camp, I would write to him about the goings on in camp. It is no secret that I am horrible at keeping up with any sort of correspondence, and I had not written to him in months, having only sent him a single letter since August. The single letter was only to inform my family that I had made it through the battle unscathed. But that was in the past, now the General was looking at me, with a sort of near concern in his eyes. There was a sort of gentle tiredness in his expression, which inexplicably put me at ease. A man who was dissatisfied with me would not gaze at me in such a way…right?

“Colonel Laurens, I was recently informed by Major Tallmadge that you fell ill a few days ago.”

To say that I had fallen ill would be inaccurate, however it was close enough to the truth that it was within reason for me to assume that Alexander or Tallmadge had used it as an excuse for my absence. Thus, I affirmed the statement: “Yes sir, I did fall ill, but I have recovered significantly.”

“And are you sure that you feel well enough to act in the capacity of aide de camp?” The General seemed genuinely concerned for my wellbeing, which was most certainly not the direction that I had expected this conversation to head in.

“Yes sir, I am well enough.” Of course at that moment the still healing wound on my wrist began to ache terribly and I felt vaguely ill. General Washington noticed how pale I had become and had me stay seated in one of the chairs. Like before, he seemed to actually care for my health, and as I clamped a hand over the bandages still covering the wound on my wrist, I thought that I might not have minded it.

“Are you sure that you are still not ill son?” He pressed after studying my face for a moment. I must have looked quite unwell, otherwise I was sure that he would not have pressed. It was odd for someone who ought to have simply seen me as an invisible aide to actually care about my wellbeing. Odd enough that I answered truthfully.

“It comes and goes sir. However, I should be well enough to work tomorrow.” 

“Well then Laurens,” The General said, “I will have you show General Hale around the camp. It was my original intent to have Hamilton or Tallmadge do such, however we have both seen what they think of the man.”

I could not help myself but to let out a small chuckle at the memory of Tallamdge practically sprinting from the room upon laying eyes on Hale. There was clearly unsavory history between the two men, however for now it was merely humorous.That night, the General  insisted that one of the guards at headquarters walk with me to my cabin although he said it was merely due to the combination of my slight inebriation and influx of troops from Gate’s army now under the control of Hale, it was obvious to me at least that he was concerned for my health and feared that I might collapse my way across camp. to be fair, I'd begun to feel ill again after my first glass of wine, and this fear on the General's part was not completely unfounded. Upon reaching the cabin I collapsed into bed next to Alexander, he was already sleep. he consumed far more wine than I had at supper, and the liquor seemed to have taken effect on his slight frame.

By the time I woke up in the morning, my partner was already gone, having risen around his typical hour in order to write as much as possible while there was daylight. Of course he left a note for me outlining this, however the majority of  any attention that I had given the note was claimed by the way he addressed it to me. My dearest, Jack. A coma, a simple stroke of a quill changing the entire meaning of a letter. One mark on a piece of parchment changed our relationship from a mere friendship that extended into the territory of kissing and mutual physical affection, to a relationship that we both clearly valued more. It was only a few days until Christmas and I was already sure of the gift that I planned on giving Alexander. But speculations of what we would do when alone, clothes long discarded, were for another time. Now I need to get to the office before Reed could take me aside and scold me for my tardiness.

Somehow I managed to both make myself presentable and also get to headquarters in under half an hour. When I did finally reach there, I realized there  was no real need to have hurried; the only other members of the office that were present were Alexander, Reed, and Meade. All of them seemed to be suffering from the effects of last night's wine. I took my place next to Alexander, who was scribbling on a piece of paper furiously, and when it seemed as though no eyes were upon us, I took one of his hands in mine and gave it a small squeeze. He squeezed back and gave me a sweet, but exhausted look. If we were alone I would press a kiss to the top Auburn curls, however we unfortunately were not.

After an hour, General Hale finally stumbled into headquarters. He might have been able to convince Reed, who was absolutely furious upon realizing his tardiness, that he had merely become lost in camp, if it were not for the smell of whiskey hanging on him, and his clearly red eyes. I was not sure whether General Hale was hungover from the previous night, or currently drunk. Both options seemed to be equally likely.

“General Hale.” I saluted the man, an action that appeared to merely confuse him and he stuck his hand out for a handshake in response.

We both stared at each other, both regretting all life choices that led up to this very moment, before I shook his hand. Reed seemed to die inside as this occurred. Unfortunately I was unable to gauge Alexander’s reaction, however if I had to guess, he was most likely laughing hysterically internally. Following a moment of awkward silence, I finally cleared my throat and spoke.

“Would you like me to show you around Valley Forge, General?”

“Yes, yes that would be wonderful,” He paused for a moment and stared at my uniform, mentally calculating my rank, “Colonel…”

“Laurens. Colonel John Laurens.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance Colonel Laurens.” 

As we walked out of headquarters and mounted two horses that a soldier had brought out for us, I attempted to assess General Hale to the best of my ability. He was most certainly only a few years my senior or even simply my age. Thus it was reasonable for me to assume that General Hale was a far more valuable asset on the field of battle than Gates ever bothered to indicate in his reports of the action regarding General Burgoyne up in Albany earlier that year. For such a young man to possess that rank of Brigadier General was quite the noticeable occurrence. In addition, General Hale did not behave as a man who had long been in the military, American or British, so this promotion to Brigadier General also had to have been recent. The thought formed in the very back of my mind that Gates had intentionally sent such an inexperienced Brigadier General to take responsibility for his army for the winter in order to complicate affairs for General Washington. If so, this was such an intentional display of insubordination and disrespect that it would constitute a court martial. Of course I did not blame General Hale for this, as he was most likely a young officer with a slight drinking problem that Gates had appointed to use as a mere pawn in his scheme. 

During the several hours that it took to show General Hale over Valley Forge, the two of us of course engaged in polite conversation. Hale was surprisingly easy to converse with, much unlike Tallmadge who tended to be rather shut off, and Alexander whose sheer force of will was overwhelming. Often I found myself forgetting the true nature of our acquaintance and imagining us simply two friends off for a ride in the woods. Our conversation flowed naturally enough that even when I eventually found myself describing my love for the most magnificent creatures ever, turtles, Hale was able to comment on the conversation and somehow was capable of keeping it from dying.

“It seems as though you have bountiful affection for those curious little creatures.” Hale chuckled after I had recited another story about my affection for turtles.

“I suppose that I do.” I replied, suddenly conscious of just how much I had been speaking about the armored animals as we had rode.

“Well I suppose that if a man ought to find a subject engaging, turtles are as good of a subject as any.” Hale shrugged. He also gave me a small smile, almost as if to tell me that he found my obsession with turtles to be quite wonderful. It was no wonder now why all of the men in Gates’s army adored him. The only remaining question was why Tallmadge and Alexander were the exception to the rule.

I finished giving Hale his tour of the camp by mid afternoon, and while the whole of the ride had probably taken twice as long as it ought to have, we did only get lost thrice, so I counted it as a victory. Tomorrow was Christmas eve, and as I departed from headquarters to the cabin I occupied with Alexander, I saw very little holiday cheer among the enlisted men. The general mood of the camp was one of misery, and for good reason. Rations were meager, even for us aides they had been severely reduced, and a good number of the recent arrivals were still sleeping in their tents from the previous campaign. Moral was low, not nearly as low as it had been last winter, at least according to Alexander, but still low enough to leave me question what misfortunes would occur this winter as I lay in bed.

Notes:

Hey everyone! This is out a day early since I have SO MANY tests tomorrow (three subjects!), and won't have time to post this.

Enjoy this little treat! Thomas Jefferson's birthday is in three days...so uh, this is for his birthday? idk, he hasn't even shown up yet.

Also, yes Nathan Hale has a SEVERE drinking problem

Chapter 24: Perturbation

Summary:

perturbation
/ˌpərdərˈbāSH(ə)n/
noun
anxiety, panic; mental uneasiness.

Ever since I was a boy, the Christmas holidays were both a source of great joy and concern in my life. All of my relatives, along with any important political contacts with whom my father wished to establish strong relationships, would gather at our family  home, Mepkin Plantation. Even as an adult, laying in bed so many miles away from that place, I could still picture it perfectly. Long, empty hallways filled with the sort of silence that seemed to suffocate me. It was physically impossible for me to not stoop my shoulders and attempt to make myself as invisible as possible in those halls. No one dared make a noise, even at the holidays for fear of the outburst that it would provoke from the great man himself. Every single important event, he would sit in that great armchair of his, like a king surveying his fiefdom. It was a rather ironic comparison to be made to a man who prided himself on being a great champion of liberty, but it was the most accurate one that I could summon.

One Christmas, I could not have been older than fifteen, Patsy must have been ten at eldest and Henry Jr. was still small enough for me to comfortably pick up, we learned the dreadful price that tyring the man’s temperature incurred. All of the children in attendance that Christmas, a Christmas which was once again filled with cold silence and awkward conversation, had been relinquished to the side parlor, and our parents had made the mistake of allowing us a bit of eggnog. Being the oldest in the room, I had gotten rather tipsy, although not enough for it to be visible to the naked eye, just for me to let down the typical precautions that I always had up at these sorts of events. Patsy and some of the other girls had taken turns playing the old harpsichord and singing, and several of the older boys and I had been giving the young children piggyback rides. We were all having a merry time, enjoying ourselves far more than we would have with the adults. However, I suppose that we must have gotten too rowdy, as just when I had hoisted Henry Jr. upon my shoulders to have a race against a boy whose name I long forgot, the parlor door burst open.

Looming in the door frame was my father. Physically, he was never a particularly intimidating man, I had grown far taller than him, and he was rather round and had perpetually flushed cheeks from his whiskey drinking. Despite this, the sheer fury inside of the man was enough to bring all festivities to a halt.

“What on earth is the meaning of all this ruckus?” He had demanded, glaring at all of our youthful faces, almost all of which were clouded over in fear.

“Father, we were-” I attempted to justify our actions before I was cut off. I suppose that I should have expected it, we were never supposed to speak out of turn to the man and the alcohol had made me forget such an integral rule of my upbringing.

“John,” He spat, glaring deep into my soul, “come with me. The rest of you, OUT!”

All of the other children scattered like scared mice, most likely scrambling back to their parents as the parlor door closed, leaving the two of us alone. What happened while we were alone can be mildly described as the worst beating that I had ever endured. The entirety of my body was covered in black and blue bruises, and I had been unable to leave Mepkin due to a black eye for two whole weeks. My stomach still churned years later at the thought of all my father had screamed at me, all the ways that he had degraded me, all the insinuations that he made over my lack of interest in women. That same small voice that was always in the back of my head spat back the same rhetoric that he had always used. I was a sick, demented, sinful, freak of nature due to my attraction to the same sex. Countless nights I had fallen asleep sobbing into a pillow, those words echoing in my mind. Everything in the world seemed to be trying to convince me that I was inherently corrupt and horrible through and through, but there was somehow still a small part of my soul that doubted how bad a man loving another man could truly be, especially when it felt this wonderful.

Perhaps recalling such memories was why the dreams came back that night. For so many months I had worked both my mind and my body to exhaustion in order to escape them, but they had still caught up with me, and this time was absolutely horrible. Of course I was back in Mepkin, it was essentially my own personal hell after all. Like a child, I aimlessly wandered the halls. The painted wood paneling and flawless floors seemed as if they stretched forever. The only people I passed were slaves, all with their heads bowed and expressions of sheer terror etched onto their faces. My blood boiled at the reminder of how my family had built their fortune off of human blood, but something compelled me to continue walking.

While I continued on, I noticed something, all of the windows that I peered through had the same sights, a grey sky and white snow on an endless plain. Eventually I reached a single door. It was a rather underwhelming door, resembling a servant’s door more than anything else, but nevertheless, I could hear people behind the door, so I opened it. Through the door was a parlor, it resembled the parlor at Mepkin, that was where I was afterall, but there was something off about the entire place. My entire family was seated in the parlor, even my long departed mother, but none of them faced me. Each and everyone seemed as though they were frozen in time. Patsy’s hands hovered a few inches above her mending, only a few inches from touching a needle. Henry Jr. was fixed in place as he browsed through the bookshelf for a volume to read. Even my mother, so long gone that I had a hard time picturing her face some nights, had her arm outstretched, halfway to her knitting, the same artificial look of serenity that she always had worn affixed on her face. At a glance, the entire scene looked domestic and peaceful, almost boring, but I knew that that was only because I had not dared face the man sitting in the armchair up until that point.

Shuffling my feet and a pit of dread growing in my stomach, I forced myself to lock eyes with my father. He looked as serious and disapproving as ever, until his face lit up with what can only be described as an evil grin. I jumped back, startled by the sudden movement in the room otherwise frozen in time. As I did so, the four walls around me fell away, revealing where I really was. Fire and sulfur was all around me, and I was certain: I was in hell. All of my family members began to change too, nearly as quickly as the room did. Pasty white skin slid off of their forms to show nothing but muscle and sinew. Hair disappeared and was replaced by a multitude of horns. What had once been my mother and siblings, was now impossible to look at. But worst of all was my father. Not only had his skin been shed and hair replaced with horns, but he had grown. No longer could I see the top of his head, he was at least three times the height of a normal man.

Before him I cowered, body folded in on itself in horror. And then, the most horrible thing of all began. The demon’s fatty lips parted and he started to recite a list of every sin I had ever committed. Each action was even more accusatory than the last, and each felt as if it was an arrow physically burrowing itself into my flesh. Blood poured from the self inflicted wounds on my arms, each drop a reminder of each and every one of my sins. Maybe I was impure, maybe I really was as horrible as they all said to me, maybe it would have been better for everyone if I had simply bled out in that forest.

Before my mind had time to reconcile all of my horrible actions, I felt someone’s firm hands on my shoulders and could just barely make out frantic shouts of my name through my own clouded mind. My chest was tight, it both felt like someone was suffocating me by standing on it, and also attempting to force my windpipe closed via a rope. Panic ripped through my entire body, and I could do nothing but to attempt to force my body into a ball and weep. It took far longer than I would have liked for the fit to subside, but when it did, pure exhaustion swept over him. Everything ached. All I wanted to do was to sleep for a thousand years. However, the person calling my name did not allow that to happen.

“Jack? Jacky? John, can you hear me?” It was just Alexander grasping me, not the horrible imaginary demon nor the real demon that was my father, but simply Alexander. I could barely muster a faint nod though my still flowing tears, but he did seem to acknowledge it, and also appeared relieved.

“Oh Jacky,” He cooed, using his thumb to push a strand of my hair off of my tear stained face, “it is alright now. I am here, you are safe.”

All I could do in return was to sob. Alexander pulled me close to him, rubbing one hand up and down my back. With the little energy that I had left, I managed to contort my body to the point where my face was buried in Alexander’s side and my arms were tucked against my chest. For some reason this always managed to purge the last of the panic from my mind, and the fact that the quilt was draped over me helped too.

Unlike most mornings, when I awoke, Alexander was still in the cabin. Of course he had already donned his uniform and was most likely transcribing a letter on General Washington’s behalf, but he was still there, sitting on the side of our bed, his gaze resting on me. Sometime during the night, I had managed to wrap the majority of the quilt around myself, cocooning myself in the layers of fabric. Any other bedmate would have been annoyed, however Alexander seemed indifferent. He did have his light blue scarf draped around his neck, the only sign that the frigid winter morning had even managed to affect him.

“Jack?” He whispered upon hearing a slight yawn on my part.

“I am awake.” I mumbled, shoving my face into a pillow. I swore that I could hear Alexander laughing behind me. For a moment I pondered simply going back to sleep, but I had already been “ill” quite recently and did not wish to gain a reputation as a lazy worker. There was absolutely no way that I could risk being sent back to the hell that was Mepkin Plantation. Thus, I dragged myself out of the alluring warmth of the bed, and began to dress in my uniform. The whole of my body was sore from whatever had overtaken it last night, and I still felt as though every inch of my form wanted nothing more there to stay in bed and get some much needed rest.

As I dressed, Alexander continued to transcribe his letter, although he seemed to keep a watchful eye on me, even offering to tie my caveat. I accepted his offer and he fixed it, hands grazing places on my neck that I had not previously known that I desired him to touch. Oh dear god I wanted him in bed with me! The two of us doing the sort of things that would get us both hung if discovered. However, at the mere thought of our prospective actions, my stomach turned, remembering how the demons in my dream had considered the sort of attraction that I felt towards Alexander worthy of me burning in hell for eternity. Once I finished buttoning up my coat, my partner finally looked up from his work.

“Jack,” He said, “Might we talk for a moment before we leave for headquarters?”

Fear washed over me, my mind racing to figure out what I had to have done wrong. What he would want to admonish me for. “Y-yes, of course.”

I sat down on the bed next to Alexander, and he took the hand attached to the wrist that I had slit a few weeks prior in his and began to rub his thumb over my palm in tight circles. Neither of us said anything for a good moment, insead just attempting to gauge the other’s reaction, or at the very least that was what I was attempting to do. Much to my surprise, Alexander did not appear to be angry, merely concerned, which only further confused me. The last time that someone I was closely associated with had asked me to speak, it had ended with me being slapped across the face. It was Alexander who finally broke the silence. He cleared his throat and then spoke:

“Jack, are you alright?”

“I am fine.” The response came so quickly and automatically that I knew the second the words escaped my lips that he did not believe it. Even I did not believe my own lie.

“If you do not mind me saying, that seems to be an outright lie.” He paused for a moment, and I nodded, wrapping my arms around myself the way that I always did during these sorts of conversations, it was the best way to protect myself. With a look of genuine concern in my direction, he continued: “I heard you sobbing last night. Of course I do not wish to pry Jacky, but it seems as though there was something very wrong in your mind last night, and I completely understand if you do not wish to tell me, however, given the-uh, well the circumstances of our relationship, well at least I feel as though it would be proper for me to know so that I might be able to help you, or at the very least if whatever happened last night happens again, I could wake you up or…”

His voice trailed off and his frantic ramblings ceased when I kissed him on the cheek. A silent tear was running down my face, but I did not care less. What really mattered was the fact that I had just grasped how much my dear boy actually cared about me. Any fear that I had had that he had viewed our relationship as a mere fling, soon to be forgotten about if we failed to be intimate soon enough for his liking. No, he valued me and my feelings in the same way that a man would value the feelings of the woman he was in love with.

Thus, somehow everything poured out. I told Alexander about everything. The way my father demanded perfection and would lay hands on both me and my siblings should his demands not be met. How lonely I had been in Mepkin, and how heavy silence seemed to suffocate me. I described, through tears, how every single second I felt as though someone would hit and chastise me in the place. Through more quiet tears, I told him about how, once I had been sent back from England, I had suffocated in that horrible place for three miserable weeks before I had managed to convince my father to allow me to join the army. Somehow, I even ended up telling him how much I had wanted to die in the years leading up to the war, and how I had so desperately hoped to have died a glorious death on the battlefield. Once I finished, we were both silent for a moment, he gazed at me, lost in thought, while I attempted to wipe away some of my tears with a handkerchief that I had discovered in the pocket of my uniform.

I thought that we would spend the rest of the day in silence, when he began to speak. Unlike the majority of the time, Alexander’s voice was quiet, and he spoke slowly. He spoke of his youth, spent on the island of Nevis, with an absent father and busy mother. He spoke of how when he was still a young boy, both he and his mother had fallen ill with yellow fever, he had recovered quickly, but his mother had faded fast. He spoke of how he had moved in with a cousin, but the cousin had hung himself, sending him back to Nevis. He spoke of how he had worked as a clerk, and of how, when he was still a teenager, a hurricane had ravaged the island, leaving nothing but destruction and misery in its wake. He spoke of how he had written a letter, a simple letter detailing the destruction, of course the man who he had sent it to had published it, and upon reading such writing from such a young man, the people of Nevis had started a collection to send him to college on the mainland. He spoke of how they had thought he would return, but instead how he had left, determined to never return or look back. He spoke of how he had felt the opportunities in the air the second he set foot in New York, ready to start a new life. He spoke of how he had worked vigorously in college, making sure that he graduated a year early. He spoke of how he had practiced law for a short time, even representing the accused in a murder trial in Albany. He spoke of how he had gotten caught up in the spirit of the revolution, wishing that there was a war so that he may move up in life and prove his worth. He spoke of how he had joined the army, determined to fight, but had been writing for all of the war. He even spoke of how he had fallen in love with me the moment we had met, but how he had been far too protective of his place in Washington’s staff to properly show me proper affection. He spoke of how afraid he had been when I had slit my wrists, and how that had been when he knew he was truly in love with me.

We were both late arriving at the office, but Reed’s harsh gaze did soften a bit when he realized that the two of us both looked as if we had been crying. He let the both of us off with a mere warning, citing the fact that the Christmas holiday was the next day, and we would not accomplish much anyways, Alexander and I there or not. For the rest of the work day, we held hands under the desk, savoring the bit of comfort that we brought the other.

Notes:

Quite the heavy chapter. Now you all get to properly pity John.

For Alexander's summary of his life, did I just listen to Alexander Hamilton (the song from Hamilton)? maybe.

Anyways, get ready for next week's chapter, a holiday special in April! (still working on the name) Its gonna be the longest chapter to date, already 4,400 words and I'm not done writing it....

This chapter is vaguely inspired by this thing I found on pinterest: https://i.pinimg.com/736x/7f/a2/6b/7fa26b45f972d68b5306497b36a283ff.jpg

Chapter 25: Espy

Summary:

espy
/əˈspī,eˈspī/
verb
to suddenly see or notice something that one might have been oblivious to previously

Owing to the fact that that evening it was Christmas Eve, we aides were released from our duties earlier than usual, as were the rest of the officers at headquarters. This was most likely some sort of ploy to increase morale among the offievers, however it had no effect on the enlisted men but to annoy them. I could not help but feel slightly guilty as Alexander and I walked back to our cabin and passed the groups of soldiers huddled around fires and building dozens of more cabins, just like the one we occupied. The whole of Valley Forge no longer resembled the farmland we had arrived to, but instead a city of cabins. Somehow there was order to the madness, with different regiments all camped together and the armies separated. As we neared the cabin, I glimpsed a piece of parchment tacked to the front door.

Alexander walked ahead of me and by the time I had reached him, he had torn down the paper and was studying it. I leaned over his shoulder and attempted to read it myself, settling on hand on his waist. We were essentially alone after all, and there was very little risk of us being seen by other soldiers, muchless them caring. Unfortunately, based on the way that Alexander was standing, I was not able to see the majority of the note, meaning that he was allowed to study it by himself and I simply pressed myself up against him. After a moment, he folded the note in two and turned to me.

“It seems as though we are moving Jack.” He mused.

“What do you mean?” Once again, I attempted to lean over his shoulder to see the note, but Alexander playfully snatched it away, a grin on his face. Had we not been in the open of the camp, I would have used my height to my advantage and pinned him between me and the bed, kissing him until we were both out of breath and laughing. 

“Well,” He remarked, eyes teasing me, “through this note, I have been informed that our cabin is to house officers from Gates’s army.”

“That is not a laughing matter.” I wrinkled my nose and suddenly became serious. Having to pack up all of our things so that other people could occupy our quarters was not funny.

“No, but it is! We are to occupy one of the spare bedrooms in what is to act as General Hale’s headquarters. But that is not the most wonderful part, Tallmadge is to be staying there too!” With this, Alexander started to laugh hysterically, not even stopping when I pulled both of us into the cabin, tugging him onto the bed and kissing his face. When he finally did stop, when we were both out of breath and energy was buzzing behind his eyes, I was finally able to ask the question that his previous statement had prompted.

“What on earth is so humorous about that?”

“The two of them despise each other! This will be the most quality entertainment that we will ever have the opportunity to experience this winter. The two of them being forced into living quarters with each other, not even Albany was this entertaining!” With this, he erupted into another fit of laughter, falling back onto the pillows as blush came over his freckled cheeks. I pressed a quick kiss to the tip of his nose before pulling myself off of the bed.

“Well that ought to be…interesting.” I said matter of factly, “However, we still ought to pack our things up since the officers will want this cabin soon. Sleeping in an actual house for once should be pleasant.”

“It will be. Although Hale and Tallmadge together shall be even better!”

I did not bother to pry into what on earth was so entertaining to Alexander about the new Brigadier General and Major Tallmadge, who both apparently hated each other with a burning passion, being forced into close quarters. This did not seem entertaining to me who had grown up in a house where shouting and arguments were both customary and feared. I could only pray that Hale and Tallmadge would keep their disagreements behind closed doors.

It only took Alexander and I half of an hour to gather our possessions and repack them. We both only possessed a single trunk each, and neither was fully filled. Mine contained mostly clothes, a few books on turtles, and my sketchbook, which I had not had the time to pick up for months. Every once in a while I considered taking it out and sketching something, but there was some quality in the air of Valley Forge that seemed to immediately kill any artistic desires I ever spontaneously possessed. In contrast, Alexander had seemed determined to stuff his trunk full with as many books as physically possible. I did not know how he had managed to procure so many, and I was slightly afraid to know the means. The best scenario would be that he had managed to collect them from bookstores and abandoned houses that the army passed by, however this was most assuredly not the case.

By some miracle the two of us managed to drag our trunks over to Hale’s new headquarters, and what was to be our new home. According to one of the soldiers who had helped Alexander with his trunk, Hale came with only three members of his staff, and thus Washington had numerous other officers, namely the two of us and Tallmadge, fill in the empty rooms in Hale’s headquarters. It would be a waste for perfectly good rooms that offered adequate protection from the cold to go to waste in such a cold winter. The soldier also added, in a whisper, that Hale’s headquarters were to be so close to Washington’s so that the older general could keep an eye on the younger. This I found believable, as none of the leading officers in the camp fully trusted Hale. Perhaps my first impression of him, in which I likened him to a thief, was not so incorrect after all. At the very least, he was inexperienced enough in non-battle command that it was reasonable to assume that he would need help in the coming months.

The old farmhouse that was to act as Hale’s headquarters made it immediately clear, to myself at least, why it had been the last structure claimed by a general as their headquarters. It was a rather decently sized house, however it was made of rather flimsy and old looking boards, and said boards seemed unable to block out the vigorous and unrelenting winter wind. In fact, the wind howled through the valley at the very moment, sending shivers up my spine and forcing Alexander to pull his light blue scarf slightly closer.

Somehow we managed to get our trunks to the porch of the old farmhouse, which had to have been the oldest structure that was being used as a headquarters in the whole of Pennsylvania, without freezing to death, and essentially bolted inside after thanking the two soldiers who had helped us, there had been no way to access a horse and cart. Inside of the house was slightly nicer than the exterior, with fires in the fireplaces and heavy curtains placed over the aged window panes in an attempt to keep as much cold air out as possible. Both Alexander and I removed our overcoats and gloves, with him having to also take off his scarf. For some reason that I could never quite place, I always loved it when he wore that scarf, perhaps it made him feel just a bit more like a man than a letter writing automaton. But that is not important.

While Alexander went to warm himself by the fire, an action which gave me a fleeting suspicion that his winter outer garments were nowhere near as effective at fighting the cold as he had led me to believe, I began to search for someone who would be able to tell us where on earth we would be staying in the old house. The majority of the place was empty, and I could only assume that most of the officers had left to celebrate the Christmas holidays through drink and debauchery. There was not a soul in the dining room, which seemed to be the prime location for a meeting or strategy room, nor in the parlor, save for Alexander who was warming himself, nor even in the study. Eventually, I simply began to try various doors in hopes that one of them would lead to the room where the rest of the officers were apparently hiding from me. In the end, I found not a soul in the house, however, as I realized from the study as I was double checking it, the headquarters possessed a summer kitchen, and it seemed as though there was a candle burning in one of the windows. After altering Alexander as to what I was doing, giving him a small peck on the cheek in the process, I grabbed my overcoat and ventured out onto the hostile winds of December to investigate the summer kitchen.

By some miracle I was able to reach the place without being blown over, as the gusts of wind had started to carry small tree branches with them. I knocked on the door out of politeness, however due to said wind, anyone who might have been inside was unable to hear me, and at last I simply resorted to opening the door and stepping inside. Inside of the summer kitchen was at least ten times warmer than the outdoors, and was actually quite cozy. However, the most important part was that there were people inside.

Sitting at a table and chairs in one corner of what had been the kitchen before the army had arrived, was one woman, perhaps a year my junior, and a young girl who could have not exceeded the age of twelve. Both of them were sewing, the woman having her head bent over what appeared to be a winter coat, and the girl mending a pair of socks. Neither of them noticed me, so I cleared my throat as to alter them to my intrusion, all the while mentally cursing myself for being so awkward and intruding into someone’s house. The elder of the two looked up. She had red hair that was contained under a cap, and brown eyes that seemed familiar, although I was not capable of placing exactly where I had seen her before. Following the woman’s gaze, the girl also studied me. She was nearly as pale as General Hale, and had dark hair and a set of gray eyes that I could have sworn also belonged to General Hale. Perhaps she was his daughter?

“May I help you Colonel?” The woman asked, placing down her stichting and standing up to meet me.

“Hopefully you can ma’am.” I awkwardly laughed, all the while wishing I was nowhere near this place. The woman’s eyes seemed to examine every inch of my body and I felt nervous simply meeting her gaze. “I am one of the officers who is to stay in General Hale’s headquarters, and since there is not a single soul in that farmhouse, I was wondering if you might know the whereabouts of one of General Hale’s staff officers, or even anyone who knows the location of any of them?”

“I ought to be able to help you. Give me one moment.” The woman’s voice softened slightly, and as she mounted the small staircase that was located in the corner of the summer kitchen, I finally realized her identity. She was Hannah Hale, the wife of doctor Hale and the nurse who had attended me when I…well when I slit my wrist. I could only pray that she did not recognize me. With Mrs. Hale taking her leave of absence, I was left alone in the kitchen with the girl. She too had put down her sewing, but had not risen from her chair and was giving me a faint smile.

“Good evening Ms.” I gave her a nod and a small smile, which seemed to make her happy as she stood up too.

“My name is Mercy Hale.” She said, sticking out her hand for me to shake, “I am General Hale’s sister.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Ms. Hale.” I shook her hand, an action that was not the way I would typically greet a young girl, but seemed to be what she desired.

“You are a soldier, I assume?” Mercy asked, taking in the bits of my uniform that were not covered by my overcoat. In all likelihood, I probably ought to have removed my overcoat, however without knowing how long we would be waiting for Mrs. Hale’s return, it seemed a far safer option to keep it on.

“I indeed am.” I answered, pulling back my overcoat enough to allow her to fully glimpse the dark blue of my uniform.

“Ah.” She nodded, apparently receiving some sort of confirmation for a question that she had never posed to me. “What kind of soldier are you? Are you in the artillery, or the calvary, or the infantry, or are you in the medical corps like Ollie?”

Although I had absolutely no clue who Ollie was, I did reply to her question as best I could: “I work as an aide to General Washington and deal with correspondence and translation work. When we go into battle I even act as a courier when it is required.” Before Mercy got a chance to respond, Mrs. Hale returned.

 “I hope she was not annoying you to any extent.” She said, wiping her rather cracked hands on her apron despite a lack of any visible substance on them. “Mercy tends to enjoy speaking to the soldiers, she is attempting to learn as much about the army as she can.”

“Such curiosity did not annoy me in the slightest.” I assured her, attempting to give a reassuring smile to both Mrs. Hale and Mercy.
Just as Mrs. Hale was about to say something in response, two men made their way down the kitchen stairs, and somehow I recognized both of them. The first person to join us in the summer kitchen was Dr. Hale, who looked about as slight and perpetually annoyed with society as I remembered him to be. In his hands he was clutching a book that seemed to be on medicine, and when he made eye contact with his wife, he gave her a slight smile, the first time I had ever seen such an expression come from him. The second man down the stairs was General Hale himself, who was not wearing his uniform coat, but instead clutching what seemed to me a bottle of whiskey. With the General’s appearance, I was completely surrounded by Hales, all of whom I assumed were related due to the physical similarities between General Hale, Dr. Hale, and the young Mercy Hale.

“Oh Laurens!” General Hale was the first of the two men to acknowledge my presence. “I am so sorry, I completely forgot that you and Colonel Hamilton where to stay in my headquarters. It was my intention to have one of my staff wait for you, however they all seem to have gone missing…”

“I can assure you that I hold no hard feelings against you, General.”

“Of course I do not expect you to Laurens,” General Hale laughed, his cheeks flushed from whatever type of alcohol he had been drinking, “but I do not see Hamilton keeping to the same path of forgiveness!”

“He will in all likelihood forgive you if he is helped efficiently.” I shrugged. In all actuality, Alexander could be quite forgiving, at least with me.

“Well then, I am fairly certain that I remember where all you officers are to stay.” Placing the bottle of spirits down on the table, General Hale threw on his great coat and pulled on a pair of ragged looking mittens. Through observing these actions, I came to the conclusion that he was the only person who had the memory of where Alexander and I were to sleep, and thus would be helping us.

When the two of us ventured out into the now dark night, the cruel winter wind bit into my uncovered skin, feeling as though dozens of miniscule needles were penetrating my flesh. I pulled my coat tighter around me, praying that it would be able to protect me from the severe cold. As we fought against the wind in order to reach the slightly decrepit farmhouse, light snow began to fall, adding to the pain of having everything in the air slam into our faces and hands. By the time we finally reached the backdoor of Hale’s headquarters, I was beginning to regret not borrowing my Alexander’s scarf to cover my ears and lower face with. Hale reached the door first, holding it open for me, then slipping in behind me and quickly locking it behind us. Due to the force of the winds, this seemed the only way that the door would reach Christmas morning still on its hinges. The moment that we were inside, I carefully removed my overcoat and gloves, folding the coat, placing the gloves in its pockets, and gently hanging it on one of the hooks by the door. If the entirety of this winter was to be as miserable as this night, then something told me that my jacket would be one of my most important assets.

While Hale shucked his coat, I ventured towards the parlor where I had left Alexander. He was still sitting before the fire, arms wrapped around himself, however now our respective trunks were also in the parlor, the flecks of snow that dotted them rapidly melting from the heat of the fire. However, unlike before, he was not the only one in the room. Tallmadge was curled up on one of the old armchairs that had been left in the farmhouse by its previous occupants. His trunk was resting in the opposite corner from mine and Alexander’s and it was slightly ajar. Due to the fact that Tallmadge had a quilt wrapped around himself, and my not quite lover had mysteriously managed to gain an old blanket himself, the reason for Tallmadge accessing his trunk became clear. I knew that he was only attempting to help Alexander warm himself from the cold, some nights in what had been our cabin I had lain awake listening to him shiver, his slight frame still clearly not used to the harsh winters of the eastern seaboard, yet I still felt jealousy rise in me. It should have been me, not Tallmadge who had gotten to comfort him. Of course Tallmadge was perhaps my oldest friend in the camp, and I could not truly be mad at him for not knowing about a secret relationship, but there was still that one part of me that was furious. However, I could not dwell on this fury for too long as General Hale soon appeared behind me, much to my and Alexander’s relief and Tallmadge’s chagrin.

“So sorry to have left you gentlemen waiting in the cold,” He apologized, offering a sympathetic smile to Alexander and completely skipping the action with Tallmadge, “I could have sworn that one of my staff was to stay behind, but apparently he did not listen, so I should hopefully be able to show you where your rooms are to be.”

“It is fine General Hale.” Alexander said, standing up and removing the blanket that Tallmadge had lent him. In one swift motion he both deposited the blanket back into Tallmadge’s trunk and slipped into place next to me, even secretly taking my hand in his. This seemed far greater a risk than we ought to have been taking with Hale and Tallmadge so close, however I certainly did not object and instead held onto his hand, savoring the feeling of his calloused hand against my own.

“It was no great inconvenience.” Tallmadge muttered, removing himself from the armchair and refolding the quilt before placing it back into his trunk. He still did not make eye contact with General Hale.

After a moment of silence, General Hale spoke again, “Ought I show you to where you will be staying?”

“That would be most ideal.” I replied, the odd wording of my statement an effect of my sheer exhaustion and the constantly blowing wind outside that occupied a corner of my mind.

“Very well then, follow me! And take care and leave your trunks down here for the moment, these stairs are not very much fun to drag things up, and I wager at least three of us will need to work together in order to get one up.”

The three of us listened, tired enough that the mere promise of a future bed was plenty to guarantee our compliance. Hale led us to the stairs, a place that I had already checked numerous times in my previous hunt for other people, he went first, being the only person who actually knew where we were going, and Alexander and I took up the rear, the day’s constant walking and moving of large objects having aggravated his ankle to the point where he had to lean on me, leaving Tallmadge to awkwardly fit himself in the middle. Luckily for us, other officers had already been assigned to take the attic, and we only had to mount a single flight of stairs to reach the level that our quarters were to be on. The hallway was lit only by the single candle that Hale had seemingly spontaneously procured, and had an eerie quality about it that I dared not comment on. All of the doors had small sheets of parchment tacked to them with numbers written from one to five on them. Evidently the farmhouse had been a rather expansive place in its heyday, however it was now so run down that all the other generals had passed over the space in favor of more structurally sound headquarters.

When he saw me noticing the paper numbers, Hale commented: “I ran a tavern in Albany. The numbers are an old trick that ought to keep us all from being too confused as to who belongs in each bedroom.”

It was a rather clever trick, but I was unable to say so before we abruptly stopped. The stop was so abrupt in fact that Alexander nearly fell into me, and I had to get an arm on the chipping plaster way of the hallway in order to keep both of us upright. On the door we had stopped in front of was the number seven, and Hale knocked one on it before sliding a small key into the lock and opening it. He mentioned something about it being an old habit, but I was far too occupied with Alexander to pay attention. With my beloved still leaning heavily on my arm, something that I could have sworn Tallmadge and Hale ought to have noticed yet did not, I was finally able to catch a glimpse of the room that we were to supposedly occupy for the rest of the winter.

The walls were covered in an old, and severely faded wallpaper that had been out of style since my parents had been born, which was broken halfway down by some rather dubious looking wooden panels. Looking up was no better as the plaster on the ceiling was beginning to crack, and there were what appeared to be water stains in some places. The room was small, only a bit smaller than our cabin, and just fit a bed fit for a married couple, a chest of drawers, and a small writing desk. Upon my first glance, I had already begun to plan how to use the space. Alexander and I would share the bed of course, in fact I was rather relieved that we would once again share a bed as I had grown quite fond of it, we would most likely be able to fit all of our clothes and some books into the chest of drawers, and the bed was raised just high enough that I would probably be able to finagle our two trunks under it. The room was not ideal, but it was inside an actual building and even had a window that overlooked some of the countless rows of soldiers' tents. It would do quite well.

“What do you think Laurens, Hamilton?” Hale asked, slightly scaring me since I had forgotten about his presence.

“It is quite nice.” Alexander admitted, gripping my wrist tightly as he took the key from Hale. In that moment I realized that because of his less than desirable upbringing, a semi luxurious house, even one that had fallen into disrepair and was located in the middle of a farming community overtaken by the army, was to him, quite the location. Mentally I promised myself that I would see how nice I could fix up the room before winter ended, and also made a note to swap out some of our clothes so that he would be more comfortable.

Hale and Tallmadge left the room, presumably to arrange Tallmadge’s sleeping quarters, and once the door shut behind them, I took the opportunity to scoop Alexander up bridal style and to carry him to the bed, depositing him in the middle of the well worn quilt. He laughed and gave me a quick kiss on the tip of my nose before I could fully pull away. With his red curls falling out of his queue and enticing dark blue eyes filled with laughter, I had never felt more attracted to him in my life. All I wanted to do with him was to fall into bed together so that I could worship him with my lips, pressing kisses into as much of his small frame as I could reach, much like I had in the cabin. However, that was not a realistic goal, and instead I took his hand and pressed a quick kiss to the back of it before settling on the edge of the bed.

“Is your ankle alright?” My question had a severely obvious answer, however I thought it was best to receive confirmation from Alexander himself before I left to go help Hale and Tallmadge with our trunks.

“I think I ought to be fine so long as I do not walk too far tomorrow.” As he replied, the poor thing rubbed his ankle, now removed from his regulation boot, and winced when the heel of his hand hit a painful part. My heart broke seeing him in pain and I leaned over and kissed his cheek before I spoke again.

“So long as you shall be alright, I am going to help Tallmadge and Hale retrieve our trunks from downstairs.”

“I shall be.” He once again stressed before I finally sat up and ventured out of the room.

However, I quickly regretted said decision as merely stepping into the hallway produced infinitely more conflict than not. Through the murky darkness, punctured only by the single flame of a candle, I could just make out two figures. These figures, who I immediately deduced to be Hale and Tallmadge because they sounded exactly like Hale and Tallmadge, were speaking in hushed, yet rather harsh tones. Since Tallmadge had somehow managed to get ahold of the singular candle, his face was the only illuminated surface that I could truly make out. The major’s blue eyes were filled with fierceness and he was evidently filled with some sort of muted furry. Over what offence I was not sure, but it did seem as though Hale was attempting to calm Tallmadge down, although to little avail. Stepping a bit closer, I could just make out their words.

“Well what on earth am I supposed to do? Every single bed in this house is filled with another officer, who I do not know and cannot make an enemy of, and will be occupied!” Hale protested, making a very decent point about his reputation, or rather lack thereof.

“You say that as though any of those men are going to stumble into this house! In all likelihood, even if any of them manage to get back here, they will collapse drunk in the parlor, not seek out or even remember their rooms.” Tallmadge shot back, the faint flame of the candle just enough to draw attention to the prominent dark circles under his eyes.

“If you are so concerned about sleeping in an actual bed, and not curled up before a fire, which I can assure you many of the soldiers outside would be grateful for, you can share with me. These are your only two options. I swear to god if you were a guest at the Hudson I would have thrown you to the curb ages ago!”

“Then it is lucky for the both of us that I am not a guest at your pitiful excuse for a tavern!”

“How dare you! The Hudson is a fine establishment!”

“Yes, the type of fine establishment where no one was truly that concerned when British soldiers came in and arrested you!”

As enjoyable as it would have been to listen to Hale and Tallmadge bicker between each other like small children, for it truly was as entertaining as Alexander had made it out to be, I also did desire to be able to sleep some time that night, and that desire won over the pure entertainment that was listening to a major and Brigadier General argue like two school children. Quite frankly I was more surprised that Hale had not pulled rank on Tallmadge during the argument than the evident immaturity of the argument in the first place. Although the two of them were not as furious as my mother and father had been when my mother was still alive, it was still a hostile enough confrontation to make me leery of interrupting. Thankfully, I did not have to.

At some point Hale noticed me, and swung around rather theatrically to me, imploring: “Laurens, tell Tallmadge that he can not steal a bed from another officer, and that my tavern is not a hell hole!”

Before I could speak, Tallmadge butted in, “Laurens, tell Hale that all the other occupants of this house are black out drunk and will not even be able to make it up the stairs anyway, and that a tavern where the bartender and owner gets arrested in front of his customers on a weekly basis is not a fine establishment!”

“Uh-” I was not able to get a single word in prior to the two of them continuing their rapid pace argument.

“It was not on a weekly basis! It was monthly, get your damn facts right at least!”

“In Albany you got arrested on a monthly basis? What on earth is wrong with you!”

“You knew me in Albany! That was the sole streak of longer than two months in which I was only arrested once, really you ought to be impressed.”

“Why on earth would I find that impressive?”

“Can we please acquire the trunks from downstairs?” I finally had enough and interjected. Hale and Tallmadge looked at eachother, and a spark of an idea seemed to form in General Hale’s grey eyes. Given that I was now intimately acquainted with his criminal record, I was not quite sure that this idea was such a good thing to be occurring.

“Of course we can Laurens,” Brigadier General Hale said, glaring at Tallmadge as he said so, “however, first I require you to help settle a certain dispute between myself and Major Tallmadge here. As the ranking officer in this situation, I shall proclaim whatever your decision is as the verdict, and we all comply with it, given that disobeying direct orders from a senior officer would warrant a court martial. Understand?”

“Yes, General.” Tallmadge and I declared roughly in unison.

“Very well then. Judge the argument as you see fit Laurens.”

What I had failed to consider was the fact that I absolutely despised being put in these sorts of situations. Being forced to choose between two sides, on both of which were people who I greatly valued, or at the very least whose displeasure was powerful enough to make my life a living hell, was the sort of thing that had occurred concerningly often in my childhood and tended to appear in my nightmares as well. In this situation, I was caught between my superior, Hale, who I could not offend intentionally, or even commit any action that could constitute a court martial, and Tallmadge, who was one of my only friends, and whom I could not bear losing over being forced to settle such a petty argument. Thus, I did what I always tended to do in those sorts of situations: I froze up.

“I-I, um, we-well…” My voice drifted off and my fingernails dug into my palms. A general feeling of overwhelming panic crept over my entire body.

“Laurens? Are you alright?” Tallmadge approached me, his hand halfway between himself and me, positioned as if he wanted to place it on me, but was keeping himself from, in fear of my reaction.

“I did not wish to cause you any distress.” Hale whispered, his true youth shown by how pale he had become. In all reality he was younger than I was, and as unfit and underprepared for his position as the next man. We were all young and inexperienced, however we were expected not to be and put up masks that suggested such, and just then Hale’s mask slipped.

“I-I am so sorry but I truly can not settle this.” Somehow I eventually managed to sputter out the words, just barely keeping my composure together.

“That is fine,” Tallmadge soothed, his entire demeanor suddenly changing. Grabbing onto my sleeve, he gently pried my arm from its place clenched against my chest and walked me towards mine and Alexander’s room. “Neither of us mind. You worry about getting to bed and we shall settle our little dispute.”

“Alexander ought to be able to help you.” I whispered as Tallmadge led me to my door, Hale holding the candle as to allow us to be able to see the door numbers.

“That is a fine suggestion.” The Brigadier General said, a small smile on his face. I was not quite sure how, but I caught a glimpse of the man that he must have been before the war, an older brother and avid patriot who was as efficient in soothing younger siblings as he was in talking his way out of arrest. 

A quick knock on the door was all that was required to summon Alexander, in fact I could hear the thud of his bad ankle hitting the well worn floorboards, and the flurry of French curses that escaped his lips as he limped over towards the door. The moment that the door opened and Alexander caught sight of me, a look passed between him and Tallmadge in which Tallmadge seemed to inform him of all that had transpired in the hallway and the details of my reaction. While that occurred, I made my way to the bed and sat down on the very edge, no longer digging my finger nails into my palm, but desperately wishing that there was something for me to fidget with. After I sat down, Alexander beckoned both Tallmadge and Hale into our room. Hale seemed rather apologetic and as he entered he muttered a string of apologies, all of which appeared to be directed to no one in particular. Possessing a bit more logic than the general, Tallmadge explained the situation in full to Alexander, who had taken a seat next to me on the bed. Upon hearing about their argument over what on earth they were to do about Tallmadge’s sleeping arrangements, the unfortunate idea for me to decide it, and how that idea had severely failed, the question was posed to Alexander for him to decide it.

“Very well then,” He said, looking from Hale to Tallmadge, “due to the fact that it seems as though all of the rooms here are occupied by two to three men, all of whom are not currently here, I believe that you two ought to share a bed for the night since there is no telling weather or not all the other occupants of this place are going to be kick out of their various bars and other establishments and sent back here, thus reclaiming their beds, before the night is over.”

“Hamilton-” Tallmadge protested, clearly having forgotten Hale’s pledge of a few minutes prior.

“I will uphold Hamilton's ruling.” Hale interrupted, shooting a sly grin in the major’s direction. “And the two of us ought to be able to grab your trunks as well.”

“Thank you sir.” I said, my voice finally not feeling as though it was permanently caught in my throat. Alexander agreed with me, and that prompted both Hale and Tallmadge to leave us alone in our room.

Once the door shut, Alexander stretched out on the bed, and seemed to almost immediately fall asleep after quickly checking with me to assure that I was well. I took a place on the bed next to him, myself sitting up and brushing a red curl out of his eyes as it repeatedly fell back into its previous place. The knot of anxiety and apprehension that had taken root in my stomach was beginning to undo itself, and the same sort of peace that I had become surprisingly accustomed to during my time in camp, once again came over me. If it were not for waiting for Hale and tallmadge to help bring up our trunks, I would have fallen asleep. However, I could not, and instead my mind latched on to the sheer peculiarness of the whole situation. A major and a Brigadier General were doing what could be classified as menial labor for two lieutenant Colonels, especially when other soldiers could have easily been summoned to help. Hale did not seem to either understand or care about the typical army hierarchy, and for some reason Tallmadge was content to do the same. Perhaps the two of them did it for the same reason that Washington tended to treat us aides as his own children. It was a reason that I did not know and doubted I ever would, but appreciated nonetheless. For once in my life I was being treated as a valued friend would be, and there was nothing in the world that could force me to give that up. Just as I came to that realization, I heard the thud of a trunk being shoved up the stairs and two voices whispering.

“We both know perfectly well why Hamilton was so keen on having us share a bed, and why you were eager to uphold the decision.” It sounded as though that man was Tallmadge, although the reason he was speaking of remained unknown to me.

“I know perfectly well what you think of me now, and our past had nothing to do with my decision. Hamilton was right, I am the only man in headquarters with a bed to myself, and I would feel extraordinarily guilty to have a bed to myself while one of my soldiers slept on the floor.” Hale was speaking now, his words occasionally punctured by a grunt and he seemed to push another trunk up the stairs. The two of them were moving three trunks all alone, and I felt guilty for having abandoned them to labor alone.

“That is not your responsibility as a General.” Protested Tallmadge, “Besides, I wish to sleep by myself anyway.”

“Why? You shall be far more comfortable in an actual bed.”

There was the sound of a man dropping a trunk more roughly than he really needed to, and Tallmadge spoke again, his voice shaking slightly: “Because I do not wish to become reliant on your pity and charity as I did in Albany. I-I simply can not have that occur again.”

“Ben-” Hale’s voice was softer now, and the floorboards in the hall creaked as he covered the short distance towards Tallmadge. “That was certainly not what I intended to do. It was never intended to be pity or charity, merely friendship.”

“I hate feeling as though I am wholly reliant on others when there is the option for me to be independent, to live on my own. It seems to me that a debt is forged every single time I take someone else’s help, the sort of debt that they will force me to repay in the most horrible ways. That was the way it was when I was a child, that was the way it was with everyone who I ever thought cared about me. Thus, I simply can not be dependent on others, they always abuse it.” On the last syllable, Tallmadge’s voice cracked, and it sounded as though he was silently crying.

There was a profound lack of words or other speech from the hallway for a  decent few minutes, and when it resumed, Hale was the only one speaking. His words were muffled, but I could barely make them out. 

“I promise that this will not be this way, Benny. I promise. You do not have to sleep in my bed if you do not wish, however if you do, you owe me nothing, I swear on Baker’s grave.”

“You would have to find it first.” Tallmadge laughed, although his voice certainly sounded as though he had been crying. There was silence for another moment, but then he once again spoke. “Nat, you promise I shall owe you nothing?”

“Of course Benny.”

The silence relapsed for a decent two minutes, due to the fact that there was a dusty clock on the chest of drawers, I was able to time it, and it was only broken by the dragging of trunks and the occasional sniffle from Tallmadge. A few moments later Hale knocked on the door and I helped him bring in mine and Alexander’s trunks. After the door once again closed, I heard him and Tallmadge take Tallmadge’s trunk into Hale's room and their door closed as well. Unfortunately their room was far enough away that I could no longer eavesdrop on their incredibly interesting conversation. However, what I did do was awaken a still sleeping Alexander in order to force him to change into one of my nightshirts, which I had not worn since August, and that was several sizes too large on his slight frame. He collapsed back into bed shortly after, curled up into a question mark and lightly snoring as I rifled through the remainder of the possessions in my trunk. My fingers almost instantly found what I was searching for. The leather bound sketchbook and well used pencil had not been touched since August, but I was determined to use them both tonight. Resuming my position on the bed next to Alexander, I began to lightly sketch the details of his face.

As I drew, my thoughts drifted, they always did, and tonight they landed on the conversation that I had just overheard between Tallmadge and Hale. It was quite the queer thing for me to have overheard, as they had clearly intended for the words shared to be known only to the two of them. Tallmadge had previously mentioned his time in Albany, along with how he did not practically enjoy speaking of it, however tonight he had spoken quite freely about it to Hale. Given that Hale had mentioned that he was from there, I could only infer that the two of them had known each other prior to the war, a fact supported by both Alexander’s insistence that their disagreement would be far more entertaining that it had been in Albany, and the way that both men had referred to each other by their first names. No, not their first names, they both seemed to call each other something far more akin to pet names during the rather strange conversation. It was all rather strange, however I had nowhere near enough energy to properly ponder it, and instead after I finished my sketch of a sleeping Alexander, I tucked my sketchbook away, threw on a nightshirt, and curled up next to Alexander, waiting for Christmas morning to arrive.

Notes:

I-I don't even know anymore.

This is part 1 of the April Holiday special, 2 more chapters to go...I think

 

I brought this upon myself, didn't I?

If for some reason you're reading this around the winter holidays, i wrote this is fucking April. I know its shit, just roll with it

i'm not even going to both adding historical sources. You all know I made all of this up anyway.

let me know if you like this i guess?

also there is now a pinterest board. Access at your own risk:

https://pin.it/3rvZRmFLN

Chapter 26: Indelible

Summary:

Indelible
/inˈdeləb(ə)l/
adjective
Impossible to forget or erase.

I awoke much as I had fallen asleep, curled up next to Alexander, my hands displaying the graphite that was involved with the previous night’s sketching. However, this time my beloved had one of his arms wrapped around me and he was lightly snoring as morning light streamed through our window. It was quite the domestic scene, and a part of me wished that I could live in that moment forever, content and still sleepy, wrapped in a quilt with my beloved next to me. The overwhelming sense of panic and fear that had threatened to overtake me last night, had entirely dissipated, and for the first time in a concerningly long time, I felt perfectly safe. Thus, I buried my face in Alexander’s shoulder and simply breathed. He smelled like ink and work…like home. At this realization, I merely held him closer and desperately wished that society as a whole would have allowed us to openly be together as a man and woman were expected to be.

“Jacky?” His sleepy voice was barely more than a whisper, but nevertheless it was there.

“Merry Christmas Alexander.” I whispered back, placing a ghost of a kiss on his forehead. Where my remembrance of the date came from, I do not know, however it was enough to prompt my dear boy to pull me down for a proper kiss.

He traced a finger along my jaw as we kissed, ghosting his touch over my stubble. I needed to shave, we both did. At some point he decided that we ought to break apart, quite possibly so that we could both have the luxury of breathing, and pulled my lips gently away from his. However, my dear boy still cupped my face with one hand, and a lazily smile formed on his now red lips.

“Merry Christmas to you too.” Alexander laughed, kissing the tip of my nose. It would be a lie to say that I felt as though my heart melted at that moment. For once in my life, I was truly and utterly in love, and I could not have chosen a better man to have fallen for if given a thousand years to search.

“I love you.” Somehow I ended up blurting out the words. A small look of shock passed over Alexander’s face and the ensuing silence felt like knives being pressed to my heart.

“I love you too, Jacky.” With that he pulled me in for another kiss. My dear boy might not have known it, but those four words were the most splendid Christmas present that I had ever received. 

Unfortunately, as the other occupants of Hale’s headquarters stirred, we were forced to break apart for fear of being caught. Having gone to sleep first, I essentially forced Alexander out of our bed to change, while I cocooned myself in the quilts. Of course I did not fall back asleep, instead watching my bed and romantic partner remove the nightshirt I had all but made him take. Dressed in only his underclothes, he quickly began to pull on his army uniform, although that was not before I got a moment to properly admire his body. He was quite slim, that I had been previously aware of, however what I had not known was the way that his freckles slayed out across his shoulders and how his red hair extended in a patchy trail down his chest. Once he was fully dressed, my dear boy sat on the edge of the bed next to me, rubbing his hand up and down my back.

“How on earth have you already managed to both fall back asleep and be woken up. It does not take me that length of time to change!” He murmured as I merely shoved my face deeper into the pillow, “You yourself said it was Christmas and I would much rather exchange gifts with someone who is currently awake.”

“Fine.” I grumbled, allowing myself to be pulled out of bed and my face peppered with light kisses. More intelligent men that the two of us would have embraced subtlety in that moment, however we were both young and foolish. 

It took but a moment for me to remove my nightshirt and don my uniform, and as I did so, I could practically feel Alexander’s eyes inspecting my body much as I had done with him. Perhaps a night of the sort of intimacy that could have gotten us both hung would be occurring far sooner than I previously thought. At long last I finally tied my hair back into a tidy queue with a faded navy ribbon. Someone had been rather impatient and had been attempting to hurry me along for the better part of half of an hour. There had been little to no discussion between Alexander and I on the topic of exchanging Christmas gifts, however I had most certainly prepared some for him, and based on the way he was flitting around the room, I could only assume that my dear boy had something planned. Once we were fully dressed, he practically forced me to stay in the room as he left to prepare something.

Instead of dwelling on what on earth he could be doing, I retrieved the gifts that I had gotten for Alexander. Over the past month, between the move to Valley Forge with the whole of the army, and my injury, there had not been an abundance of time to plan, yet I was still able to scrounge up a few items that I hoped my not quite lover would adore. They were hidden in the very bottom of my trunk, tucked under a long filled up sketchbook I had brought along as a reminder and reference to South Carolina. Kneeling over the open trunk, the tips of my fingers quickly found the leather cover of the old sketchbook and moved it aside. All four items hidden beneath it were immediately removed, and after waiting a moment and listening for any sound of Alexander in the hall, receiving only snores from the other officers in response, I laid the gifts out on our bed.

Stark against the still rather messy mix of sheets and quilts that were draped across the mattress, sat a book, a pair of fine leather gloves, an assortment of new quills, and the sketch of my Alexander asleep. As I waited for him to come back, my fingers tranced the edge of the book, the pages still a bright cream and filled with hundreds upon hundreds of lines about how philosophy, history, and the law were intertwined. I had come across the volume all the way back in October, a few days before the battle of Germantown, where I had narrowly escaped being shot in the shoulder, and once I searched the contents of Alexander’s trunk to see if he possessed a copy, I had elected to keep it in order to use as a bribe at a later time. However a bribe was no longer necessary, given that if I kissed him and made eyes at him, he was perfectly willing to do a page or three of my translation work. Thus, I had decided it was to make a wonderful Christmas gift. A rap at the door startled me out of my revery, and knowing perfectly well that it was Alexander, I placed the gifts for him back in my trunk, merely on the top layer before calling out:

“You may come in!”

Just as I was standing up and brushing some of the dust from the floor off of my pants, Alexander entered the room, holding a rather peculiar box in his arms. For some reason it appeared to be shaking slightly. I was only a moment from asking him about it, when he placed it down on the top of the chest of drawers with a triumphant grin.

“Merry Christmas Jack!” He proclaimed, striding over to where I was on the bed and physically pulling me up.

“If someone had warned me you enjoyed the holidays so much I would have prepared something more extravagant!” I laughed, pressing a brief kiss onto the top of his red curls.

My dear boy laughed as well, his freckled features lighting up in such a way that my heart skipped a beat. He was looking at me in such a way, deep blue-purple eyes framed by rather long lashes for a man, that I could not quite determine what the look meant, nor what he was planning to do next. Luckily for me, I did not have to attempt to deduce it. Rather awkwardly, his words trailing into each other far more than they typically did, my dear boy articulated that he had found something that he could not help but desire to give me as a Christmas gift, and that he did not mind if I had elected not to gift him anything, however he greatly desired to present me my gift. Although it was rather rude, I cut him off and told him that I had, in fact, elected to give him something for Christmas, and I would allow him to give me my gift, only if I could give him his first. His eyes lighting up with interest and amusement, he agreed, and I made him stand with his back to me and my trunk as I quickly retrieved his Christmas gifts from said trunk, and dumped them into a rather large handkerchief that was stained with some of my old paints. When I presented it to Alexander, he raised an eyebrow, but the childish excitement in his indigo eyes betrayed his true feelings.

“Open it you ninny!” I exclaimed as I sat next to him on the foot of our bed.

Alexander’s nimble fingers quickly untied the rather crude knot I had used to secure the handkerchief, and delicately opened the handkerchief. By how slow he was going, and the expression of intense concentration on his face, I came to the conclusion that Alexander never had the ability to open a Christmas present before, and immediately elected to give him something ten times better for his birthday…once I figured out when exactly that was. Much as I had expected, he quite appreciated the quills, saying that many of his old ones were becoming quite useless, and considered the topic of the book to be quite the interesting one. Upon him laying eyes on the leather gloves, I had to lie to him and say that they were an old pair of my brother’s that he had sent me in order to give to another soldier, with Alexander’s stubborn behavior and pride, I knew he would never accept true charity, which meant I could not tell him I in fact asked my brother to order a pair of gloves new for Alexander. The gloves fit well enough that I could continue the lie that they were hand me downs, however they were still ill fitting enough that I silently cursed the glove maker in my mind. At long last his gaze settled on the sketch. As his fingers ghosted over the fine details of his curls, splayed out against a pillow I did not have time to finish shading, he spoke.

“You never told me you could draw like this.” He whispered, almost as if he was afraid to speak too loudly, lest he disrupt the art before him.

“I have not had the time for quite a while.” I shrugged, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my chin on his shoulder.

“Well you ought to, Jacky! This is quite impressive!”

“Thank you.” I murmured, nestling my face into his shoulder. Somehow, even though we had both just woken up, he still already smelled like ink. For some reason, it was comforting.

“Now,” My dear boy said as he pried himself away from me, gently as ever of course, and stood up. “It is time for your present!”

Retrieving the still vaguely shaking box from the chest of drawers, Alexander strode back over towards me, and promptly deposited the box into my arms with a “Merry Christmas Jacky!” He loomed over me with his face lit up with a wicked grin, as I inspected the box. The whole of the thing was made of pasteboard and rather battered, leading me to the only reasonable conclusion that it had once held some sort of equipment for the army. However, now it had been acquisitioned by my dear boy to act as wrapping for my christmas gift, and said gift was making me rather concerned. I swore I could feel something moving around inside of the box. Since the only way to tell what was inside was to open it, that was what I did.

Inside of the box was a rather annoyed looking grey kitten, nearly the size of a whole cat, with the deepest green eyes I had ever seen. Immediately I scooped up the creature and held the adorable little thing in my arms. The kitten was soft, and absolutely adorable, even beginning to purr slightly as I rescued it from its pasteboard prison. As I ran my fingers over the cat’s fluffy grey head, stroking right between its ears, I could feel Alexander gazing fondly at me, gauging my reaction.

“I take it you like your new pet?” He asked, clearly already knowing the answer.

“Of course I do!” I exclaimed, not too loudly though, as I did not desire to startle my new fluffy companion. “It is wonderful and adorable and fluffy.”

“Well now I know how to make you happy,” He laughed, “just overwhelm you with small animals. You know, I was originally planning on finding you a turtle, however that proved rather difficult and one of the soldiers alerted me to the fact that a barn cat had recently given birth to kittens, so I thought that you might enjoy a different sort of companion.”

“After the war, you can get me a turtle, however for now I am perfectly satisfied with this little fellow.” I gazed down at the kitten in my arms and promptly resided that he was in fact a she. “What ought I to call you?”

“Reginald?” My dear boy oh so helpfully suggested.

“Perhaps Turtle.” I mused, “That way someone will be reminded that after the war ends, he shall owe me a proper turtle. Yes, that shall fit you perfectly!”

“Goddamn, you are petty!” Alexander laughed, but he could not have been that off put, as he still swooped in and captured my lips into a kiss. As we regrettably pulled apart, the slight crack in the door allowed a rather colorful exchange to filter though:

“What on earth am I supposed to do with a celebratory bottle of gin? I do not drink!” The unwilling owner of a bottle of gin sounded suspiciously like Tallmadge, a fact that was confirmed when I remembered that he had once refused a drink I had offered him on the same grounds.

“Well that certainly was not the case in Albany. But more importantly, what the fuck am I going to do with a goddamn hymnal and prayer book?” Through the sheer amount of cursing and exclamation, I was quickly able to realize that the man Tallmadge was arguing with none other than Hale. No surprise there, the two hated each other and this seemed to merely be the latest of their numerous arguments that had occured in the twelve hours that they had been together. Although, it did bring what exactly had transpired after they had retired to Hale’s room the previous night into question. Dear god this was going to be an eventful winter.

“How about you attempt to learn some morals?” Major Tallmadge shot back. If the two of them were not so caught up in their petty feud, I was fairly certain that Hale would have threatened to court-martial him again.

“Go stick your morals right up your ass!” Hale spat, not literally though.

“Burn in hell Hale.”

“See you there Mr. Minister!”

While this was most certainly not what I had been expecting to hear come from a Brigadier General and Major, it was slightly more reassuring to know that they were at least capable of coming up with vaguely creative insults for each other, which at the very least assured that being forced to listen to their arguments would be vaguely entertaining. Out in the hallway I could hear Tallmadge storming off, to where I did not know, and Hale cursing under his breath as he fumed back to his room. There was no way that the two of them would be sharing a bedroom for any longer.

“Believe it or not, they actually managed to get along in Albany.” Alexander mentioned from his place on the bed as he thumbed through the book I had gifted him.

While I played with Turtle, the wheels in my mind were turning. Hale and Tallmadge getting along? In Albany muchless? It seemed unbelievable. “What on earth do you mean?”

“In Albany, back before the war, it must have been about ‘74, the two of them got along quite well. Tallmadge acted as the minister of a church, while Hale ran his tavern, which, for the record, was a rather morally dubious establishment. I do not believe that I ever heard the two of them fight when I was with them, however there was a rumor that they abruptly stopped speaking to each other a few days after I left the city.”

“Obviously they must have.” I shrugged, picking Turtle up in my arms and gazing into her little green eyes, “Otherwise they would not hate each other this intensely.”

“True.” Alexander mused, flipping another page in his book. “The rumor was that the two of them had a spat, over what I do not know, but it quickly turned nasty and Tallmadge left the city. It seems rather odd though, as they were exceptionally close when I knew them before the war.”

“How close?”

“About as close as someone might view the two of us, I suppose. Tallmadge even managed to convince Hale to go to a church service, which I can assure you was no small feat.”

“Interesting. I thought the man burned when he touched holy ground.” I jested, plopping down next to him on the bed, now petting Turtle.

“He very well might!” Alexander laughed, laying his head on my shoulder.

Oh dear god he was perfect. Young, lively, witty, intelligent, a wonderful man who I did not deserve. He was as stubborn as the day was long, but as patient as one could be when it came to my various…issues. He even got me a cat! Turtle looked up at me with her emerald green eyes, cocking her fluffy little grey head slightly, almost as if she was attempting to discern my very thoughts. I studied the very details of Alexander's face, from the freckles that covered nearly every inch of it to his exposed skit, to the way one or two specific curls always seemed determined to fall back down into his eyes. For once, I was finally content. My dear boy leaned next to me, flipping through his new book, and my cat, Turtle, purred in my arms. No longer did I have any desire to die a glorious death in battle, but instead I was finally looking to the future, after the war no longer seemed such a distant goal. America would hopefully be free, and I could dedicate myself to the cause of the abolition of slavery with Alexander by my side, and none of my prewar troubles would ever touch my new life. 

A knock at the door dislodged my thoughts. It was still rather early in the morning, no one else besides Alexander, Hale, Tallmadge, and myself appeared to be awake, and neither of those two seemed as though they would exactly enjoy a Christmas morning chat.

At the door was a rather bleary eyed messenger. I recognized him as one of the young men General Washington tended to use as a runner between his headquarters and General Green’s. He was barely older than a boy and both his face and fingers were pink from the cold. I could only guess that he was giving his message to me in person to stay in the warmth of the headquarters for as long as physically possible.

“Colonel Laurens, sir.” He said, eyes only straying down slightly to the cat I was holding, “General Washington requests both your and Colonel Hamilton’s presence at a Christmas supper at his headquarters this evening. Lady Washington has arrived from Mount Veron and has specifically requested that she be introduced to you.”

“Thank you soldier.” I replied, “I shall be sure to pass along your message to Hamilton.”

“Very well sir. Now, I am sorry to ask this, but do you have any idea where General Hale and Major Tallmadge might be, they were invited as well.”

I pointed the soldier towards Hale and Tallmadge’s room as well as I could, and once I made sure that he knew its location, I closed the door. This ought to be a rather interesting evening. A supper with both the General and his wife, the famed Martha Washington, who I had yet to have the honor of being introduced to, that was also to be attended by Alexander, Hale, and Tallmadge, all of whom had some sort of past quarrel with each other that no one had ever seen fit to inform me of the details of. I could only pray that the evening would be civil as I gently placed Turtle down on the bed and began to see which of my uniforms were the least dirty.

Notes:

This was originally going to also include the Christmas party, but I kinda realized that this thing is 3645 words without the party and decided my sanity is worth it.

In other news, the google doc I keep this on just reached 150 pages so to celebrate I have decided to write a paper on why Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens slept together for sure. Not really sure how I'm gonna put it on the internet, but i'll make sure to give you guys a link!

If you've got any ideas on why LAMS is historical cannon, please comment them!

Chapter 27: Savoir-Faire

Summary:

savoir faire
/ˌsavˌwär ˈfer/
noun
the ability to act or speak appropriately in social situations.

As the sun began to slowly sink over the horizon, the invitees of the Christmas supper began to prepare for the festivities. While I shaved and Alexander attempted thrice to properly tie back his curls, I could hear Hale and Tallmadge bickering through the walls. None of the other officers who occupied the headquarters were brave enough to intercede in their quarrel and had instead spent the majority of the day planning a rather small celebration of the holidays which was to take place in the headquarters. Apparently Hale had approved it, most likely so that he could enjoy a celebration far less formal than that of the Washington’s when we returned from the supper. From what I was able to gather, the supper was to be attended by several of us aides, along with the majority of the General’s and their wives. Tallmadge was easily to be the lowest ranked officer there, but for reasons unknown to me, the General seemed to be rather fond of him and had invited him.

Also of note was the fact that all of those invited were also to be able to bring their wives. This was rather complicated given that neither Alexander nor I were involved in any romantic relationships with women, and I had not heard news of a wife or even lover from either Hale or Tallmadge. However, Hale was charming enough that something told me he would have a girl on his arm by the time all four of us arrived at the celebration. Speaking of Tallmadge and Hale, Alexander and I encountered them as we were making our way down the stairs to the party, and given that it appeared as none of us had a woman to bring along with us, counter to my previous assumption about Hale’s ability to attract the attention of members of the fair sex, we elected to brave the winter elements together. However, before we were to open the door, Hale stopped us, declaring that he was in fact, waiting for a lady, thus proving my theory.

As we waited for said lady, who I was rather confused upon the identity of, as the gentleman typically was the one to retrieve his lady, not the other way around, Mercy Hale bounded into the room, having evidently entered her older brother’s headquarters from the backdoor. She was wrapped in a bright red cloak that had to have been at least a size too large for the small girl. Her grey eyes shone through the rather dark room and she immediately dashed over to Hale. He gave her a pat on her cloaked head and declared:

“About time we get going, is it not gentlemen?”

We all gave various affirmations, and with that, Hale bade his younger sister stay behind him, and opened the front door, exposing all five of us to the frigid winter elements. The wind howled and snow was falling, being whipped around by said wind, as we traversed the distance between Hale’s headquarter and General Washington’s. Hale took the lead, with Mercy following behind him, then myself, my dear boy, and finally Tallmadge in the rear. Both Alexander and I had subconsciously decided to separate the two of them, which was a wise decision since, despite the fact that you could hear nothing above the roaring of the wind, Hale and Tallmadge would have managed to find a way to argue. While we trudged through the wintry landscape, Mercy lagged behind, eventually ending up directly next to me. She grabbed onto the edge of my greatcoat in order to steady herself against the wind, and when the next gust of wind threatened to blow her small figure over, I grasped her hand and pulled her upright. Although all five of us were forced to fight against the elements in order to make the journey over to Washington’s headquarters, Mercy certainly suffered the most. Had she been slightly smaller and my arm not still injured from both the aftermath of the incident in the woods and my injury all the way back at Brandywine, I would have picked her up and carried her. However, that was not the case, and the small girl was able to admirably brave the wicked wind for the duration of the journey.

At long last we were able to reach Washington’s headquarters, guided by the light emanating from every window of the place. It was evident that the rest of the attendees of the party had arrived there by carriage, but due to the fact that neither Alexander, Hale, Tallmadge, nor I were in possession of a carriage, we were left to walk. I could only hope that someone would be generous enough to grant Mercy a place in their carriage to take her back to Hale’s headquarters once the whole of the festivities had ended. Windblown and covered in snow that we were, we were somehow still granted entry upon reaching the Headquarters. One of Washington’s slaves, a rather cowed looking man who was nearly as tall as I was, took our greatcoats and Mercy’s cloak. I made sure that we all thanked him as he did so.

It was no secret among the camp that I despised the institution of slavery, and I would be a horrible liar if I did not admit that upon gleaning the knowledge of how exactly General Washington had made his fortune, on the backs of men and women and children who had no choice but to act on his every whim, my view of the man was forever marred. During our time together, both as a romantic partnership and as merely aides, I had converted Alexander to my rather radical beliefs, and it seemed as though both Hales in attendance and Tallmadge shared my dislike for the institution of slavery. Over the course of my time as a resident at Mepkin, I had long learned that the most I could do for slaves, without a true way to free them or platform to petition for such, was to treat them as well as I possibly could. Thus, I exercised this at the Christmas party as well.

Upon being relieved of my overcoat, I took a few steps into Washington’s Headquarters and inspected the party. The whole of the place had been transformed from the somber office where Alexander and I laboured over the General’s paperwork with the other aides, to a festive gathering, with evergreen branches and candles adorning the old parlor and dining room of the farmhouse. The gathering was far smaller than I had expected it to be, with only a few dozen people in attendance. Personally, I recognized Generals Green and Knox, both of whom had women who I could only assume were their wives on their arms, along with Lafayette who was eagerly approaching Alexander and I.

“Mes chers amis! Je suis si heureux que vous ayez pu venir tous les deux ce beau soir.” He exclaimed, drawing Alexander into an embrace, inciting a spark of jealousy somewhere deep inside of me. We merely shook hands, and I returned his greeting in my haltering French, not quite fully understanding what the Major General had said. I was perfectly capable of translating the French language into English or vice versa, however in the area of speaking it, I was almost completely inept. Luckily for me, Lafayette merely seemed excited that there was another man in the camp who vaguely spoke his native tongue. He and Alexander spoke to each other in French for a few moments as I stood awkwardly to the side and was only able to pick up minor phrases in their rapid conversation. 

While they spoke, I glanced around the room. What was typically a front room that was covered with maps, hung heavy with the scent of ink, and was filled with officers and aides waiting to meet with the General, was transformed into an imitation of a proper parlor. The walls, which were as depressing of a gray as ever, had been decorated with evergreen boughs, clearly scavenged from the woods. I could only shudder as I wondered if any of those trees had witnessed me pressing the letter opener to my wrist. All around the parlor were people who were attempting to pretend that we were not surrounded by suffering and death. While they sipped wine and spoke to each other by candlelight, pretending that everything was well, the poor soldiers outside, on whose backs we had advanced so far in the war, were freezing outside in the same ragged tents that they had inhabited since Lexington and Concord. I had heard whispered malcontent among the troops, and I was beginning to understand why they were dissatisfied. Of course I had grown up used to celebrating truly trivial things as others suffered, but I could not shake the feeling that this was slightly distasteful. Perhaps the reason I did not enjoy the party as much as I was supposed to was the fact that Alexander had been dragged away from me the moment that we stepped into the door, and I had already lost track of Hale and Tallmadge, the only other two people in attendance with whom I was any semblance of acquainted.

Thus I milled around for a while, making conversation with General Knox for a fair time. The man was exceptionally passionate about all things relating to artillery, and although I understood very little of what he was speaking about, there was something about how enthralled the man was when he spoke that kept me engaged in the conversation, perhaps it was the same sort of thing that kept others interested when I rambled on about turtles. After a painfully long time of practicing my polite conversation skills, in which I spoke and said absolutely nothing, there was finally a call for us guests to sit down to Christmas supper in the dining room.

Much like in the parlor, the strategy room had been transformed into something that resembled a proper dining room, with the bare windows covered in wine red curtains, the walls decorated with yet more evergreen boughs, and candles lighting the room with a soft glow. The table which was typically covered with maps had been instead covered with a tablecloth and the whole of it was surrounded by about eight chairs. That was rather odd, I could have sworn that there were far more people in attendance. At that moment both the General and Lady Washington entered, taking their places at the head and foot of the table respectively. 

It was my first look at Lady Washington and thus I attempted to analyze her as others took their seats. She appeared to be roughly the same age as the General, of course it would have been rude to ask for clarification, and her hair was grey, or at the very least powdered to that hue. I had never quite cared for powdering my own hair, however on Lady Washington, it gave her a rather motherly appearance. Quite frankly one could think she looked quite plain, but there was a general sense of kindness around her, and based on the way that General Washington gazed at his wife, one would come to believe that the woman in the teal evening gown was the most beautiful woman in the world in his eyes.

There were no assigned seats at the table, thus after giving the proper formalities to both the General and Lady Washington, I slipped in between Alexander and Lady Washington, the former being to my left and Lady Washington of course being at the foot of the table, with Hale across from me and Mercy next to him. It was the closest I would be able to get to feeling as if I were not waiting for my father to spontaneously materialize, and my dear boy even took my hand under the table, giving it a quick squeeze. Lafayette took the final seat at the table, sitting across from Tallmadge, who was next to Alexander. For a supper being hosted by the Washingtons’, it was a rather intimate event. Apparently I was giving the impression that I thought the lack of others at the table was rather odd, so Lady Washington turned to me and struck up a small conversation as Lafayette, Alexander, Tallmadge, and Hale all began to speak on military matters.

“Colonel Laurens is it?” She asked, her demeanor reminding me of that of my mother, when she had still been alive of course.

“Yes Ma’am.” I answered.

“Wonderful to meet you, soldier.” Lady Washington gave me a warm smile, “I apologize for the crowd earlier, there is not nearly enough room here as at Mt. Vernon, and I simply can not host everyone at once.”

“I do not mind. I do not quite care for large dinner parties, and I have experienced enough of those that this is a welcome change.” As I finished my explanation, a man who I could only assume was yet another slave entered, and poured wine into the glasses of everyone except for Mercy. When he filled mine, I whispered a “Thank you”, to which he gave me a small nod.

“Ah, yes. You are from the South like me, we do have a rather obsession with large gatherings.”

“Quite correct Ma’am. If my memory proves correct, this is the first dinner party I have attended with under two dozen guests.”

At that remark Lady Washington laughed, lighting tapping me on the arm as she did. The sudden contact made me flinch and no matter how much I prayed she had not seen it, it was clear that she had. Almost immediately, Lady Washington removed her hand from my arm and looked at me with pity and worry clear in her eyes. I felt my cheeks flush red and stared into my empty plate as the shame rose in me. Alexander was absorbed in his conversation with General Washington, and he did not notice when I squeezed his hand under the table. After a moment, Lady Washington gently asked:

“Are you alright dear?” There was a surprising amount of sincerity in her voice and although she saw hundreds upon thousands of soldiers suffering daily, it seemed as though she was actually rather concerned for me.

“Yes Ma’am.” I mumbled, far too automatically for it to ever be believed.

Another slave entered, placing soup before each of us. I still muttered my thanks, although it felt as though I could barely force the words out. Lady Washington looked to her husband, and I could neither see the General’s reaction, nor even guess what it might have been. However, as we all ate the soup, which was quite good compared to what we had been eating since arriving in winter quarters, Hale started to tell a rather amusing story from his youth which involved himself, his older and younger brothers, and a donkey with a desire for vengeance. There was something about the humorous way in which the tale was recited that made a small smile appear on my face. Looking around the table, it appeared as if everyone else was also enjoying the tale, except for Tallmadge who seemed to be trying his best to keep his face painfully neutral and was failing. Once Hale finished speaking, Lafayette piped up, telling the story of a Christmas ball he had attended back in France that went awry very quickly. He mentioned his wife, who had apparently been the saving grace of the whole event, and was apparently the love of his life from the way he spoke. By the time the main course had been served, we were all exchanging stories of Christmases past and I had begun to laugh at Tallmadge’s story of his thoroughly misguided search for Christmas gifts as a young boy.  

The Christmas supper was nothing like the ones my family hosted, for one we were actually all happy and I had no fear of being slapped across the face for speaking out of turn. At the end of the night, as the candles burned down low and our wine glasses were refilled over and over again, I felt far more at home than I had in a very long time. I was surrounded by friends, and a man who was far more than a friend, and my heart had never been more full. Throughout the night I did not contribute very much to the conversation, however when Washington was speaking of the Christmas time exploits of one of his dogs, Alexander squeezed my hand under the table and whispered:

“Enjoying yourself Jacky?”

“Quite so.” I whispered back. Had we not been surrounded by others, I would have kissed him, much like I had before we had left. In the past few days I had begun to feel as if I wanted nothing more than to be touching my dear boy as much as physically possible. My heart surged every time I gazed over at him, his indigo eyes filled with amusement and extremely kissable lips in a grin.

For the rest of the evening there was no more talk of the war, all eight of us were determined to create an oasis from the suffering outside, content to simply be happy, living in the moment and not worrying what tomorrow might bring. Lady Washington was delightful all night, pulling me into conversation with her when it was proper and taking care to not touch me suddenly again. We spoke in length about nothing in particular, although when the topic of bird watching came up, and when she mentioned that her favorite bird was a bluebird, I resolved to sketch one for her. Unfortunately, like all things, the evening had to come to an end, and, full of good food and wine, Alexander, Hale, Tallmadge, Mercy, and I once again braved the hollowing wind and still falling snow to return to Hale’s headquarters.

This time, Hale carried his younger sister in his arms, since she was exhausted, and I grasped onto Alexander’s hand in an effort to not lose him in the inky darkness. Given that we could see nothing, no one could see our minimal display of affection. Tallmadge somehow seemed to remember the way back, and thus he was the one taking the lead, Hale and Mercy behind him, and Alexander and I in the rear. Because of the darkness and the simple fact that we were all rather drunk, the journey took us far slower than it had the previous time and I nearly tripped over a rock in the darkness, almost pulling Alexander down with me. However, at long last, the lights of Hale’s headquarters appeared in the distance, and I was sure that I would be able to spend the rest of the evening curled up in bed with my dear boy and newly found feline companion, comfortable and content.

Notes:

Omg! Sorry this is late! I forgot when my own fic updated 🫣

I actually used historical sources for once! The below articles are about Martha Washington and her husband's headquarters at Valley Forge respectfully. You should see why a major dinner party wouldn't've worked in that place.

https://www.mountvernon.org/george-washington/martha-washington/martha-at-the-front

https://www.nps.gov/vafo/learn/historyculture/washingtons_headquarters.htm

Just to warn you guys, I'm still going to try and update this as regularly as I can, but finals are coming up and I'm trying to finish the first draft of my novel by the end of summer so please bear with me if updates are no longer every Friday. I'm going to try and keep with that update schedule for as long as I can, but as you can tell, this isn't going to be feasible forever. I love, love LOVE the fact that people are actually reading this! When I started this in January I never expected the support that I've gotten from you all! Don't worry, Nathan Hale, Alexander Hamilton, John Laurens, and Benjamin Tallmadge are going nowhere! I'm planning on extending this universe far past Washington's presidency, so I'm gonna be around for a while! If you're enjoying this, please give me a comment or kudos, they really make my day!

Chapter 28: Cingulomania

Summary:

Cingulomania
sing-gyoo-loh-may-nee-uh
Noun
A strong desire to hold a person in your arms

The remainder of December passed quite uneventfully. All of us aides spent our days laboring over the papers that ran the war in our office, working from sunrise to sunset, stopping only once at midday for our meal. There were petitions to be sent to congress, orders to be circulated throughout the camp, and the organization of a small city to manage. Somehow the majority of the men were now housed in log cabins, the structural integrity of which was questionable, but nonetheless provided protection from the elements. Only after the last candle had been snuffed and the final blot of ink dried on the parchment, did us aides retreat to our assorted sleeping quarters. Alexander would have worked late into the night, oftentimes I had to physically rip him from his work, however I could simply not be alone in Hale’s headquarters.

Even though the whole of the place was occupied by at least a dozen men, it always felt strangely empty, cold, and foreign. I should have been thoroughly acquainted with the whole of the place by then, but no matter how many times I journeyed up and down the halls, I could never get used to how eerie the place felt. Creaking floorboards and faded walls were bad enough, but when a distorted shadow passed across them, the entire effect was more than enough to send shivers down my spine. Thus, whenever I was there, no matter the time of day, I always attempted to seek out the company of another. Typically my companion was my dear boy, who seemed as eager to spend every waking moment with me as I was with him, although when he was kept late meeting with Washington, Hale or Tallmadge kept me company. 

By some miracle the two of them were capable of continuing to share the bedroom that had originally been allocated for Hale with only minimal conflict, and as I lay in bed next to Alexander, sketching the outline of Turtle’s fluffy body as she slept, the sounds of their arguments only occasionally penetrated the peaceful silence. However, Hale’s headquarters being a place of peace changed in a single night.

That night, a blizzard had whipped up, torrents of snow and ice beating against the walls of the rather flimsy farmhouse that the army had commandeered to act as said general’s headquarters. The wind howled louder than the drone of battle, and even in the relative protection of headquarters, I could still feel a chill down my spine every time a gust hit the side of the building. There was a general feeling of tension and a morbid anticipation. Whether or not the old farmhouse would survive the night seemed up for contention. This being the case, all of us who resided in the place, myself included, spent as much of the evening as we possibly could in what must have once been the parlor of the farmhouse. Crowded around the fire, people laughed and told stories and played cards. Just as Hale was regaling us with the tale of the time he drove a minister out of Albany by pretending to be a ghost, a story which Tallmadge had to hide a small smile for the entirety of, another burst of icy wind hit the house, forcing its way through the cracks in the walls and window panes, the freezing hostility invading the vague comfort of the place.

Shaking off a shiver, I glanced over at Alexander, who had taken up a place near to the fire as I took part in a round of whist with some of the officers who had claimed the attic. My dear boy was staring into the flames, his freckled features hollow and hands clenching at the lapels of his uniform coat. He looked far weaker and more horrible than I had ever seen him, and the moment that the card game ended, I had lost, I quickly took up a place next to him at the fire.

“Alexander?” I whispered, my voice audible only to him.

“How on earth do you people put up with this all winter?” He shivered, running his hands up and down his arms in an attempt to get warm.

“I take it you do not care for the winter?” I half-laughed, wrapping my arm around him in a way that I could only pray appeared to be brotherly. Thankfully none of the other men appeared to notice, and upon glancing around to confirm this fact, Alexander leaned into me, gently resting his head on my shoulder.

“Can we please go to bed?” He asked, his words barely a murmur.

“Of course we can.” My heart melted a bit when he asked, and quite frankly I would have even ventured out into the frigid night if he asked politely enough.

After saying good night to Hale and Tallmadge, one of whom was drunk and the other one merely reading, Alexander and I made our way upstairs. His ankle appeared to have for the most part healed, but he still leaned on my arm as we mounted the stairs, perhaps because the stairs seemed rather structurally unsound and every other step I slightly feared that my foot was going to go through the step. The floorboards creaked throughout our journey back. When I opened the door, Turtle peered out of the door, her green eyes shining in the general darkness, rubbing her fluffy body against my leg while I attempted to maneuver both Alexander and myself into our room. He was shivering as we entered, and I was grateful for the fact that we had been allocated a badwarmer, even though it was essentially a heated brick in between two pie pans.

My dear boy made a beeline for his trunk, pulling out his nightshirt. Before he got changed, a squall of icy wind directly hit the side of the old farmhouse, rattling our window in its frame and causing both of us to jump. Within a matter of seconds we were both changed into nightshirts and curled into bed together, Alexander’s back to my front, him curled up like a question mark, with that little traitor Turtle in his arms, myself wrapped around him. Right before I was to slip into sleep, I pressed a light kiss to his freckled cheek, then closed my eyes and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

A crack like a bolt of lightning awoke me suddenly. I sat bolt upright in bed and glanced around the darkened room, eyes scrutinizing every shadow. Due to the furious wind outside, it was impossible to tell where the disturbance had come from. However, nothing seemed amiss in Alexander and I’s room, so wherever the noise had originated, it had most certainly been outside of our close surroundings. Just as I was about to lay back down, my mind attempting to convince myself that I had imagined the noise, it happened again. This time it was loud enough that my dear boy was awakened. Through the darkness he looked at me, face impossible to make out, and asked:

“Did you hear that as well?”

“I did.” I affirmed, once again searching the room for the course.

“That sounded quite like a cannon shot.” Alexander grabbed my sleeve, forcing me to look at him. “Jacky, there might be a battle outside!”

“Do you honestly believe that there is a whole battle outside, my dear boy?” I soothed, taking his hand in mine. That same sort of franticness that came into my mind after being forced to deal with my father, or even worse do something that in his eyes deserved a punishment before him, was in his eyes. “Nay, there is no way that the Bloodybacks could even get troops through this blizzard, muchless organize themselves for battle.”

“Well we still ought to check.” He objected.

“I quite agree.”

The two of us drew ourselves out of bed, and as Alexander lit a candle, which provided slight light in the room, I threw on my uniform coat in order to ward off the cold. We quickly walked down the hallway and down the stairs, the candle the only source of light in the whole of the place. With the wind slamming against the house and howling as it did so, the eeriness of the old farmhouse only increased, and even though I really ought to have known better, I gripped Alexander’s hand tightly. Visible at the bottom of the stairs, standing right in front of the front door were Hale and Tallmadge, whispering in hushed tones in order to not wake the other inhabitants. The two of them quickly spotted Alexander and I and Hale bade us closer.

“I am going to go outside and check.” He declared. Somehow Hale had already managed to change into actual clothes, although he may have simply never undressed, and was currently pulling on his great coat and a pair of mittens. On the floor beside him sat a lit lantern.

“Do you have a goddamn death wish?” Tallmadge groaned. He was wrapped in a quilt and wore only his nightshirt underneath, although in the lantern light it seemed to me at least that there were dark blotches on his neck, however those might have simply been shadows. “If anything you will get lost out in the storm and freeze to death.”

“Tallmadge is right.” I agreed. “Nothing shall come of going outside. Should anyone come to the door we can aid them, but none of us stand any chance out in the elements.”

“I suppose you are correct.” Hale seemed dissuaded enough that he stopped putting his mittens on, and instead began to remove them.

“In all likelihood, whatever is occurring outside is merely the sound produced when a particularly strong gust of wind meets a particularly expendable tree branch.” Alexander added. “I would bet half my pay that when we awake in the morning, the whole of the camp will be littered with discarded tree limbs, although they may be completely buried under the snow fall at this rate.”

“That seemed accurate.” With that comment, Tallmadge grabbed Hale’s sleeve and pulled him away from the lantern. “Thus I believe that we should all go back to bed and none of us shall be idiotic enough to slip away to go out into the storm when everyone else has fallen asleep.”

Hale attempted to give the man, who was currently pulling him with far more force than I would have expected, his best I-am-completely-innocent-how-dare-you-accuse-me-of-plotting-to-do-just-that-becuase-I-most-assuradly-would-never-commit-such-a-crime look, which Tallmadge was having none of. I could not help myself but to chuckle at the rather comical sight, but stopped when I realized something. In the relationship between Brigadier General Hale and Major Tallmadge, something seemed off.

They no longer appeared to despise each other as much as they had before being forced into close quarters, and the way that Tallmadge interacted with Hale could even go as far as to be deemed affectionate. As Tallmadge continued to drag the prospective investigator up the stairs, Hale stumbled for a moment and quickly caught himself.

“Trying to get me killed Mr. Minister?” He jested.

“Fuck off Nat.” Tallmadge muttered, although even in the dim light it was obvious that he was blushing.

The moment that the two of them disappeared up the ramshackle staircase, Alexander shot me a knowing look. Apparently he had also noticed the strange behaviour of our two companions. If I had not been so tired, I would have brought up the subject with him, however we were both far too exhausted for proper conversation and instead collapsed into our bed, falling asleep almost instantaneously, so quickly in fact that I never bothered to remove my coat. 

Morning came quickly, too quickly for my liking. I was barely able to drag myself out of bed and get changed in order to obtain the sweet nectar known as coffee. While I was doing so, Alexander woke, and while he shaved using a mirror that was rather precariously balanced atop a stack of books, I tied my hair into a queue, using the same faded ribbon that I always did. Turtle played at my feet and meowed at me as I did so. She was clearly getting cooped up in the room. Thus, when my dear boy and I ventured downstairs for coffee, Turtle joined us, since she was fed by Hannah Hale after all. I had managed to strike up a deal with the nurse, so in exchange for her feeding my cat, I would obtain her a bolt of fabric for a new dress, which in all actuality was quite the easy task. All I had to do was write to my father requesting some for a suit. This was a lie, however my father doled out money for those sorts of expenses quite easily, a sort of affection that was entirely contradictory to everything else about his persona.

However, instead of simply encountering sleep deprived soldiers in desperate need for coffee and breakfast, a far more interesting scene awaited us. There had to be at least three dozen soldiers, who must have been of the lower ranks of the infantry based on the state of their uniforms, standing in the parlor and every other part of headquarters. All of the men were caked in the remnants of snow, and many of their faces were red from the cold. Some of them clutched blankets around their shivering frames. One man, who appeared to hold the rank of captain, was speaking to Hale. It really ought to have been easier to tell which man held the higher command, but Hale looked ragged and exhausted and the Captain was such the same that it seemed as if they were but one ragged officer speaking to the other. To Hale’s side was Tallmadge, who was no longer wrapped up in a quilt but instead clad in his uniform, the dark blotches I had noticed last night for the most part concealed by his caveat, although several of them were rather obvious in the morning light.

While Hale continued to speak to the Captain, Tallmadge noticed Alexander and I and moved from his place by Hale in order to speak to us. 

“We appear to have found the source of last night’s disturbance.” He stated, pulling up on his caveat as he did so. There was something off about his mannerisms, yet I dared not comment.

“Was it the trees like I suspected?” Alexander implored, his eyes flitting to the marks on Tallmadge’s neck for a split second as he asked his question.

“Nay. It is a far more…interesting cause.”

At the same time I asked “Just what would that cause happen to be?”, my dear boy inquired: “The same interesting cause that gave you those hickeys?” Tallmadge blushed beet red, confirming Alexander’s statement. The marks on his neck were clearly hickies, that was obvious now, and the only remaining question was who had given them to him. There certainly was not an abundance of unmarried women at camp, muchless women who would have been available the previous night. Alexander gave me a sly smile as I saw a mixture of embarrassment and panic rise in Tallmadge’s eyes.

“For your information, the sounds we heard last night were the cabins of the A company of the 3rd New York collapsing in the storm. All of the men are thankfully unharmed, however at the moment Na- I mean General Hale is speaking with Captain Rensselaer to see what on earth we are to do with the men.” Having quickly become defensive, Tallmadge sputtered out his statement before turning on his heel and half storming, half fleeing from Alexander and I.

I raised an eyebrow at my dear boy whose smug and knowing grin had stayed affixed to his face. He merely directed his gaze towards Hale and Tallmadge, the latter of the two heaving taken up his former position next to Hale as the dark haired man leaned over a table and scrawled something onto a piece of parchment as the Captain, Rensselaer Tallmadge had dubbed him, spoke. There was something quite interesting going on between Tallmadge and an unknown lover and it was quickly surpassing Turtle as the most interesting occurrence at camp.

Hale leaned over and said something to the drummer boy of Resselaer’s company that I could not make out, however the boy quickly nodded, gave Hale a clumsy salute that the general was still caught off guard by, and quickly mounted the stairs to the second floor. Within a few moments, all of the occupants of Hale's headquarters who were not already on the first floor were, many of them still groggy. Having seen this, Hale nodded to the drummer boy, who played a quick few beats on his drum, effectively silencing the whole of the place.

“Well men,” Hale began, clearly not quite sure how on earth he was to communicate his message to people in four district rooms. Once he had evidently decided on just speaking loudly, he continued: “it has come to my attention that the quarters of the men of company A of the 3rd New York have fallen prey to the winter elements. As there is nowhere else for them to stay, they will be temporarily residing here in Headquarters until new accommodations can be found. At the moment we are sleeping two men to a room, and this is no longer going to be the case. Captain Resselaer and I have organized all of the people currently in this place, there are forty six including myself, into the space we have available. Everyone is going to suffer, no matter their rank, however I can assure you that this is far more preferable to sleeping out in the cold. Understand?”

A round of various affirmations replied to Hale’s short speech. I could not help but to think to myself that more experienced generals would have been able to tie the whole situation together with patriotic zeal, however Hale’s speech had gotten a decent enough response. Captain Resselaer spoke next, explaining to his men how headquarters was divided. After his explanation ended, Hale took up the piece of parchment he had previously been writing on. On the piece of parchment, there had apparently been the outline for how on earth we were going to fit forty six men into a rather spacious, yet still unbelievably decrepit farmhouse.

The names of men who I did not recognize were called out. In general, there were no more than five to a room in the actual bedrooms, although in the attic it was nine men to each half, and five poor fellows were told that they were to sleep on the floor in the parlor if they could not convince some of their fellow soldiers to share their space with them. A company of the 3rd New York was a far smaller group of men than I had initially thought, their ranks had been severely thinned by the war, so there were only about thirty or so of them in total. At last, mine and Alexander’s names were called out. We were to share room number four with Hale and Tallmadge.

As my dear boy and I packed up our possessions into our trunks and moved said trunks over to room four, I could only pray that this would be my final bed relocation of the duration of our time at Winter Camp. Turtle tentatively stepped into room four as I gauged the sleeping quarters which I was to share with the three other men.

Shoved into the rather small room, which appeared to be in as bad of condition as the room Alexander and I had previously occupied, were two rather thin beds. Much like our previous room, there was one window, which overlooked the camp and had rags shoved in all around it in order to prevent the cold from seeping into the room. Under one of the beds, that frankly resembled a military cot more than anything else, were two trunks, both of which I could only assume belonged to Tallmadge and Hale, mainly because they were both perched atop said bed. Tallmadge was reading a book, and was almost completely engrossed in it. Next to him was Hale, who had one arm wrapped around the other man and was drumming his fingers and otherwise fiddling with Tallmadge’s coat.

Hale suddenly noticed both Alexander and I standing in the doorway, probably because Turtle had decided to ram her head into his calf, and seemed almost as startled as Tallmadge had been earlier. There was no question now who had given the major those hickies. He looked as though he was about to lash out at my dear boy and I in order to protect himself, but before he could do so, I took Alexander’s hand in my own and gave him a small smile. Neither of us would betray them, and nor would they us. This was quite possibly the only place in the camp that was truly safe, and it had only taken me moving sleeping quarters three times to find it. The winter just became ten times more interesting.

Notes:

Hey everyone! Since last chapter so fucking late, I thought I'd give you this one a day early (still thursday for me)!

This the last chapter before the ANGST begins, so enjoy one vaugly happy thing...it may not last

fair warning I wrote 99% of this in study halls and math class so it may suck ass

Also I actually did research!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

here are the links:

bed warmers:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bed_warmer

Ranks in the army:

https://revolutionarywar.us/continental-army/

New York regiment I used

https://revolutionarywar.us/continental-army/newyork/#ny-03

Chapter 29: Obsequious

Summary:

obsequious
/əbˈsēkwēəs/
adjective
obedient or attentive to an excessive or servile degree.

One might have considered it odd to have shared a room with three other men, only one of whom I was actually in a romantic relationship with, however we were by far the least cramped group in the whole of Hale’s Headquarters. As January bled into February, life stayed very much the same. Lady and General Washington hosted a supper that we all were to attend once every two weeks. Mrs. Hale continued to feed Turtle, as all of us aides were working late into the night. Tallmadge spent long days drilling his unit, who had their cabins stay miraculously upright, and Hale did whatever he did during the day. At night we would scarcely say a word to each other as we all collapsed into bed, exhausted as ever. I did not have time to pick up my sketchbook, nor even to play with my cat. I could merely press a light kiss to the top of my dear boy’s head as we drifted off to sleep.

The morning on which everything began to turn for the worse, was much like every other morning. Still groggy, Alexander and I had pulled ourselves out of bed, and advanced downstairs for the wonderful nectar known as coffee, before heading to Washington’s headquarters, where we took our places at the desk we shared and I began to copy out orders. Meade and Fitzgerald jested and laughed between each other as my quill scratched against the parchment. Alexander had been promptly called away for a meeting with General Washington, an occurrence which I feared would only end in shouting. After a few hours of work, Reed tapped me on the shoulder, dislodging me from the world that consisted solely of my translations and cramping hand.

“General Hale is needed for a meeting, however I can not appear to find the man. As you sleep at his headquarters, I was wondering if you might know where he is?”

“I do not know where he is at the moment, but if you wish I could attempt to find our missing General?” I silently prayed that Reed would agree to my request, going back out in the cold was infinitely more enjoyable than translating French.

A rare stroke of luck occurred! Reed assented, saying: “This seems to be important enough that that is a good idea. The meeting is at eleven exactly, so I pray you can find General Hale before then, lest we all be spared the rage of several impatient Generals.”

I practically ran out of the room. Anything was better than being stuck in that office. Pulling on my greatcoat and my gloves, I paused for a moment before deciding to steal Alexander’s scarf. He would not miss it after all, and I was the one who was to be braving the wind. The moment that I wrapped the scarf around my neck, I was enveloped in the familiar scent of ink and old books that always seemed to follow my dear boy around. After taking in a deep breath of that, I opened the door and journeyed outside. The appearance of the camp had significantly improved since we had settled in, and for once it was not snowing. All around me, soldiers completed the tasks assigned to the, everything from building defences to foraging for food and firewood. Both a blacksmith and a cooper had been given places to practice their crafts, and some of the camp followers were visible all throughout the camp, ducking into and out of places. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Tallmadge drilling his dragoons. Unsurprisingly, the walk to Hale’s headquarters was far easier when there was not a blizzard occurring outside, and I reached there quite quickly.

As I entered the old farmhouse, the silence of the place seemed overwhelming. Typically, there was almost always someone about who, more likely than not, was creating an abundance of noise. Perhaps Hale had already left. I was about to go and check another location, but something spurred me to check the strategy room, otherwise known as the dining room which a concerning number of maps had been placed in. Somehow, that was where the missing General was.

From my vantage point in the doorway, I could only see the back of Hale's uniform since he appeared to be leaning over a table in the corner of the room. Before I was able to call out to the man, he suddenly stood up straight and downed a few gulps of liquid from a small green bottle. Hale scrubbed at his face for a moment, then, gazing at himself in a small looking glass that was hung upon the wall, squared his shoulders and put the confident smirk he always wore, only now what the smirk really was was obvious. It was a mask. What that mask hid, I did not know, but what was for certain was that the rather smug and confident exterior that Hale put up was not as true as I had previously believed. When he gazed in the mirror, Hale had clearly noticed my presence in the doorway, and he spun around the moment he spotted my form.

“Laurens!” He exclaimed, doing quite the poor job of disguising his shock. “I did not expect to see you back so early.”

There was something off about his voice, perhaps it was the fact that the rather faint Albany accent I knew the man to possess suddenly became far more profound, or maybe it was how his movements seemed awkward and his entire demeanor was wrong.

“General Washington requests your presence at a council of war, or whatever the meeting is being called. I was sent by headquarters to fetch you.”

“Oh right-yes, that is today. Fuck. Thank you for reminding me. Let me fetch my hat and coat and then I shall be off.” With those words, Hale placed the green glass bottle down on the table behind him and took a few steps in my direction. Suddenly, he stopped, went even more pale than usual, and a few mangled words escaped his lips: “Laurens, I feel quite ill.”

Before I could truly comprehend what was happening, Hale had collapsed, splayed out on the floor, far more akin to a child’s discarded plaything than the formidable general I had been speaking with a mere moment prior. Immediately I rushed to the man’s side, shaking him and silently begging him to awake. He did no such thing. The only evidence that Hale was even still alive was his ragged breathing, far too shallow to be long sustained. In that moment I was given two choices: either I could stay with Hale and pray that someone entered headquarters who was also preferably well versed in the medical field, or I could leave the man and run for help. I chose the latter.

Abandoning Hale, I of course first called out for help in his headquarters, when that effort proved fruitless, I hurried over to the summer kitchen where I knew Dr. and Mrs. Hale to reside. Neither of them nor Mercy were in the place. The makeshift hospital was on the other side of camp, and I was not confident in my ability to reach it quickly. Who else would be capable of helping? Tallmadge. He might know what to do.

By what can only be described as a miracle, Tallmadge’s dragoons were drilling nearby. I may or may not have interrupted said drills by bursting in and demanding to speak to Major Tallmadge on behalf of General Hale, a statement which only qualified as a partial lie. My words running into each other, I hastily explained the situation to Tallmadge, his expression growing more and more concerned with every word. But as I spoke, I gained a growing suspicion that this was not the first time Tallmadge had heard of Hale spontaneously collapsing. Make no mistake, he still appeared as panicked as the situation, and our relative location to his men, would allow, and I was certain that he legitimately feared for Hale’s life, but there was no surprise in his eyes when I had blurted out that the man had collapsed, concern yes, but no surprise.

The moment I finished speaking, Tallmadge and I rushed over to Hale’s headquarters, leaving the dragoons in favor of tending to the Brigadier General. When we reached it, Tallmadge entered first, making a beeline for the strategy room. I followed closely behind him. Upon entering the room, Tallmadge kneeled down next to Hale’s unconscious figure, positioning his form as to allow him to breath and loosening the man’s caveat. Unsure of what exactly I ought to do, I lingered awkwardly in the doorway as Tallmadge inspected the general. He went about the business for a good moment before turning to me, his voice shaky yet in control.

“We ought to get him off the floor, however I do not think that we will be able to get him up the stairs and into an actual bed.”

“Is there not a couch in the parlor?” I inquired, “We might be able to take him there until he awakes.”

“That is quite the idea. Yes, that is what we shall do.” Tallmadge declared our next course of action, all the while the both of us ignoring the fact that Hale might not awake.

Together, with Tallmadge supporting Hale’s shoulders and I doing the same with his feet, we managed to half drag, half carry the man to the couch in the parlor, depositing him on it as gently as possible. The moment that we placed him down, Tallmadge disappeared to retrieve a blanket, and I made the journey across camp to summon a doctor, and inform Reed of what on earth had just happened. Luckily for me, quite possible the only streak of luck anyone who resided at Hale’s headquarters had gotten all day, there was a horse available, meaning that the trip to the makeshift hospital took half the time, and I was able to spare a moment to give Alexander a brief kiss on the cheek without being noticed or missed.

Since he was apparently the only doctor in the whole of the army I was ever going to interact with, the first practitioner of medicine that I came across after dismounting and entering the old barn that had been converted into part of the hospital, was Dr. Hale, who was making eyes at his wife, Mrs. Hale appeared as though she was conspiring to get them together in a closet as quickly as physically possible. Upon explaining the situation to both Hales, the two of them had similar expressions to Tallmadge: concern and mild panic, but not an ounce of surprise. This had to have happened before, I was sure of it. After commendering another horse, both Hales and I returned to headquarters.

Mrs. Hale instantly flew to the summer kitchen, her dark green cloak making her look like a ginormous bird in the winter wind. I led Dr. Hale to the room where his unconscious brother lay. General Hale still lay upon the couch, unmoving, however Tallmadge had wrapped a blanket around him and was sitting on the couch beside him, the other man’s head on his lap. He looked up when Dr. Hale entered the room, a look passing between the two of them that I could not decipher. After an inspection of his brother, Dr. Hale addressed Tallmadge and I, plus technically his wife who had returned, although she most certainly knew what he was to say before the words escaped his mouth.

“It does not appear to me as though this was caused by any external injury or substance. There is very little I can do now to treat his state, and the illness that is sure to follow this. I shall bleed him when he wakes, but all we can currently do is wait.”

“Ought we take him up to his bedroom?” Tallmadge asked, conveniently leaving out the fact that said bedroom was host to three other men, two of whom were currently in the room.

“That would be beneficial, at least for the troops. He looks like dead and it would scare them.” Mrs. Hale added, looking at her husband who suddenly seemed younger than I remembered.

“Yes, we should.” he decided, glancing at me. “Laurens, would you be so kind as to assist me in this endeavor?”

As we carried the man up the stairs I could have sworn I heard Dr. Hale mutter: “Why couldn’t the fucker have decided to faint in a place which does not require dragging his body?”

I refrained from commenting on this.

We deposited General Hale on the bed he shared with Tallmadge, said Major having followed us closely up the stairs. Giving the unconscious man one more glance over, Dr. Hale retreated to whatever he had been absorbed in before I had snatched him, which by the looks of it seemed to be the process of attempting to impregnate Mrs. Hale. This left Tallmadge and I alone in the room. Paying no mind to my presence, he went about attempting to pull a quilt over Hale, tucking the blanket around him tenderly. It was obvious that in the same way that my dear boy and I cared for each other, Tallmadge and Hale cared for the other. Their relationship was not a loud or rather obvious one, in fact most of the camp thought them mortal enemies, but it was obvious there was genuine affection beneath the bickering and jests. As Tallmadge straightened up, I swore I could see tears glistening in his eyes. Without thinking I took the few steps that put me right at his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He leaned into my half embrace and shook silently, crying tears that society would shame him for if ever discovered. Neither of us said anything. After a moment of silence, Tallmadge whispered a quiet “Thank you” and I released him. We both knew that we would never speak of this.

While I journeyed back down the stairs, I replayed the last hour’s events in my mind, suddenly remembering one thing: the green glass bottle Hale had been drinking from before he had passed out. Had that had something to do with his collapse? Poking my head into the parlor, I spotted the green glass bottle on the same corner table that Hale had put it down on before he had collapsed. Within a moment I had retrieved it. There was nothing inherently wrong with the bottle, it simply looked like a small green glass medical bottle, with residue from a paper label that had been pasted on and ripped off on it. Despite this, I still thought it notable enough to take to Dr. Hale, thus I proceeded to the summer kitchen, where I was greeted by Mrs. Hale who appeared to have very hastily dressed. We greeted each other politely and I presented the green glass bottle to her. 

“Tis but laudanum.” Mrs. Hale pronounced. “He was most likely taking it for pain, although over the years it seems as though he may have become slightly addicted to it. I doubt this was the cause of anything.”

“Ah, well I apologize for bothering you ma’am.” I gave her a small bow before returning to headquarters and curling up in the parlor with a book, waiting for Alexander to return. Reed was already going to be furious for my absence, might as well not return and claim I was watching over General Hale. That ought to be a rather plausible fib.

A few hours later Alexander returned, looking tired yet as fiery as ever. Since I had taken up a spot on the couch in the parlor, he settled in next to me, taking my hand in his. There was no fear of being noticed as the A company had not yet returned, and neither had the other officers. We sat in silence for a moment, then I relayed the day’s events to Alexander, his eyebrows rising higher and higher at every development.

“You are quite right, had the enlisted men caught a glimpse of Hale collapsing, morale would have dipped even lower, and god knows that is in as short of supply as everything else this winter.” Remarked my dear boy, turning the book I had been reading over and over in his hands. I was not quite certain how he had managed to get it from me, but I decided that some things were better left alone.

“With any luck the whole of camp should simply believe that Hale fell prey to one of the many illnesses terrorizing our soldiers.” I shrugged. “But enough about that. Any interesting occurrences at headquarters while I was absent?”

“General Washington still refuses to promise me a command come next campaign, apparently the man does not understand that I wish my legacy to be more than that of a secretary. There is to be yet another professional soldier joining us, apparently he yearns for the glory of battle and believes he can find it here.”

“Poor fellow must be unaware that we are doing very little fighting at the moment.” I laughed, “Just who might this man be?”

“He is Prussian,” Alexander said after thinking for a moment, “That I know for sure, so he ought to at least have experience in a slightly more organized army. I do not quite remember his name, but I believe it might be Baron von Stueben.”

“Well he is in for quite the rude shock! All our camp has to offer is freezing men, fainting Generals and rumors of battle. There is no glory or fame or riches for Baron von Stueben over here, none at all.”

My dear boy simply shook his head and gave me a sad smile. As I laid next to him that night, the two of us relinquished to sharing the parlor floor with several other men, my mind thought not of the forthcoming Baron, but instead of a soldier I was far more acquainted with: Hale. The man would be alright, he had to be alright. If a man like Hale was not to survive the winter, then our great American experiment could not be destined to survive the roar of battle once more. The winter had been a hard one, and it was only fated to become far, far worse.

Notes:

The source I used for Baron von Stueben:

https://www.nps.gov/vafo/learn/historyculture/vonsteuben.htm#:~:text=the%20Prussian%20army.-,Steuben%20at%20Valley%20Forge,camp%20on%20February%2023%2C%201778.

 

I have him showing up in early Feburary vs. late Feburary when von Stueben actually showed up, but honestly that isn't really relivent

Just thought I should note that Ollie is technically a good doctor at the time, but he's still unfortunately useless by today's standards.

Chapter 30: Sardonic

Summary:

sardonic
/särˈdänik/
adjective
grimly mocking or cynical.

Hale woke the next day. It was around noon when I spotted a messenger sent to alert Tallmadge. General Washington said nothing of the Major’s sudden departure. Perhaps he had sensed the same thing that I had. All around the camp, there were whispers about the Baron, as the man had been dubbed. No two soldiers had the same image of the man in their minds. I could have speculated about him, tried endless times to envision the Prussian in my mind, but with the gravity of what was occurring at Hale’s headquarters, which had quickly become the closest to an actual home I had experienced in a long while, that sort of speculation seemed nothing but childish and improper. Just hours after he had woken up, Hale was snatched by the throws of a fever. It came on so quickly and violently that only Tallmadge, Dr. Hale, Mrs. Hale, and little Mercy were able to see him before the illness came on. While the Brigadier General who I really ought not to have known so well tossed and turned, fighting off the illness to the best of his abilities, I was left with the admirable task of attempting to comfort Tallmadge. 

Now, to most of the army, up to and including his own dragoons, the man that was Major Benjamin Tallmadge appeared to be quite straightforward: he was a former minister who had joined the army out of his ardent patriotism and while he could be a demanding leader, he was fair and kind, along with being rather serious. This description was favored by all those who had clearly never seen the man with his neck covered in fresh hickies, wrapped in a quilt and attempting to dissuade the force of nature that was General Nathan Hale from walking out into a roaring blizzard in the middle of the night.

With Hale ill, Tallmadge flitted between completely numb and staring into space and holding back tears. To be far, if Alexander had been so ill and I was unable to spend every waking moment holding his hand and whispering silent promises to him, I most likely would be in a similar state. But there was nothing I could truly do to comfort Tallmadge, the most I could accomplish was to sit in the parlor with him and Alexander, my dear boy and I sharing passages out of books while Tallmadge looked like a ghost in the corner. Even the men of A company avoided him, a choice that was probably for the best. Ought I to have done more? Of course. However nothing appeared to help.

At night I lay on the floor of the parlor with Alexander, his soft snores breaking the stillness of the darkened room. At times, my dear boy would turn in his sleep, throwing an arm around my waist, or attempting to do so and accidentally whacking me in the face around midnight. With our rather public sleeping arrangements, I could no longer cuddle up to Alexander as we slept, or pepper his face with kisses as we lay in bed on Sunday. Silently I yearned to be able to express the same type of affection with my dear boy as a man could with his betrothed. But if we did, well the gallows would be erected within moments of our discovery.

Hale’s fever did not break for another five days. During that time Tallmadge was nothing more than a ghost. All of his energy was put into putting up a facade for the enlisted men, so by the time we all retired to the unconscious general’s headquarters, the man did nothing more than sit in an armchair with his arms wrapped around himself staring off into space. Even at Washington’s headquarters, those of us who were privy to the truth of Hale’s condition were concerned. The man was clearly still young, but he had taken ill so quickly that it was impossible to not be concerned.

When we did at last receive news that Hale’s fever had broken, Alexander, Tallmadge, several other officers, and I were sitting cross legged on the floor of the parlor, attempting to play a hand of cribbage with a dozen people. By some miracle I had managed to coerce Tallmadge into joining us, and the man was holding his own against the rest of us. We all had bet money, I myself had put a non substantial chunk of my month’s pay in the winning pot, however both Alexander and Tallmadge had placed only a few pennies each in. I could not blame them. Everything was far more expensive than it truly ought to have been, and the only reason that I was wagering so much was that I wished to lose it and have my father repay the small debt. He could easily afford it and it was a mild form of revenge on my part. However, about halfway through the game, a game that I was very much losing, Dr. Hale slipped down the stairs and whispered something in Tallmadge’s ear.

Hastily, the Major blurted out: “I forfeit”. Then he followed Dr. Hale upstairs, the two of them having a whispered conversation as they ascended the creaky steps. The only logical occurrence was that General Hale’s fever had broken, something that took me a moment to realize due to the fact that I mentally referred to anyone related to Hale as also Hale, unless of course more than two of them were involved in something. I shared a look with Alexander. He had obviously come to the same conclusion and realized that we might not be forced to sleep on the floor for too much longer.

Within two days the notice came that we were to move our things back into the room that we shared with Hale and Tallmadge. If anyone for any of the other headquarters thought it odd that officers and enlisted men shared rooms together, and that a Brigadier General shared a bed with a Major, none commented on it. In fact, I heard Tilghman remark that it was good that Hale's headquarters was being used for sleeping quarters if nothing else. Over the course of our winter at Valley Forge it had become abundantly clear to me that not a single General truly trusted Hale. Of course they were all as polite to him as society required, but it was evident that they all thought him far too young and inexperienced for his rank. This is what I was thinking of as Alexander and I mounted the still creaky stairs to the second floor, carrying our satchels and silently wondering how soon we were to be kicked out of the small bedroom again.

We stopped in front of the shut door, the parchment number four somehow still hanging on, and exchanged a look. Alexander looked far more solemn than he had in a long time. The winter and war were taking a toll on us both. I had not even heard him implore Washington for a command in over a week. I could only pray that we broke camp soon. My dear boy knocked on the door. A shout of “Enter!” was all that greeted us, so we obliged and entered.

Hale was still abed, the faded quilt wrapped around his legs as he answered correspondence on a portable desk, hands shaking slightly as he dipped the quill back into the ink pot. No longer clad in a nightshirt, he had managed to put on a shirt, waistcoat, and caveat, although it was arguable how much that had been Tallmadge. Speaking of the man, he was sitting on a chair that had been wedged next to Hale’s bed, leaning over Hale’s shoulder in order to read what the General was writing. Clearly the letter somehow involved him. As Alexander and I stepped inside the room, Hale looked up. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his grey eyes and a slight smile that seemed more weary than anything else. Although he was roughly my age, the man looked as if he had aged five years over the course of his illness.

“I apologize for having kicked you gentlemen out of here, however I can only hope that the parlor floor was as comfortable for you as Turtle seems to find it.” A glimmer of wit appeared in Hale’s eyes.

“Well, it was rather warm.” I shrugged. “Far superior to even this room in the matter of close heating.”

For the rest of the evening and until we prepared to sleep, we all merely spoke. Tallmadge told a humorous tale of the time he had been tasked with watching some of his younger cousins and had somehow managed to lose all six of them at once, just to discover the little scamps hiding up an old oak tree. I chimed in with a story of how my mother had once lost my four year old self in Charlestown and how she had run around panicking while I was simply watching the ships come and go and imagining myself as a sailor. Hale spoke of how he and his siblings had suspended a fish over the desk of their schoolmaster and when the poor fellow had sat down, the fish fell on his head, knocking his wig clear off. Alexander merely smiled and laughed, but told no tales of his childhood. From what he had told me of his life, I could only presume that it was a far less amusing childhood than the rest of us had had. When my dear boy did at last speak, he spoke of how he had gotten into King’s College, and while there had debated a Mr. Samuel Seabury so fiercely that someone had had to pull the two of them apart before the debate came to blows.

Later that night, as I lay in bed, curled up next to Alexander and attempting to fall asleep, I could just make out a whispered conversation between Hale and Tallmadge. The two of them evidently believed me to have long drifted off to sleep, thus I took advantage of that fact and eavesdropped.

“I swear I am fine Ben.” That was Hale. I had gotten eerily good at recognizing the man’s voice.

“But you-you are going to fall ill again soon. The next time you may not be as lucky as to be at your headquarters.” Tallmadge objected, his words carrying nothing but concern.

“I know.” Hale mumbled, burying his head in Tallmadge’s shoulder as the other man wordlessly wrapped his arms around him.

“Promise me you will attempt to keep yourself safe?” Pleaded the Major.

“Only if you do the same.” Hale replied, his voice still muffled.

The two of them continued to speak for longer, however my eyelids soon grew heavy and I drifted off to sleep, arms entangled with Alexander. Unfortunately this night was nowhere near as dreamless as the previous few had been.

This time I was not a Mepkin, nor even in hell, nay this time I was in camp. The dream began much like the majority of my days did: I awoke in Hale’s headquarters, alone because Alexander always rose with the dawn and headed to Washington’s Headquarters immediately, rarely ever waiting for me. I dressed in my uniform, straightening my caveat in the mirror and brushing Turtle’s hair off of my lapels. Then, I headed downstairs.

It appeared as if there was not another soul in Hale’s headquarters, but at that moment I merely presumed that they all had already headed off to their various assignments. Thus, forgoing any sort of breakfast, I stepped outside in order to head to Washington’s headquarters. The first thing I noticed was that the sky was an ominous grey, not the sort of grey that threatened snow, but instead the color of ash, almost as if some great fire had occurred right before I had awoken. The camp appeared normal at first, with the orderly lines of cabins and well trod paths that connected them. However, I saw not a single person going about, in fact the only other entity in the whole of the place appeared to be the wind, which was blowing through the clothes that had been left on a line hung between two cabins to dry. I took a few steps. Nothing happened. So I kept walking towards headquarters. 

About halfway there was when I finally looked to the snow and saw a horrible sight. Bloody footprints, hundreds upon thousands of them leading down to the river. It was not a mere bloody residue in each mark, nay each imprint oozed with blood. I felt my stomach turn and threaten to betray me. I ought to have run, but I could not. Instead, I followed the footprints.

The footprints led from every direction to the Schuylkill River, stopping abruptly at the shore. Due to how cold the winter had been, the river was fully iced over, the ice so thick that a man could easily walk across it. On the other side of the river from me was a thick wood, pine trees that appeared to touch the sky packed so closely together that it was impossible to see anything past them. I glanced around, attempting to figure out where on earth the footprints had ended. That was the moment I spotted the boy. He appeared to be nothing more than an army drummer boy, but the moment I looked closer, I saw how horribly wrong the whole of him was. The boy’s skin was a grayish-blue, his eyes were bloodshot, and ice appeared to drip from every inch of his body and his tattered clothes. He just stared at me, drum hanging off the front of him, and drumsticks in his hands. We locked eyes. Then, he began to play a low, steady beat.

It was the sort of beat that was used to organize men amongst the chaos of battle, and also called them to war. Nothing happened for a moment, but then they began to come. Soldiers in tattered uniforms, skin grey, eyes bloodshot, and covered in ice like the boy slowly began to appear from somewhere within the trees, taking up positions on the opposite bank of the river . They held their weapons like they were marching in a parade. Behind them, more and more soldiers came, until it seemed as though the whole army was facing me. Terror filled my veins, but I could not move.

After the soldiers came the camp followers. Women and children, the bright colors of their clothes dulled, skin greyish blue and eyes red approached. The most horrible thing was that they were all silent. The only sound was that of the drummer boy, who only kept on drumming. Once the last child fell into place, the final group began to approach. These were the generals and high ranking officers. All the other, well I was not quite sure exactly what they were, parted to allow them through. At the front of this group was General Washington himself. The only emotion on the man’s face was a cold hatred, nothing more, nothing less. He did not do anything, only stared at me. All of them were staring at me. But worst of all was when I finally realized who was standing at Washington’s right hand.

I scarcely recognized him with greyed skin and bloodshot eyes, both of which disguised two of his most distinguishing features, but when a curl of bright red hair slipped out from under his tricorn hat and was whipped every which way by the wind, I knew who he was. It was Alexander, staring at me with nothing but hatred in his eyes. I called out to him, screamed his name, begged him not to hate me, but not a single expression appeared on his face other than hatred. Tears streamed down my face as I sunk to the ground, wrapping my arms around myself and shaking.

That was apparently the cue for the drummer boy to slightly change the beat of his drumming. At once, a good dozen soldiers began to advance across the ice, moving in perfect formation, heading straight for me. I tried to run, but found myself unable to move. It was only a moment before they encircled me, faces not expressing a single drop of emotion. I pleaded with them, begged them not to do whatever they were to. As I gazed upon the wretched face of the man who appeared to be their leader, he pulled the sword he had out of its scabbard and raised it high in the air before bringing it down on my neck and–

I woke up in a cold sweat, sitting straight up and eyes frantically darting around the room. It was a dream, it was just a dream. All I could do was to continue repeating that to myself as I laid back down next to Alexander. Despite how tightly we were packed on the bed, I contorted myself so that I was resting my head on my dear boy’s shoulder and had wrapped my arms around his waist. As my breathing slowed back down, I could feel one hand rubbing small circles between my shoulder blades.

“Everything shall be alright, Jacky.” Alexander whispered. “I promise.”

“Sorry.” I murmured.

“You need not be,” He said softly, voice comforting me far more than it probably ought to. “I love you and would happily do this a dozen times over.”

“I love you too.” That was the last thing I remembered before I fell back into sleep once again. Tomorrow was the day that the mysterious Baron was to arrive, and we all required as much rest as possible before we were to prepare for the day. But there was something about that nightmare that made me believe that there was something horrible that was going to happen at camp, I felt it in my very bones.

Notes:

hey everyone! Haven't gotten any comments or kudos from anyone in a while(person who tried to get a commision from me you were really playing the long con there)...so uh if you kinda like this, throw me a comment?

Sources for this chapter is literally just the place I got the name of the river from:

https://www.nps.gov/vafo/learn/nature/naturalfeaturesandecosystems.htm#:~:text=Three%20miles%20of%20the%20Schuylkill,Creek%20run%20through%20the%20park.

Chapter 31: Unheralded

Summary:

unherlded
/ˌənˈherəldəd/
adjective
not previously announced, expected, or recognized.

There was no talk of my waking up in the middle of the night the next day. Apparently Hale and Tallmadge had not even managed to notice and Alexander merely thought that it was best not to mention anything about it, lest any bad memories be dredged up. On my part, I thought it best to try and ignore the bad taste that the nightmare had left in my mouth, however it would be a lie to not mention that I kept glancing at the snow as we journeyed to Washington’s Headquarters. All of the snow banks were thankfully blood free. But with that, I still had a horrible feeling about what was to come.

When we arrived at headquarters, we immediately encountered an exceptionally frantic Reed, who appeared as though he had not slept all night. He immediately whisked Alexander away, leaving me standing in the foyer of headquarters, holding both mine and my dear boy’s coats, and his light blue scarf that had practically been thrown at me. I was half expecting more officers to mistake me as a human coat rack. Thankfully, no more did, so I hung up both mine and Alexander’s things among the mound of other coats, hats, and scarves. After doing that, I was about to head into the sole room dedicated to housing us aides as we worked, but before I could, I spotted Meade.

“Laurens!” Meade exclaimed, immediately pivoting so that he was walking towards me, a slightly mischievous and evil sheen in his eyes. “You speak French, correct?”

“That is rather generous, but I suppose so.” I shrugged, rather confused by the whole scenario.

“Perfect. Lady Washington wishes to be able to greet the Baron politely, and he speaks French. No one here speaks German, or whatever they speak in Prussia. So, it is now your assignment to teach her how to say something polite in French.”

“Very well then. Where might Lady Washington be then?”

Meade pointed me in her direction, and I made my way up the stairs to the small room that she had commended as a makeshift parlor. Was this something I was qualified to do? Most assuredly not. Was it superior to translations and paperwork? Literally anything was. Whatever I was to attempt to school Lady Washington in would at the very least hopefully not result in my hand cramping up within thirteen minutes. However, I would not be granted the luxury of sharing jests and affectionate glances with my dear boy, the latter of which made it feel as though my heart skipped a beat everytime his eyes met mine. Oh, what I would not do to spend the rest of my life with the wonderful man who I could call mine!

The second level of Washington’s Headquarters was a place that I had not seen for the better part of a month. It was far more empty than the organized chaos of the floor below, but one could still easily tell that the masses were not far away. Even as I entered the hallway and recalled Meade’s directions as to where to find Lady Washington, I could still clearly hear the general hubbub of headquarters emanating from downstairs. In fact, I could even sort of make out Alexander exclaiming: “What the fuck!”. What that was in response to, I did not know, however I dearly wished to. Upon reaching the door to Lady Washington’s quarters, I politely knocked on the door, my years of training in how to navigate formal society all coming back to me within a moment.

“You may enter.” A woman called back through the door. I could only presume that this was Lady Washignton.

Thus, I did. The chamber that was shared by both Washingtons was a fair size in comparison to the rest of the Headquarters, and was furnished in high quality furniture that had clearly been brought in from their home at Mount Vernon. Taking up the majority of the space was a generously sized four poster bed that had clearly been especially sized for the General. However, near the room’s twin windows, was a small table covered with a white tablecloth, at which sat Lady Washington, calmly working on her knitting. Standing to her side was an enslaved woman of about middle age.

In fact, when one thought about it, the two women appeared quite similar. They both wore dresses of blue cloth, except Lady Washington was clothed in a fine imported silk and the other woman wore a simple wool garment, and the two of them were also both engaged in domestic labor, however Lady Washington was knitting a sock while her companion was attempting to mend the tear that had materialized on the edge of one of the curtains that engulfed the bed. Yet, one woman owned people like livestock and the other could only dream of freedom. While for a moment they might have appeared as equals, they would never be anywhere close to such. It was a horrible thing, being forced to be nothing more than property from birth to death, only free in the embrace of the grave. A braver man would have said something in the heat of the moment, but for now I choked back my words. There would be a time to fight, a time after the war that never seemed to end.

“Good morning Colonel Laurens.” Lady Washington looked up from her knitting and gave me a warm smile, gesturing for me to sit.

“Good day ma’am.” I replied, taking the chair opposite from her and returning her smile.

“Hannah,” She said to the enslaved woman, “Go get Colonel Laurens and me some tea.”

Hannah quickly left to secure the tea. I could not help but think of the other Hannah I knew in camp, the fiery nurse who took care of her brother-in-law's headquarters and competed with me for Turtle’s affection. Did this woman have the same sorts of daily jests and compliments paid to her? There was no time to dwell on that, instead I merely turned to Lady Washington.

“If you would beg my pardon for being so direct, I was told by Meade that you wished to gain instruction in how to greet Baron von Stueben when he arrives here at camp?”

“You are correct Colonel. Unfortunately whatever French I was taught as a girl has miraculously slipped through my mind, so I was hoping that you or one of the other fine gentlemen who act as my husband's aides might be able to refresh me.” Laughed Lady Washington, half extending her hand to tap me on the arm but quickly drawing it back. It seemed as though she had remembered our first interaction, much to my embarrassment.

For the better part of half an hour, I attempted to teach Lady Washington several polite phrases and greetings in French, an exercise which was accomplished with only having to steal Lafayette for clarification once. We were only interrupted when Tilghman knocked on the door to alert the both of us that the long awaited Baron had arrived. Lady Washington rose, smoothed out her dress and thanked me for my assistance. Giving her a small bow, I informed her that it was my pleasure and headed back downstairs in order to join the other aides to greet the Prussian.

Among the group were all of us aides, Generals Greene, Lafayette, Lee, Stirling, Wayne, Knox, Hale and of course Washington, along with numerous members of Washington’s Life Guard. By some miracle I managed to situate myself right between Alexander and Reed. My dear boy gave me a small smile when I approached, making me feel weak in the knees the moment that I caught his gaze. God, I did not deserve him. However, I still very much brushed my hand against his as we waited. Said wait took only a moment.

Within a minute, a sleigh emerged through the rapidly falling white snow. As the vehicle approached Headquarters, I could just make out the figure of a man clad in a Prussian military uniform, the medals pinned to said uniform catching whatever light was still existent in the snow. If there was any way to describe the man, it would be to liken him to the Roman god of war: Mars. The Baron was a man who seemed as though he was born for war. While he dismounted the sleigh and scanned the crowd of us who had gathered to greet him, the man’s sheer impressiveness became clear: at his side was a decorative sword that could have bought enough supplies for the army to survive for a year that was no doubt a gift from Fredrick the Great himself, besides just the sword the man was also armed with a matching set of flintlock pistols that hung at his sides. All of this was without even mentioning how imposing of a figure he cut. Adding only to the Baron’s perfect military image was the greyhound that clung to his side.

Heading for the General, the Baron bowed to the great man before greeting Washington in a language that I did not understand, but could only assume to be German. Quickly, an aide hurried up beside the Prussian and translated his greeting to General Washington, adding on that the Baron spoke no English.

Through the translator, Baron von Stueben greeted Washington as follows: “General Washington, My name is Baron Friedrich Wilhelm August Heinrich Ferdinand Freiherr von Steuben, and I am your most humble servant.”

General Washington exchanged the greeting and we all proceeded inside. The storm was beginning to pick up and I could hear the wind battering Headquarters as we retreated to within its stable walls. Bowing and kissing her hand aside, Baron von Stueben greeted Lady Washington in much the same way as he had her husband, and after being introduced to the numerous other generals gathered, all of them, including for some reason Hale who waved at me as we crossed paths, retired to the dining room in order to consume their midday meal. This of course left the rest of us, excluding the translator, to eat our food standing in the office that had been allocated to us aides, taking turns before the fire in an attempt to warm ourselves up.

Somehow, I ended up eating with Tilghman and Alexander, the three of us scarfing down our meager rations as we spoke in hushed tones. As one would obviously expect, it was not long until the topic of the Baron arose.

“I have heard,” The companion who I had not kissed that morning said in between bites of hard bread, “That there are rumors circulating of what our Prussian visitor was up to back on the continent.”

“And what might these rumors entail?” My dear boy queried, pinching a small morsel of cheese off of my plate. I decided to pick my battles and consequently did not comment on his blatant thievery.

“Some say that the man’s reason for departing Prussia was nowhere near as innocent as him merely desiring to supplement the revolutionary cause with his skills. Nay, I have heard whispers that Baron von Stueben’s true motive for fleeing was that he was bedding young boys.”

Oh dear god, the man was a sodomite just like myself, Alexander, and as far as I could gather Tallmadge and Hale. The poor fellow. I could only pray that the man’s military training was decent enough to save him from the hangman’s noose in our emerging nation. When Tilghman was not looking, I glanced over at Alexander, who appeared to be just as concerned as I was. Bringing these sorts of rumors into the camp was dangerous. The more that the enlisted men heard rumors of suspected sodomites, the more likely they were to cast an eye of suspension onto the two of us, and the more likely they were to discover the truth. But I had no time to dwell on this new danger to my very existence, for at that moment, a snow covered messenger who seemed as though he had traveled all the way from the capitol in York, poked his head into the room.

“Where might I find General Washington?” He asked, features obviously red from cold.

“General Washington is eating supper.” Reed informed him. “Whatever information you require given to him you can state to me.”

“Very well then.” The messenger handed Reed a message sealed with the very seal of the continental congress. Perhaps my theory on the messenger’s origin had proved closer to the truth than I had originally believed.

The moment that the messenger left, we all crowded close to Reed, who was already opening the letter. As the man read, we all watched his eyes go back and forth while his eyes widened in surprise. Quickly, he snapped the letter shut and faced all of us.

“According to this letter, gentlemen, it seems as though a committee from the Continental Congress is to arrive here to inspect the camp.”

“That is not so horrid.” Fitzgerald shrugged.

“Nay, the worst part is yet to come.” Reed reprimanded him. “This committee is to be headed by the president of congress himself: Henry Laurens.”

My father was to come here, to Valley Forge: the one place that I had sworn I would escape him. This was very, very bad.

Notes:

Well this feels like an appropriate chapter to begin pride month with! This chapter is posted on Thursday (for me) lol, but I really need the extra time for the next chapter cause that's gonna be a BIG one!

I require external validation to live, so I'd really really appreciate it if you'd give me a quick comment! They mean the world to me and make writing this behemoth of a fic worth it <3

Somehow this has managed to become my most researched chapter even though it was literally written all in one day before I posted, so here's the loooong list of sources:

inside of Washington's Headquarters (been using this for a few chapters now and its pretty cool, highly recommend you check it out)-

https://www.nps.gov/vafo/learn/historyculture/washingtons_headquarters.htm

enslaved woman at valley forge under Washington-

https://www.nps.gov/people/hannah-till.htm

clothing-

https://delawarestateparks.blog/2024/03/18/dressing-up-in-the-1770s-era-a-middle-class-womans-guide/

Baron von Stueben (the elder gay)-

https://outhistory.org/exhibits/show/re/fvs

https://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/february-23/friedrich-von-steuben-arrives-at-valley-forge

I got the part about Baron von Stueben's arrival in a sleigh from Guts and Glory: The American Revolution by Ben Thompson

Azor-

https://salinabakerauthor.com/tag/azor/#:~:text=Throughout%20the%20entire%20Revolutionary%20War,the%20ship%20attempted%20to%20sing.&text=Steuben's%20aide%2C%20Pierre%2D%C3%89tienne%20du,Steuben%20as%20late%20as%201786.

Henry Laurens's term in congress-

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Laurens#:~:text=Laurens%20was%20first%20named%20a,%2C%20to%20December%209%2C%201778.

Chapter 32: Taciturn

Summary:

taciturn
/ˈtasəˌtərn/
adjective
(of a person) reserved or uncommunicative in speech; saying little.

Panic erupted in my veins, spreading like venom throughout my body. The venom in my veins immediately began to turn my ming and limbs against me. Heart pounding like a drum in my ears, all I wished to do was curl into a ball. No, this could not be happening. Not here. This was supposed to be safe. I was supposed to be safe. He was not supposed to be able to reach me. Not supposed to. Not supposed to. Not supposed to! I dug my nails into my palm and bit the inside of my cheek in a pitiful attempt to stop tears from forming in my eyes. I could not break down here, not in front of all of them. A long repressed scream took place in my mouth, but at the same time I could not force my lips to utter a single word. All I could do was to press my nails further into the skin of my palm, the blood sure to be drawn the only thing I could truly control.

“Jacky?” Alexander whispered, slipping his hand into mine and prying my fingers away from my palm. I forced myself to peer around the room. We were alone. Everyone else was gone. He cupped my cheek in one hand, making me meet his eyes, eyes filled with nothing but concern. Still no words would escape my lips, but I could feel the unmistakable sensation of tears rolling down my cheeks. No, he could not see me like this. He would hate me and think me a pathetic disgrace just like everyone else did.

I tried to pull away from him, but he still held my hand and kept on cupping my face, even when I attempted to face completely away from him.

“Jacky?” He repeated, more urgency in his words. The panic gripped my senses only tighter. I needed to run, I could not be here. The omnipresent urge to crawl out of my skin only intensified. Somehow I collapsed into a chair and Alexander took up his place directly before me once again.

“Hush. This will pass. I promise I am not leaving you.” Soothed Alexander as he let me bury my head into his shoulder as silent sobs wracked though my body.

I was not safe here. I had never truly been safe here, I had merely deluded myself into thinking that I had found a place that he could not exert his spheres of influence over. I had been stupid, so stupid to think that there was a place truly free from his reach, to think that there were people who I could truly be with without fear of him. My father was a god, and I was a sinful man who spent my days running from punishment. 

Alexander. Oh god, what would he do to Alexander if we were discovered? I should have pulled away, needed to have pulled away, but I could not bring myself to. He was the sole source of comfort that I had left. The only person who could help me through these things, sooth my anxieties and bring peace to my aching soul.

Eventually my breathing slowed and evened out, prompting me to remove my face from Alexander’s shoulder. Fear still resided in every corner of my mind, but the shadows appeared slightly less menacing and the desire to bolt from the room had significantly faded from my mind. True ease was still the furthest thing from my current mental state, but I was able to allow Alexander to press a light kiss to my forehead. Still, I frantically gazed around the empty office to see if anyone had noticed the two of us. If anyone had we would be killed, or just I would be killed and Alexander sent back to the Caribbean, or he killed and I disgraced, or neither of us killed but forbade from ever seeing eachother again, or even worse I would be discharged and sent back to Mepkin or…

“Jack.” Alexander whispered, “Not a soul has seen us. Reed and the others dissipated to spread the news only a few moments before you…”

His voice trailed off. There was no need to explain what had just occurred, nay I did not even think that there was a true way to explain what had just occurred. All that mattered in the moment was that we had not been spotted and for just a few minutes longer did not risk, well death.

“Thank the lord.” I murmured, desperately trying to use my handkerchief to wipe the remnants of tears off of my face. It was painfully obvious that I had been crying, my eyes were red and I was still sniffling. However, through the general upheaval and chaos that the message had brought to headquarters, not to mention what was already occurring with the Baron’s arrival, I was somehow able to disappear to the outhouse for a good quarter of an hour to compose myself as best I could. Only after that could I bring myself to return, already bracing for the onslaught of comments about my father’s arrival that were sure to come.

Reed set me and Fitzgerad to both craft and transcribe an announcement to send around the camp in order to inform the enlisted men of the incoming committee. In my opinion this announcement was clearly a way to communicate to the officers that they needed to clean up their troops, lest congress decided to cut supplies because of an unsavory external appearance. The moment that the thought popped up in my head, a memory resurfaced that was terrifyingly close to the potential consequences I had envisioned.

I could not have been older than fourteen, but just old enough that I had reached the age that shaving my face was a necessity. That morning, I had taken a razor, and some soap, and stood in front of my bedroom mirror as I attempted to shave myself. For someone so inexperienced, it went surprisingly well, however on one final swipe, I nicked myself, and sent a single drop of blood onto the creamy white of my caveat. I had frozen. As the oldest son, nothing less than perfection was expected from me by my father, and anything but it would result in punishments that sent a shiver down my spine recalling. Before I could hide, or burn, or otherwise dispose of the ruined fabric, I was summoned to breakfast. The entirely of the meal I could not meet my fathers eyes, silently praying that he would not notice. But he did, he always did. I never wish to remember what happened to me, perhaps it is for the best that the exact specifications long slipped my mind.

As I handed over the copies of the announcement to various couriers, I could only hope that the fate of our army, should its state displease my monster of a father, would be less terrible than what I had suffered at his hands. For the army to survive it would have to be.

We were kept busy until long after the sun set over the horizon. Over the course of that time, I must have been summoned at least five times, dismissed in favor of another aide thrice, and twice sent out to deliver messages to various parts of the camp. On my final trip, I had the pleasure of making the arduous journey to the hospital, where a monumental feat occurred: I interacted with a doctor who was not Dr. Hale! Of course Dr. Hale was looming in the background, but it was still something. Only when the clock struck ten to eleven were we all finally dismissed for the night. Seeing as that Alexander and I were two of the only aides not to reside at Washington’s headquarters, the others having been forced out of their previously assigned cabins in favor of enlisted men, I forced him to walk back to Hale’s Headquarters with me, that was a trip that I was most assuredly not making alone by lantern light.

The snow storm had subsided, and as we stepped out of Washington’s Headquarters, the snow glimmered with moonlight as it crunched beneath our feet. It appeared as the whole of the camp was asleep. For the first time in a long time, Valley Forge was at some semblance of peace. If I pictured it hard enough, I could almost imagine what the place was like before the army intruded. However, doing so would require removing my eyes from Alexander, something that I was most assuredly not going to do.

My dear boy held the lantern as we walked, meaning that other than the path, he was the only other thing illuminated by the light. Under the watch of the stars, his light blue scarf fluttered in the slight wind, and his brow furrowed with slight concentration as he attempted to recall the exact route to Hale’s headquarters. The night was so still, and so little noise emanated from camp, that I felt as though I could have kissed him right then and there, and only the stars would have been our witness. Just as this thought crossed my mind, Alexander took my hand in his. Neither of us spoke, and when the silence was broken, it was only through the medium of whispers.

“Ought we to speak of today?” He whispered, words freezing in the air as soon as he released them.

“I suppose so.” I shrugged. “Quite a bit has occurred, and quite a bit is still to occur.”

“Well, I guess that there is no better place to start than to discuss today’s…unprecedented announcement.”

I bit my cheek in order to keep from saying anything I did not wish to. This was precisely the subject I wished to avoid for as long as physically possible. Someone far more intelligent and socially minded would have tactfully phrased their next sentiment, but alas that was not me; I wore my heart on my sleeve, despite all I had been through, and could continue to do so until the day I died. Perhaps some men in my position would have become bitter and closed off, however I dreaded the thought of becoming like that, becoming someone unfeeling like the very man who had inflicted so much pain unto me.

“I-he, he can not be coming here.” Out in the open like this, I could not tell Alexander all I wished to, could not convey my true fear of the invasion of the sole place I thought myself safe from the demon who had haunted my childhood.

“I know.” My dear boy soothed. It was all he said in response, and it was all he needed to. After a moment, clutching my hand ever tighter, he did continue, his words as thoughtful as ever. “It is impossible for me to truly know the extent of the horrors that-that, that motherfucking bastard inflicted upon you. Jacky, I wish I could fight him, I wish I could do everything that he did to you back unto him, although a dozen times worse. But I can not. I do not know what we are going to do with him coming here. However, no matter what happens, I promise that I will not leave you, I promise.”

“Thank you.” I murmured, wishing, nay longing, that I could do more. Do more to protect Alexander. I knew my father, I knew him terrifyingly well, and it was only a matter of time before he would come after anyone who expressed even a hint of affection towards me. It was no longer just myself I was fearful for, now it was the small group of friends that I could call my own. Hale, Tallmadge, Alexander, all the closest friends I had ever had, all people that I knew he would try his very best to tear away from me at all costs.

As I lay in bed that night, my dear boy nestled comfortably in my arms, and Hale and Tallmadge wrapped around each other only an arm’s reach away, the realization crossed my mind that, perhaps, I would not be alone in my fight for survival against my father, that, perhaps, for the first time in my life, there were people who would take my word over his and who perhaps would even attempt to protect me from his fury. It was a tentative hope, but it was something that I would hold close in my heart as the invasion of Valley Forge by the congressional committee occurred. For if I did not, I would disintegrate.

Notes:

Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I might've lied last end notes, but I promise that next chapter is Henry Laurens!

I'm gonna be out of town next Friday so I'm not gonna be able to post until the 27th.

Have a great next 2 weeks!

Chapter 33: Disquietude

Summary:

disquietude
/disˈkwīəˌto͞od,dəˈskwīəˌto͞od/
noun
a state of uneasiness, anxiety, or restlessness; mental disturbance or agitation

It was raining the day that the committee was to arrive. February had bled into March, and it was the first day that the snow had surrendered to the rain. The fat droplets assaulted the roof of Hale’s headquarters as I dressed for the day. Tallmadge was still asleep, and Hale had already risen, dressed, and left for coffee. Alexander was attempting to pull on a fresh shirt while I buttoned up my waistcoat, a feat rendered exceptionally difficult due to the confines of our shared room. However, there were whispers of it finally being warm enough for Company A to construct cabins for themselves, seeing that the omnipresent layer of snow was finally beginning to melt, meaning that we might not be forced to spend the remainder of the winter in such cramped quarters.

Turtle had to be forcibly removed from her spot atop my uniform coat, where she had apparently decided to create her new bed. As I removed her from the vital part of my uniform, I held my cat close. For some reason that I could not quite pinpoint, it felt as though there was a great empty pit in my very soul, and melancholy had colored my thoughts since the moment I had risen.​​ Affection from those I held dear seemed to be the only thing that truly filled that void, and thus, before anyone embarked from Hale’s headquarters, I made a point of roping Hale, Tallmadge, and Alexander into eating breakfast together. It was not a particularly common event among the four of us, but in the moment, it simply felt right.

Evidently, all three other men must have felt the same way, since within a few moments, we had all taken up positions at one of the tables in what used to be the dining room, but was now the strategy room, a place where very little strategy was determined. By some stroke of luck, there had been exactly four chairs left at the table, which we quickly claimed, pushing aside assorted maps and papers to make way for our coffee and bowls of porridge. My dear boy struck up a conversation with Hale regarding the army’s next campaign, a topic in which I could offer little insight, which left me and Tallmadge to converse among ourselves.

“Thank the lord it is finally warming up.” Tallmadge sighed. “I felt as though I might never get the cold out of my bones.”

“I quite agree. This winter has been far more intense than anything I ever experienced back in South Carolina.” I agreed between spoonfuls of porridge.

“When I was a boy, I do recall winters far worse than this; however, for some unknown reason, this one feels far more intense than any other.”

“Perhaps it is the war?” I suggested.

“Perhaps. War makes everything more miserable.” He affirmed.

“Aye.”

We had not long to eat, nor to dwell on the horribleness of the winter. Soon, I found myself once again making the trek to Washington’s Headquarters with my dear boy by my side. While the first rain of the year baptized us in its drops, every step I took towards the place made it so that I could not help but to feel as though some terrible clock was ticking down, counting the seconds until I would be forced to once again come face to face with my father. Oh, how I dreaded it! Nay, dread was far too kind of a word. If given the choice, I would rather have faced the eternity of the British army alone than the patriarch of the Laurens family; my fear was so all-encompassing.

It appeared as though Alexander had noticed this, for when we arrived at headquarters, he pulled me past the main building and into one of the accompanying stables, which was populated solely by horses. The place smelled like mildew, hay, and horseshit, and the walls were constructed out of old, yet still sturdy, timber. It was against one of these walls to which my back was pressed. Alexander was situated directly in front of me, blocking any path of escape. Had it been literally anyone else essentially pining me to a wall, I would have felt exceptionally threatened, but my dear boy had always been nothing besides sweet and attentive to me, and combined with his rather diminutive stature, I felt as at ease as I could in the moment.

Cupping my cheek in his palm, he scrutinized both my face and eyes. What exactly he was searching for, I could not say. However, having our bodies pressed together in such a way was far more than enough to occupy my thoughts. For weeks, no, it had been closer to months, I had longed to engage in the sort of intimacy with Alexander Hamilton that could get men like us hung for even daring to attempt to commit. But, between the majority of our waking time spent functioning in our positions as aides de camp, the lack of privacy even when in sleeping quarters, and now the impending arrival of my monster of a father, we had neither time nor even the ability to do so. This was, of course, not even considering if Alexander would even desire to escalate our relationship to such a place. It was quite the risky jump, but one that I wholeheartedly desired to make with him. Back in the moment, he had completed his inspection of my face and finally chose to speak.

“Are you well, Jack?” He inquired, concern enveloping his features.

“I fear the arrival of my father. He despises the thought of me becoming close to anyone, and I am terrified of what he may use his power to do unto you.” I do not know what compelled me to speak so plainly, only that my words silenced Alexander for a moment.

“Do not worry about me. I have survived thus far, and I am now in the good graces of the most powerful man in the army, as well as several others. Your father would have to go through General Washington, along with Generals Hale and Lafayette, in order to harm me, and neither I nor any of those gentlemen would yield to him without first putting up a hell of a fight.”

Should his words not have been enough to reassure me, he also pulled me in for a kiss, only after glancing around to make sure we were truly alone, though. The kiss was tender and lovely and felt lovely and so nice in fact that one could have fooled me into thinking that I was kissing my dear boy for the very first time again. His soft lips met mine, which were cracked from the cold and scabbing where I had bitten them. He was a warm and comforting and all-around wonderful presence, soothing my jagged and complicated and rather needy soul. My forehead was pressed to his, and his arms were slung around my neck. If given the choice, I would have remained like that for the rest of eternity, safe and secure and comforted by the one person I held closest to my heart.

“I love you, and do not dare forget that.”

“I love you as well,” I whispered back, pressing the ghost of a kiss into the top of my beloved’s curls. I did not care if the love between us was the sort that the rest of society damned, it was one of the few things I had left and I would fight tooth and nail to keep it.

With one final embrace, we broke apart and ventured into Washington’s headquarters, a place that I both revered and dreaded. The moment that Alexander and I stepped foot into headquarters, it became abundantly obvious that preparations for the congressional committee's arrival were already underway. In the entryway alone, two soldiers were doing their best to complete the sort of tasks that could have been assigned by no one but Lady Washington. One man was dusting the rack upon which everyone in camp dumped their hats and coats, while his companion was attempting to wash scuff marks off the plaster of the hall’s walls. As we made our way towards the aides’ office, I could not resist the urge to pop my head into the dining room, which spent very little of its time functioning as a dining room. Inside were yet more cleaning soldiers. Two fellows were gathering up the multitude of papers that had been left in there, no small feat, I assure you, while one of their comrades washed the wooden floorboards that had been caked in dirt and mud from camp. I would have pitied the laboring men, but in acting as cleaners for Lady Washington, they had weaseled their way out of Baron von Stueben’s rain or shine continuous drillings in both marching in proper formation and efficiently loading their weapons. Seeing that it was very much currently raining, something told me that the soldiers, who were now under the command of Lady Washington, did not regret their reassignment in the least. Well, at least the majority of the troops were to be learning from a man who once fought with one of the greatest armies in the whole of the civilized world.

In our office, a rather similar scene was playing out. Reed was directing Fitzgerald and Tilghman on where to stash various documents, since it appeared as the whole of headquarters’ paperwork had been deposited with us. As this occurred, Meade and a drummer not previously known to me were trying, and only partially succeeding, to clean out the hearth. It was a rather…interesting scene to behold, even more so to walk in on. Within mere moment, Reed noticed my dear boy and I lingering in the doorframe and quickly approached us. Reed’s eyes shone with the sort of maniacal sheen that could indicate nothing but the fact that he intended to assign us to complete a task that we were to assuredly to despise and would suffer greatly throughout the completion of, and would also provide entertainment for the rest of our fellow aides for weeks to come.

“Laurens, Hamilton.” He greeted us, appearing as though he had been awake since the previous day and was surviving solely off of tributes of coffee offered up by Fitzgerald, Tilghman, and Meade, along with whoever else was unfortunate enough to be in his sphere of influence.

“Reed.” Alexander acknowledged, sending me the sort of look that told me he understood exactly what situation we were about to find ourselves in.

“Well then,” Reed turned to face me. “Colonel Laurens, I require you and Hamilton here to direct soldiers to transfer furniture from various dwellings in camp to the house where the committee is to be residing. Here is the list.”

As I took the list, we shot each other yet another look. This did not seem exactly like the sort of thing that two of General Washington’s aides, both of whom technically spoke French and were ranked as Colonels, were typically to complete. However, the alternative appeared to be whatever Meade, Tilghman, and Fitzgerald were doing, so we readily agreed. That was how, within a matter of minutes, I found myself commandeering a cart, mule, and man capable of driving said cart while Alexander looked over the list of furniture we needed to essentially steal in order to make the fat pigs in congress comfortable.

Now, calling those who were in the same social class as I had been before joining the army fat pigs might come across as hypocritical, in fact, I am sure that if anyone had spontaneously gained the ability to read my thoughts that rainy March morning, they would have thought as such. However, during the time I had spent with the army, my outlook on life, more specifically my belief in my deservence of romantic affection and understanding of social class had both been challenged, one quite obviously by the fiery man whom I loved so dearly, and the other by my sheer existence in camp. In the eyes of the military, rank was what separated men, not social class. Poor men, with enough effort, could rise to high ranks, and rich men could be confined to the lower ranks due to sheer lack of talent. Talent was what determined your standing in the army hierarchy; nothing but talent. Thus, men who earned their position based upon nothing but wealth storming into the camp and being treated as kings disgusted me.

From the moment that I had stepped into camp, I had been treated as nothing but an aide to General Washington, not the son of Henry Laurens, just an aide. Of course, I did possess a rather high rank, but I was not above any other man with whom I shared a rank, nor below any of them; we were all given the same amount of respect. That was yet another part of the reason why the pampering of the congressional committee infuriated me. Why ought we not treat them the same as the other civilians who hung around camp? Why ought we not cast them to the very edges of the camp and force them to construct their own dwelling with their bare hands? Why ought we treat men who had done very little to further our cause better than the men who were risking their very lives every day to preserve it?

While these thoughts coursed through my mind, I formed an idea, an awful, mischievous, wonderful idea. Naturally, the first thing I did was share it with Alexander as we sat in the back of the commandeered wagon, huddled under a trap as we both looked over the list of necessary furniture.

“What do you think of this?” I asked him, keeping my query quiet enough that the soldier driving the cart would not be able to overhear us above the rain.

“I think that it is ridiculous that Congress believes that they ought to be given every luxury they experience in York while here, where suffering is rampant.” My dear boy replied, clenching the edge of the trap that covered him so hard that his knuckles turned white as he spoke.

“Then, I believe that we ought to do something to show these men what camp is truly like.” The words came out of my mouth far more cynical and evil than I had expected, and a mischievous smile crept over my face. “I propose that the furniture we are tasked with gathering for the committee be the sort of furnishings that they would only ever dare provide to their servants.”

“Why, Jack, I believe your idea to be the best possible outcome to our assignment for the day. For nowhere on this paper is it stated that the furniture we gather must be of the highest quality.” Alexander’s indigo eyes shone with the sort of roguish plotting that made me fall in love with him all over again. Of course, my father would be furious that he was not being treated as a king in a country where kings were to be no more, but it would also serve to demonstrate to Congress what the reality of the men fighting for the freedom of our land truly was. I could only hope that doing so would not severely invoke his wrath upon his realizing that the army that had so long pestered him for supplies was not a force made up of perfect automatons.

First, we stopped at General Greene’s headquarters, where Greene’s aides Pettit and Cox were all too willing to supply the less-than-desirable furniture from the general's headquarters to our cause. Enlisting the help of several Rhode Island soldiers who were unfortunate enough to have been walking by at the moment, we even managed to carry out a ramshackle bedframe and mattress and dump them into the back of the cart without anyone slipping in the rapidly growing muddy vacuum that was the road.

After Greene was Hale. Hale’s headquarters was obviously a place that both Alexander and I were well acquainted with, and we were confident that we would easily be able to procure the old set of chairs and accompanying tea table that was stored in the attic without any help, since no one was ever at Hale’s headquarters to begin with. Much as I suspected, when we entered through the front door, not a soul was on the first floor, which meant that there was no one to question why we were effectively stealing furniture from Hale.

Getting the chairs down two flights of stairs and to the cart proved to be quite simple; Alexander and I both carried one down the stairs and took a second trip for the two others, as the stairs were not wide enough to facilitate carrying two at a time. However, moving the table ended up being a far more complicated effort. We finally settled on turning the thing sideways and both holding one side of it, me going backwards down the stairs, and Alexander attempting to keep the table from falling down on me. Somehow, this effort was semi-successful. Unfortunately, it was nowhere near as silent of an effort as either of us had believed.

“Why are you stealing my table? Seriously, what the hell!” Hale exclaimed from the second-floor hallway as we carried said table past him. Much to the displeasure of my arms, we were forced to pause in order to explain to Hale, who for some reason was wearing fewer clothes than he had been when Alexander and I had departed that morning, why we were stealing his table.

“This is being acquisitioned to furnish the quarters of the soon-to-be-arriving congressional committee.” Alexander took the liberty of explaining. Through the mere tone of his voice, it was obvious what his feelings on this were, as it was the vocal equivalent of rolling one’s eyes.

“And not a single man thought to warn me?” Hale protested, as he apparently had some sort of emotional connection to the rundown tea table.

“Well perhaps if you had been less occupied with fucking Major Tallmadge you may have noticed.” My dear boy shot back, clearly ignoring the fact that we were both very much still holding a tea table, which was growing rather heavy.

“I was not!” Sputtered the rather flustered looking Brigader General, who very much looked like he had just been fucking Tallmadge, based upon both his reaction and state of undress. “I was just about to go out and inspect my troops! Yes, that was what I was about to do.”

I refrained from commenting on that bold-faced lie, and instead just shook my head at my dear boy, who also appeared to be suppressing a laugh. “Whatever you say, General.”

Gathering the remainder of the list of furniture proved to be far less eventful, and by the end of our effort, the entire cart had been filled twice and I was huddling underneath the trap with Alexander this time on the driver’s bench of the cart, while the soldier driving the horses wrapped himself up in his own tarp, all of us protected from the torrential rains. We were still laughing about poor Hale’s circumstances as we headed back to Washington’s headquarters, parting ways with the wagon at the stable that had been the location of such a wonderful kiss only a matter of hours prior and heading into the old farmhouse through the back door.

Though the chaos of gathering the list of required furnishings and whatever Hale had been doing, I had nearly forgotten about the arrival of my father and the rest of the congressional committee, instead giving myself over to the absurdity of life in camp and my enjoyment from any sort of time shared with my dearest Alexander. However, that was not to be for long, for I soon spotted the outline of a large carriage through the pouring rain, slowing making its way down the quagmire of mud that was the road, towards headquarters, every turn of the wheels marking one more second less of the amount of time I had left before being forced to face my father. Alexander gripped my hand as he joined me at the window, a silent promise that he would stick by my side throughout whatever horrors I was sure to be put through in the coming days. I could only hope that this promise would be one that would be kept.

Notes:

Hey everyone! Here's an extra-long chapter after I've been missing for two weeks! Hope you enjoyed it.

Just a few things before I list my sources and get back to writing the next chapter (yes, sources were actually used):

-John’s take on social classes in the military is a bit idealistic, and I do want to acknowledge that what he perceives to be reality won’t actually be the case for quite a while. However, he’s trying, so you gotta give him that.

-Some of you may be noticing that the Lee duel has not occurred; however, I promise that something far more interesting is going to take its place

-I'm thinking of rewriting the Halemadge section at the beginning of this once I get through the revolution, as I'm not really satisfied with how I dealt with it anymore. Would that be something you'd be interested in seeing? I think I would have to expand Hamilton's role and maybe even give Laurens a cameo

-Keep your eyes out for another fic finally being added to the series! This is going to be a bit of fluff before the angst of Henry Laurens's arrival. It should be out before next Friday.

And now, my sources!:

-The names of Greene's aides: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nathanael_Greene#American_Revolutionary_War

-premise for congressional committee even existing (I have it happening later because I didn't think this out well!): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Valley_Forge

Thanks so much for reading and if you've enjoyed, please leave kudos or a comment, they really make my day <3

Chapter 34: Drapetomania

Summary:

Drapetomania
drap-uh-tuh-MAY-nee-uh
Noun
The overwhelming urge to run away

From my position in the office, a position which consisted of hiding at the back of the small grouping of aides and praying that my father would not immediately notice me, I caught my first glimpse of the other men who were to comprise the committee. There were five of them, all men whose names had been circulating camp like wildfire since the moment the horrid announcement had been made. Francis Dana of Massachusetts, Nathaniel Folsom of New Hampshire, John Harvie of Virginia, Gouverneur Morris of New York, and worst of all, Henry Laurens of South Carolina. Even after nearly half a year of being apart, my father still appeared nearly identical to how he had been prior to my departure for the army. His face was still flushed from his near-constant drink, and his well-tailored suit still displayed his prominent stomach. In stark contrast, my physical appearance had starkly changed over the past months. From the hard work and meager rations, I had become lean and rather tanned. The clothes that had fit me so well before departing for camp now hung loose on my frame. It was abundantly clear that my father had given up none of his luxuries as he moved from Philadelphia to York.

As all five members of the committee entered and greeted General Washington, I attempted to make myself as small and unnoticeable as possible, a rather difficult feat given that I was a head taller than the majority of the aides was attempting to hide myself behind. Evidently, this effort failed since, when he stepped to the side after conversing with General Washington, my father turned to look directly at me, and sent me and icy glare that felt as though it reached the very depths of my soul, rooting my feet to the ground and making me feel as though pure ice was running through my veins. I knew that type of look, it was the type of look that meant that my father was about to drag me into an isolated room and become the type of monster that he only could behind closed doors. In essence, it was the exact look that sent me spiraling every single time. But this time something was different. Alexander was standing beside me and immediately took my hand in his, letting me squeeze it as tightly as I needed to as the waves of panic crashed over me.

“President Laurens,” I overheard Washington say. His voice sounded as though it was coming from the bottom of a well, not the dozen or so feet away that he truly was. “Allow me to introduce you to one of my primary aides. He is the man who has been writing to you regarding the need for both supplies and funds for the army in our winter camp. This is Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton, a vital member of my staff.”

And there, General Washington was, guiding my father over towards Alexander and me with a small smile on his typically stern face, and a friendly hand on my father’s shoulder. Neither of them looked ill at ease with the other. That was when it struck me. My father and General Washington did not despise each other, or at the very least, the General was exceptionally skilled at putting up a false, gratuitous, and polite front. I begged all powers that be that my second assumption was correct.

“It is an honor to meet you, sir.” Alexander greeted my father, sticking his hand out for a handshake, which was taken and shook. No one else seemed to notice the way that his jaw was clenched and the restraint in both his words and movements. He knew the truth. Alexander was the only other person at camp who knew the truth.

“The honor is all mine. I am so glad to see that such a bright young man is serving our great uniting cause.”  There was a hunger in his eyes when he turned to me, like the hunger of a predator knowing that it had at long last recaptured its prey. “My dear son! How wonderful to see you again, my boy.”

Any affection in his voice was practiced, nothing more than a show put on for those around us. No excitement or care reached his eyes, and the eyes always told the truth.

“Good day, Father. I am so glad that you were able to make the journey to inspect the camp, even with the less-than-ideal weather.” I was far less well-versed in that great game that men play every time they interact, and it showed. My words carried far less excitement and care than his, hopefully no one noticed.

“Those roads do seem as horrible a threat as the British.” Another one of the committee members remarked, Gouvener Morris I believe.

With that my father drifted away from me and the rest of my fellow aides, to speak with the men of actual consequence no doubt. The second that we were no longer maintaining eye contact, I felt myself relax, only slightly though, for that would be far from the first interaction that we were to share over the duration of the committee’s inspection. I already knew that I would dread every moment. While my father shook hands with the remainder of the gathered Generals, barely hiding his disdain for Hale, who was almost assuredly some version of intoxicated, the remainder of the committee’s members, all of whom followed my father around like attention-deprived pets, circulated as well. Harvie congratulated me on my place on Washington’s staff. He was a rather slight man, with overpowered hair and the sorts of connections that every Virginian seemed to possess. We did not speak for long.

Eventually, everyone seemed to shift into the dining room, where a map of Valley Forge had been laid out on the table. Along with Alexander and other assorted members of the various staffs of all the generals present, I watched from my vantage point along the wall as General Washington directed the congressmen’s attention to various features on the map, from the fortifications on Mt. Joy manned by Woodford’s brigade to the old schoolhouse that had been turned into a center for smallpox inoculation, an effort headed by no one but Dr. Hale of course. At this rate, one could have convinced me that the younger Hale brother was the main surgeon in the whole army.

“It is quite the encampment,” Folsom noted once Washington had ended his explanation. “The army seems quite well prepared for battle should Howe attack.”

“That is the exact scenario these defenses have been prepared for.” General Stirling affirmed. “General Duportail has taken all precautions in the case of a British offensive.”

Various members of the committee asked various questions regarding the exact specifics of the camp's layout, with numerous Generals responding. Hale stayed quiet for the majority of the conversation; however, he did make sure to point out that Baron von Steuben was responsible for several improvements, most notably the construction of latrines in strategic locations. The Baron himself was not present, having departed shortly after migration to the dining room, no doubt to prepare the men for their afternoon drilling. The rain was beginning to let up, meaning that one could no longer hear the constant drumming of the raindrops on the roof at any given moment. It would still be miserable to be out in, but less so than when Alexander and I had embarked on our great furniture-stealing adventure.

“Well, General Washington,” My father began. “If it would not be too much trouble, would it be possible for my fellow committee members and I to acquire a brief tour of your camp? It would be greatly beneficial for us to gain a rough understanding of the camp here at Valley Forge before we begin our official inspection.”

“Of course, President Laurnes. General Hale is quite well acquainted with the exact layout of our troops, and he is quite the capable guide. Some of my aides ought to also be able to accompany you.” The General’s goal in disposing of Hale was obvious. Put the General who was not vital to whatever discussion was sure to occur when the committee departed headquarters, with the committee who was departing headquarters.

“That would be wonderful.”

“Very well then.” General Washington turned towards us aides lined up against the wall. I silently prayed that he would not call upon me. This prayer was unfortunately not answered. “Laurens, Hamilton. Accompany General Hale on his brief tour of the camp.

“Yes sir.” We answered, shooting each other a glance before following the group of departing men. This was not good. 

Hale fell back so that he was walking next to us as we approached the stable, where the carriage, which the pampered congressmen had arrived in camp in, was. All three of us looked back and forth at the rest of the group. Hale was not anyone’s first choice to escort a group of wealthy men around Valley Forge, much less anyone, for that matter. He was vulgar, uncivilized by society's standards, and far closer to the common soldier than anyone who my father would ever consider himself worthy of associating with. My father was bound to despise him. Out of all three of us aides, I was the only one who had grown up in the world that these men inhabited. I was the only one who they would consider worthy of their presence. Hamilton could fake it, he was decent at deceiving people for brief moments or conversations, but not for a whole preliminary tour of camp. And I could do nothing. All I could do was bite the inside of my cheek until it drew blood and dig my fingernails into my palm in a desperate effort to claim some sort of control over the situation. 

There was no room in the carriage for either Alexander or me; instead, we were made to sit on the driver’s bench along with the driver of the carriage, a slave whom I vaguely recognized. He was one of my father’s preferred drivers. We both cowered beneath our greatcoats as the carriage attempted to traverse the deeply rutted roads that cut through the camp. Ever fortunate, Hale had managed to lead the way on his horse, an action that spared him the worst of the jostling. The roads were so bad that there were times that Alexander, the driver, and I all had to hold on tightly to each other, lest any of us be thrown from the vehicle.

By some miracle, we made it to the field where Tallmadge was instructing his soldiers in something in one piece. It was obvious to all who knew the man that Hale had chosen to bother Tallmadge for the sole reason that the Major was the one man who would put up with Hale bothering him.  Dismounting his horse, Hale headed over towards the other man, whispering something in his ear that I could not quite make out, as Alexander and I got down from the driver’s bench. I ended up forcing my dear boy to allow me to help him, lest he manage to reinjure his ankle. 

The committee followed us, stepping tentatively through the deep mud. Of course, Tallmadge had been booted to the muddiest part of the camp. He was the only dragoon commander who trained his men beyond Baron von Stueben’s drills and thus was considered an odd duck by all his compatriots, although that may have just been because of his unusually close relationship with General Hale.

Said General immediately introduced his bedmate to the group of congressmen, not noticing that he was holding Tallmadge a bit closer to him than polite society expected. A hand between another man’s shoulder blades was apparently worthy of scandal. “This is Major Tallmadge of the second Continental Light Dragoons.”

While Tallmadge’s expression clearly read as “Oh fuck, the rich bastards are here,” to anyone that knew him, he made the astute decision to not vocalize this and instead gave a small bow and said: “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sirs.”

“It is always a pleasure to meet a man fighting for his country,” Dana affirmed, the only one of his group to actually shake Tallmadge’s hand.

While we all stood in the rain, Tallmadge gave an impromptu but surprisingly well-put-together explanation of the exact function of training his dragoons in this weather, along with a short history of his command. I must confess that I was not paying very much attention, instead focusing on attempting to keep my boots from permanently sticking in the mud and avoiding my father’s gaze. Oh, how I looked forward to collapsing into our nice, warm, dry bed with Alexander after all of this!

After Tallmadge and his dragoons, a stop which I had a sneaking suspicion was made for the sole reason of Hale wanting to see the man he was most assuredly sleeping with, we headed to the old schoolhouse, where Dr. Hale was carrying out an inoculation program. Much like Tallmadge, this location was probably only chosen since Dr. Hale would be willing to temporarily put up with his older brother.

This time, we could not approach too closely to the schoolhouse, only stand a few yards from the road, for the whole of the building was full of men suffering through the effects of the smallpox vaccine. Luckily for me, I had gotten the inoculation several years prior and was thus technically immune; however, it was better to take no chances. Of course, the doctor who came out to greet us was no man other than Dr. Hale. Speaking of Dr. Hale, the man looked rather horrid. It appeared as though he had not slept in a week, he had lost his jacket and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Along with that, his face had a rather sickly pallor. Due to a combination of these reasons, none of the congressmen elected to shake the doctor's hand upon being introduced to them.

“Dr. Oliver Hale. I organized the inoculation endeavor here.” He noted, pushing the pair of glasses he wore back up on his nose.

“Hale?” My father queried.

“My brother.” Hale filled in.

“Can I help you all with anything?” Dr. Hale asked after a rather awkward silence.

“Perhaps you could inform us of the exact specifications of your inoculation efforts,” Morris responded, looking to his other committee members for approval. 

“Well we stab a quill into a sore on an ill man, then take the pus from said sore and place it into a cut made on a healthy man. He falls ill, not terribly ill but ill, hopefully recovers, and then is permanently immune to smallpox. It is quite simple. Now if you would excuse me, it seems as though I must tend to my patients.” Without waiting to be dismissed, Dr. Hale walked back towards the schoolhouse, where his wife was hovering at the door, a look of concern on her face.

Following the rather interesting interaction with Dr. Hale, we headed down to the bank of the Schuylkill River, where Hale rambled on about the importance of the river in the defence efforts of the camp, should the British launch an attack, for a good half hour. It was obviously an attempt to kill time, as the ride down to the river was quite the long one, and he spoke for far longer than he was required to. I could only infer that Washington had instructed him to keep the congressional committee as far away from headquarters for as long as possible, and this for some reason was Hale’s way of accomplishing that. 

The sun was setting when we headed back, however the rain had not let up one bit.

Because of the mud, the ride back to headquarters took at least twice as long as it would have on foot, meaning that the diver, Alexander, and I got the wonderful experience of being jostled for as long as possible. It was an exceptional relief when we arrived back at Washington’s headquarters, where the committee members were to eat supper with a group of Generals, which did not include Hale, to all involved’s relief. Alexander and I had entered Headquarters in order to inform Reed of our departure and to collect whatever papers were to be stashed at Hale’s headquarters for the time being. We were not to stay long, however right before I was to enter the aide’s office, I felt an iron grip encircling my lower arm. Before the words even left his mouth, I knew who it was, my father. I was a fool for thinking for a moment that he would not want me alone.

“I wish to speak to you before you depart.” He said menacingly, voice scarily calm.

“Ye-Yes sir.” I fumbled my words, terror already overtaking almost every facet of my mind. He was going to beat me, or at the very least hit me, or maybe knock me against the fireplace, or do something so horrible that I would never be able to look at myself in the mirror again, or…

As my mind ran through all the scenarios that could play out, over and over, my father led me into the old parlor, closing the door behind us. My heart began to beat loudly in my chest. He could not do this here, I was surrounded by people who would come running if I screamed, but that had never stopped him before. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

“John, take a seat.” He gestured to the wooden chair in the corner of the room, where no one looking in from the outer windows would be able to see. All at once I was a boy again, utterly terrified of what he was to do. I sat. He continued: “Are you aware of why I wish to speak to you?”

“No sir.” No matter how hard I tried, I could barely manage to bring my voice above a whisper.

“Your correspondence. You have written me scarcely a letter since your enlistment.”

“I have been kept quite busy.”

“I do not want excuses!” He thundered. “The terms of my allowing you to enlist in the first place was that you would write to me informing me of the occurrences in the army monthly. All I have thus received was a single letter, nay note, informing me that you were alive! Have you not been receiving my correspondence?”

“No, sir,” I whispered, not daring to look him in the eye. “The mail service is not very reliable at times. The letters may have been lost.”

It was a fib, but for some reason he seemed to believe me, not knowing about the pile of letters that I had stashed at the very bottom of my trunk.

My father sighed, leaning back on the table in the center of the room. “I ask such simple things of you John, but even then you fail to complete them. You are worthless . Washington keeps you on his staff out of nothing more than pity and the fact that you are my son. Do you understand? All you have in this world is because of your relation to me . Displease me again and I will be sure that you suffer far more than mere physical consequences for your actions.”

“Yes, sir,” I murmured once again, already bracing myself for the inevitable blow. But it never came.

“Go back to wherever you came from, and remember that I am watching you.” He warned before shooing me away.

The second that we returned to Hale’s headquarters, I immediately collapsed into Alexander’s arms, recounting the conversation with my father to him in between sobs. He tried to comfort me, to assure me that everything would be alright, to promise me that I was not as worthless as my father insisted I was. But no matter how many kind sentiments he whispered into my ear as he held me, I could not get my father’s words out of my mind. Worthless, worthless, worthless . Some things never changed.

Notes:

Hey everyone! Happy Fourth of July, aka oh dear god everyone in this work is currently staring at the USA in fear day!

In other news, go check out Alexander Hamilton's Totally-Not-Planned-at-the-Last-Minute-by-John-Laurens Birthday Party. It's amazing and probably not totally canon, even though I wrote the canon.

Here's the sources!:

-Map of Valley Forge I used: https://www.loc.gov/resource/g3824v.ar307800/?r=-0.036,0.241,0.824,0.421,0

-Henry Laurens's opinion of Washington: https://researchingtheamericanrevolution.com/henry-laurens/

-A pretty interesting article on Henry Laurens: https://afsa.org/henry-tower-revisited

-The man who designed the earthworks at Valley Forge:https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Valley_Forge

-Smallpox inoculation: https://www.nps.gov/articles/000/smallpox-inoculation-revolutionary-war.htm

Chapter 35: Apoplectic

Summary:

apoplectic
/ˌapəˈplektik/
adjectiveinformal
overcome with anger; extremely indignant.

The next few days introduced me to a new type of hell that I had never thought of myself being forced to experience. It felt as though the moment that my father and his committee of cronies had entered camp, Valley Forge had immediately lost any spark of enjoyment or even contentment for me. Morale had been low all winter, and as I yet again dressed for the day, I felt as though the same curse that had attacked so many of the enlisted men, had finally struck me. Alexander was the only reason I could even put on that same blasted courteous smile I always wore to mask the pain. He was an angel, silently comforting me and reassuring me with his mere presence that this would end, that this had to end. No longer could I be bothered to engage with anyone beyond the bare minimum, speaking not any more words than I was required to. Every night, I lay awake in bed, that one word bouncing around in my mind: worthless.

My only saving grace was that I was not forced to accompany the congressional committee on their inspection of the camp, instead being able to curl up and hide in the aide's office, writing until my wrist ached and stealing glances at Alexander. All the days of work began to blend into each other, and before I knew it, a whole week had passed, and there was no sign of the departure of the congressmen anywhere in sight. No one noticed how much my shoulders stooped when the announcement came of the dinner party.

Ever requiring formalities laid out at his feet, my father had been going from headquarters to headquarters, strong-arming the generals, and by generals we all knew their wives, into hosting dinner parties, and shaming them if the effort did not meet his standards. In a place where the cold was forcing men to cut off their fingers and toes, and proper winter clothing was a laughable idea, he wanted dinner parties. Damn him, damn them all.

Hannah was sent into a frenzy when the request, nay demand arrived. She was not a part of the world that knew what these parties were to entail, and far too proud to ask for help. It was already painfully obvious to me that she was to be belittled and demonized by my father, and every ounce of heart I had left ached at the knowledge of what was inevitable. With the help of the men of Company A, Hale’s headquarters was cleaned from top to bottom, a repetition of what had occurred upon the arrival of Congress into the camp. Clearly they thought themselves worthy of being treated as kings every day they spent here. It was terrible and sickening and the sort of thing that made me ashamed that I could call myself a member of their social circle.

When the dreaded evening arrived, an air of resigned mayhem had descended over the old farmhouse. Having been essentially banished from the main floor, the men of Company A had taken up refuge in either the attic or the cellar, freezing so that those in power could pretend that they were not really suffering. In a similar vein, the majority of the officers who also stayed here had fled, taking up with either their comrades who were not housed in my father’s next target for invasion, or heading to a makeshift tavern that had sprung up. Once everyone had left, attempting to get as far away as possible from the self proclaimed gods, only the Hales, Tallmadge, Alexander, and I were left. They were all allies of mine, or at least as close to allies as I could gather for myself in the camp.

Seeing that he was technically the host, Hale waited in the parlor, a private from Company A ready to open the door the second that my father and his lackeys granced Hale’s headquarters with their presence. I found myself in the dining room with Hannah and Tallmadge, the three of us attempting to set the table in the proper manner, something that I truly ought to have been able to recall, but my mind was blank on that topic.

“The forks are on the left, not the right!” Hannah exclaimed, holding a book on proper table etiquette open as she read from it.

Tallmadge and I immediately began to switch the locations of the forks with the knives and spoons, a rather complicated effort given the sheer number of place settings, eleven in total. During this process, as I was holding three forks and attempting to switch a knife with a spoon, a plate in between my forearm and the table edge, I moved my arm an inch too far. The plate threw itself to the ground, shattering into dozens of pieces against the floorboards. I froze. I swore that I could hear my father already approaching, the memories of punishments from previous mistakes echoing endlessly in my mind. A belt, a fist, the fireplace mantle that still carried my blood, a black eye, the bruises that littered my ribs. My breath caught in my throat, my chest tightening and the world around me reduced to a blur. Worthless, worthless, worthless .

Footsteps were approaching. I braced for a blow, to be thrown on the floor, to have the shards of porcelain cut my face, to have a heel press my head into them. I needed to run, to flee, to curl up in a ball and hide. But I could not move my feet from their spot. Someone put their hand on my forearm. Instinctively I flinched. Whoever it was let go immediately and backed away.

“Laurens?” They asked me, voice soft and even, as if they were holding a temper. A hand was sure to slap me any moment, push me into the table- “Laurens!”

Hands found my shoulders, shaking me. It was only then that my vision finally focused again. Tallmadge was the one shaking me, calling out my name. The only expression on his face was concern. Concern. He did not wish to hurt me. He did not wish to hurt me. I was as safe as I could be. Muscles I did not know I was clenching relaxed, and I collapsed into one of the dining room chairs, the pieces of broken plate crunching beneath my boots.

“Are you alright?” He asked me.

Not yet capable of forcing words through my windpipe, which still felt as if an invisible force was tightening it, I merely nodded, gripping the sides of the chair in an attempt to tether myself to reality. Hannah murmured some reassurance that the plate was no great casualty that I could not fully comprehend. Just as I was about to try and form the words to beg them to get Alexander, it happened: the knock on the door that could only mean one thing, my father had arrived. In an instant the panic began to overwhelm me again, my breaths coming in short rasps as my mind descended into terror stricken imaginings of what would happen when my father saw me. This distracted me so that I did not notice when Tallmadge put a hand on my shoulder and led me from the dining room.

We ended up in the cramped room that consisted of Hale’s office. Guiding me to the well worn couch that took up half of the place, Tallmadge took a seat next to me. The two of us sat in silence for a while, just listening to the sounds of everything occurring right outside of the room as I attempted to slow my breathing. It was a rather futile effort, since silent tears were beginning to make trails down my cheeks. Tallmadge did not comment, merely wrapped an arm around my shoulders and refrained from reacting when I leaned into him for an ounce of comfort. The clock on the wall slowly ticked, marking each minute as it passed. In total, it took seventeen minutes for my tears to cease.

“Thank you.” I whispered, my voice hoarse from suppressed sobs.

“Of course.” He reassured me as he handed me his handkerchief to wipe my face with. “I know you would do the same for me in a moment.”

When we rejoined the great performance that was to be this evening, only after a few more moments for me to compose myself, my father was holding court in the parlor, his gout ridden foot propped up on a stool as the congressmen, excluding Morris since he had fallen ill, listened to him recount a tale of one of his great slave auction deals, and how he had essentially scammed the traders out of field workers. Both Hale brothers and Alexander looked as disgusted at the tale as I felt. My dear boy appeared to be barely keeping his temper in check as I took my place next to him, wishing he could hold my hand, yet not daring to make any advances with the company present. Clearly not wishing to hear any more tales regarding human bondage, Hale attempted to steer the subject of conversation towards the war, however my father held fast, aided by Harvie, and kept the subject of conversation staunchly on slavery. I felt like throwing up when he described the sorts of punishments he intended to inflict on runaways, knowing perfectly well that those same punishments were sure to be used on me and my younger siblings if he was given the chance.

Our savior was Hannah, inviting the table to supper. She was respectably dressed, the only woman present, in a dark blue gown of cheap silk that was cut in the English style, and nearly matched the fabric of our uniforms. It was notable, however, just how highcut the dress was, for all of the women I had ever attended balls and dinner parties with quite enjoyed displaying their chest areas, at least as much as society would allow them to. Despite her clear lack of experience with events of this formality, she played the part of the hostess exceptionally well, allowing Hale to usher the guests into the dining room as etiquette demanded, and seating them in as proper an order as she could, especially given the lack of female guests.

I was in between Alexander and Dr. Hale, with Tallmadge across from me. Our conversation throughout the meal was thankfully surface level, any true intentions layered beneath so much polite societal ​​etiquette that they were completely obscured. The food was good, far better than anything else I had eaten in camp, with the exception of the Washingtons’ Christmas dinner, and clearly the sort of fare that must have drawn people into the Hales’ tavern back in Albany before the war. Despite that, I still noticed how the members of the congressional committee eyed it with disdain, for the number of dishes provided was rather meager compared to what they had clearly envisioned. This topic was thankfully not broached, and the meal continued in as good of spirits as it could given the circumstances.

Dessert was an apple chestnut pie, wonderful and comforting, almost nearly as much as the hand Alexander had snuck onto my thigh just as it was being served. Over the course of the meal, my father and his lackeys had so gorged themselves on wine and other spirits that the servants, truly just men of Company A who owed Hannah favors, had to make numerous trips down to the cellar for more wine. None of us who constituted my small group of allies drank excessively, even though Hale was known to do so, and instead restrained ourselves to only a glass or two of wine. Thus, when the evening became heated, we were not the instigators.

Folsom and Dana had departed shortly after dessert, thanking Hannah and Hale for their hospitality, Dana staring directly at her chest for a moment too long. Upon their departure, we had all retreated back into the parlor, taking places on the various furniture as my father settled into the large armchair by the fire, Harvie sitting at his right, like the lapdog he was. On the couch directly to my father’s left were Hale and Tallmadge, on the loveseat across from them were Dr. Hale and Hannah, leaving Alexander and I to the two chairs that faced my father’s throne. Needless to say, I spent the majority of the evening staring at the floor. The alcohol was still flowing freely, Hale refilling my father’s cup the moment it appeared low, most likely in a misguided effort to subdue him. I wish I could have had the ability to inform him that drinking only intensified my father’s horribleness.

“You know,” My father pondered, “I had never heard of the family name ‘Hale’. What endeavors did you pursue before the war?”

“We ran a tavern in Albany.” Hale informed him. “However my older brother Enoch did pursue a career in the ministry.”

“A tavern!” Harvie laughed, his face quite flushed. “No wonder that you all are so invested in this war. It is the only way you will not end up condemned to the poor house!”

“I beg your pardon?” Dr. Hale exclaimed, a quiet anger flaring in his eyes. I could see it in Dr. Hale’s as well. This was not to end well.

“What Harive said is that such lower class heathens as you all must be so out of place in this new world, yet be revealing in it as well. A brigadier general! Why, that must mean more money than your little clan has seen in a century. It is quite good that it shall all be gone the moment that we succeed, then people like you will go back to where you belong: serving my people.” My father chuckled at the last remark, obviously not realizing that what he had just said applied to the majority of the people in the room. “You know,” He added in an attempted whisper, clearly addressing Harive but not aware that the rest of us could hear him as well, “I would happily take Mrs. Hale here in my bed with me. As we all know, tavern keepers always have whore wives.”

“What did you just say about Hannah?” Dr. Hale asked through gritted teeth, glaring at the man who was supposed to be a respectable planter. The mask had slid.

“I said that she is the wife of a tavern keeper and thus a whore!” My father clarified, not helping the situation. “Cut from the same cloth of loose conduct and immorality as the rest of you lot. There is a reason you stay poor, you know.”

“Mr. Laurens, I challenge you to a duel!” Hale thundered, springing up from his seat. “You have insulted the honor of a lady and my whole family, and I believe that in following your little code of conduct, I am entitled to duel you.”

“Very well then.” The patriarch of my family slurred in response. “I got into quite a few duels in my day. Let us do such, name a time and place.”

“Right now, right outside.” Hale countered. “I possess firearms and it shall stop any interference. Hamilton, be my second?”

“Of course.” My dear boy agreed, standing up next to Hale. Could not ask Tallmadge, for the man was technically still a member of the clergy, but asking my hot headed Alexander was quite the good choice.

“Very well then. John, be my second.” My father ordered, taking another sip of his drink.

“No.” I replied, standing up next to Alexander. I could not duel a man who was my brother in arms, a partaker of the same sin I did, who I counted among my closest friends. Not merely to please my father. “No, I will not be your second.” That one word: no, it sent shockwaves throughout the carefully crafted picture that my father had conjured up of me in his mind. 

“How dare you disrespect me, your own father!” He bellowed, rising from his seat and starting towards me, held back only by Harive and his gout. “You shall rue this decision! Harive, be my second.”

“Yes sir.” The Virginian quickly agreed.

We had all the components required for a duel: firearms that Tallmadge had disappeared to obtain, a doctor in case one participant was wounded, and willing seconds. Thus, all four involved, along with Dr. Hale, stepped outside. All I could do was remain in Hale’s headquarters with Hannah and Tallmadge, sitting with them in the parlor as Hannah covered Mercy’s ears in order to prevent the girl from hearing if her older brother shot a man. I hoped he would. Two shots rang out, followed by a cry of agony. Like that, the duel was over, but the trouble had only begun.

Notes:

Hello everyone! Today's the 201st anniversary of Alexander Hamilton being shot by Burr, so here's John having a panic attack to celebrate. This feels like an appropriate day for a chapter with a duel.

Here are my sources for this chapter:

-table settings:

https://blog.acsilver.co.uk/2019/08/22/18th-century-table-settings/

-plate materials:

https://nmscarcheologylab.wordpress.com/2011/07/01/party-like-its-1776-a-look-at-eighteenth-century-ceramics/

-food:

https://dejafood.uk/recipes-by-era/18th-century/

-Imagine Hannah's dress as something resembling this:

https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/159540

Chapter 36: Peripeteia

Summary:

peripeteia
/ˌperəpəˈtē(y)ə,ˌperəpəˈtīə/
noun
a sudden reversal of fortune or change in circumstances, especially in reference to fictional narrative.

I immediately hurried out to the scene of the duel the second that the gunshots ended, Hannah and Tallmadge following closely behind me. In the faint glow of the lantern, quite the scene was laid out. Hale and Alexander stood on one side, Hale holding a pistol and staring down the other pair of duelers while Alexander wore a smug grin on his face. Opposite from them, my father had crumpled to the ground, with Harvie at his side attempting to steady him. In the mixture of mud and not yet melted snow that comprised the ground, the distinct sheen of blood glittered.

“Laurens, do you yield?” Alexander called over to their challengers, victory already known to him.

“You shot him in the side! Yes he yields!” Harvie shot back as my father groaned in pain. He deserved every second of it. Perhaps it was some sort of divine punishment after so many years of him hurting others. However, in that case Hale would be an avenging angel, and having met the man, that posed some rather concerning questions about the exact nature of heaven and hell, although best to dwell on other things.

“I am satisfied!” Hale proclaimed, finally lowering the pistol.

At the sound of his brother’s proclamation, Dr. Hale turned around and glared down at my father, seemingly contemplating whether or not it would be worth actually attending to him. Harvie’s frantic shots pierced the cold night air, his words confused and terrified as the smile broke out on his face. I did not realize how quickly my feet were carrying me over to Hale and Alexander, nor even how wide the satisfied grin on my face was.

“You shot him!” I exclaimed, grasping Hale by the shoulders. “You actually shot him!”

“You do not wish to punch me?” He finally inquired after a rather uncomfortable silence. “I just shot your father.”

“Why on earth would I want to do that? This is one of the greatest events that has ever occurred in my life!”

“I just shot your father.” Hale repeated, even more confused.

“Precisely!” I practically shouted at him, watching Alexander crumple into a fit of laughter out of the corner of my eye, Tallmadge attempting and failing to keep his composure.

It took another few minutes to explain to Hale that I actually quite appreciated the fact that he had shot my father, an effort that ended in the two of us laughing and celebrating. My father had finally suffered for the consequences of his actions, finally had just a fraction of the pain he had inflicted upon others inflicted back upon him! Even though I was not the one to pull the trigger, it still felt as though I had achieved some form of revenge. Perhaps he would die, hopefully in an exceptionally slow and painful manner, and the whole world would finally be free of such a horrid man. No longer did my father seem an immortal figure who lorded over every aspect of my life and even invaded the places I thought myself safe, he had been proven mortal and cowed!

Due to Harvie’s indecent pleas, Dr. Hale was forced to actually treat my father, meaning that he and Harvie had to drag the wounded bastard into a cart, which they used to transport him across camp to the hospital, a long journey over deeply rutted roads that were sure to aggravate his wound every time a bump was hit. The whole of the trip was to be nothing but pure agony. Besides, poor Dr. Hale had just had his wife called a whore by his prospective patient, and based on my interactions with the Hale family, this was sure to affect the quality of his medical care.

With said “tavern whore”, Alexander, Tallmadge, Hale, and I headed back into Hale’s headquarters in order to celebrate our great victory over enslaving demons with hostile agendas towards the future of this country. Opening quite a few bottles of whiskey, it was only a few moments before we found ourselves splayed out on the various pieces of parlor furniture, discussing all the topics under the sun, but more importantly what the future was to entail. I had found myself laying on the couch, my head on Alexander’s lap, rambling on about how slavery had no future in this America, while Hale poured another round of drinks, filling Hannah’s first.

“So much speak of ‘all men’, and the life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness, although it seems as though ‘all men’ only applies to those who won the great lottery of fate and managed to get themselves born into the right families.” I complained, gesturing vaguely in the air with my half empty glass of whiskey.

“If this is to truly be a nation where all men can have an equal chance of rising above their station, then all men must truly refer to all men, no matter the location of their birth, nor the wealth of their family, or even the state of servitude of their parents.” Alexander added.

“Say that to the south and we shall have another war to fight.” Tallmadge mused, ever the voice of reason. “However, that shall never invalidate the moral irony of men who own slaves protesting King George, and claiming that they are being made slaves of the crown.”

“Fools. They hide themselves in every facet of the country, intertwining that terrible institution so closely with the fact that this country even exists that removing them from the equation would lead this place to imploding.” Hale noted, plopping down next to Tallmadge and letting the former minister curl up next to him, wrapping an arm around Tallmadge’s shoulders.

“A fight for when this damned war is over.” Hannah added, swirling her drink. “And do not dare forget that men are not the only ones who populate what shall be America.”

“I would not dare.” Hale assured her.

“Nor would I.” I added. Such a woman as Hannah assuredly deserved the same level of respect given to her as any man on both the personal level and in the eyes of the law. Especially given that the Hales seem slightly inclined to crime, at least if the tales of smuggling that Hale regaled us with from before the war were anything resembling true.

“Good evening.” Dr. Hale greeted all of us as he swept into the parlor, immediately heading for the alcohol after giving his wife a kiss on the top of her head. “Laurens, not the one here-the other one, is unfortunately not dead. The bullet entered his side and went clean through, avoiding all vital organs. Harvie took him back to Lafayette’s headquarters, where it seems as though he shall recover.”

“Fuck.” I groaned. “I hoped that he would have passed on.”

“Wished to see him condemned to hell?” Alexander asked me, a sly smile on his lips.

“Where else?” I laughed, leaning into his touch.

All six of us, the small group now complete with the presence of Dr. Hale, spoke until the sun began to rise in the sky, our conversation spurred on by alcohol and a feverish desire to make it to the future. In the end we all fell asleep there, the effects of a night of drinking taking hold; Alexander leaning back in his seat as I curled up, my head still on his lap, one hand still cupping my cheek; Hale and Tallmadge were in a similar state, Hale reclining on the loveseat, the only force keeping his lover from slipping off and cracking his head on the coffee table; Hannah and Dr. Hale had both fallen asleep in their armchairs, holding hands as they did so. The sunlight streaming through the window was aggressive and aggravated the headache that was boiling behind my eyes. Reed was going to kill me and Alexander for not showing up. Maybe we could convince him that Hale had needed us to do…something.

Just as I was about to bury my face in the couch cushions and wish for death, I heard it: a pounding on the door. Nay, pounding was far too polite of a term, it sounded as though they were attempting to break down the door. Looking around, I saw that none of my fellow revolutionaries had stirred, so I was the one to answer the door. It took more effort than I thought it would to pull myself off of the couch and pry myself away from Alexander, however, after attempting to fix myself in the hallway mirror, I opened the door to a sight that I never could have expected.

Soldiers. Well, that was to be expected with the fact that we were in an army camp, but these were no ordinary soldiers, and the man facing me was no ordinary man. These were soldiers from Washington’s Life Guard, and the man whom I had just come face to face with was Major Gibbs, the head of the unit and a particularly formidable man who no one dared cross. Behind him had to be a good two dozen men, all armed, and all concerningly serious. What on earth were they doing here? In Major Gibbs’s hand, he appeared to clutch some sort of paper, what it could be, I did not know.

“Good day, Major.” I cautiously greeted him, making sure to keep the door in between us.

“Good day, Colonel Laurens." Gibbs replied. “Are General Hale and Colonel Hamilton in there?”

“I beg your pardon?” Why on earth would so many soldiers be looking for Hale and Alexander?

“General Hale and Colonel Hamilton were involved in a duel with President Laurens of the Continental Congress last night, which ended with the severe wounding of President Laurens. Thus, his excellency has issued a warrant for their arrest, to be followed up by a court-martial.”

“Oh.” That soft echo of a word was all that I managed to force through my lips. Alexander. Alexander was going to be tried for participating in a duel that left my father injured. I knew why he had done it, he knew of what my father had done to me and desired to in some way help avenge me. It was noble, but foolish. I should have been Hale’s second, I should have been the one being punished for hating the man who gave me life so fervently. I could not lose him. I could not lose him!

“What on earth-” Hale had followed me to the door, stretching out his arms and rebuttoning his waistcoat in the places that Tallmadge had undone it the previous night. I could only stand there helpless as Gibbs informed him that he was under arrest.

Hale stood retained by two of our fellow soldiers as Gibbs and several of his men entered for Alexander. The shouts of my dear boy pierced through my heart every time I heard one emanate from the parlor. I ought to have warned him, ought to have begged him to flee, ought to have never allowed him to be Hale’s second in the first place. Even the soldiers looked conflicted as they dragged him out, Alexander still screaming himself hoarse with protests. I tried to reach out for him, tried to pull him away from them, tried to plead with them, but my throat closed up and my feet refused to be moved from their spot on the floor. The hot tears had already begun following freely down my cheeks by the time that the door shut, blurring my vision and leaving me longing for my dear boy.

Somehow, I ended up collapsing into the cot I had, up until twenty minutes ago, shared with Alexander. My Alexander. The kindest and most wonderful and sweetest and most intelligent and most caring person I had ever met. The person in camp who seemed to truly care about me. The person who had so eagerly gotten me a cat for Christmas and who had fawned over the quick sketch I had done of him. The person who had held me when I awoke screaming from nightmares, shaking until the sun rose over the horizon. The person who, above all else, I loved. My tears dampened the pillow, and I sobbed into it til my breath began to catch in my throat and I struggled to draw a coherent breath through the hitching wails that were coming out of me. He had to be alright. He had to be.

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed this dark turn of fate.

To warn you all, I'm gonna be away for a decent chunk of next week, so chapter 37 might be updated on Saturday instead of Friday.

Sources!

-Washington's life guard: https://www.mountvernon.org/library/digitalhistory/digital-encyclopedia/article/life-guards

-Everything I know about dueling: https://genius.com/Anthony-ramos-lin-manuel-miranda-jon-rua-leslie-odom-jr-and-original-broadway-cast-of-hamilton-ten-duel-commandments-lyrics

-Exchange between Hale and Laurens (modified from the original): https://genius.com/Lin-manuel-miranda-leslie-odom-jr-anthony-ramos-christopher-jackson-and-original-broadway-cast-of-hamilton-meet-me-inside-lyrics

-Major Gibbs: https://www.mountvernon.org/library/digitalhistory/digital-encyclopedia/article/caleb-gibbs

Chapter 37: Damnation

Summary:

damnation
/damˈnāSHən/
noun
condemnation to eternal punishment in hell.

Notes:

WARNING! This chapter contains GRAPHIC depictions of self-harm and mentions of rape. If this isn't something you're comfortable with, SKIP THIS CHAPTER! I promise you aren't missing too much

It was on the fourth night without any word from Alexander or Hale that I snapped. Drawing on some force of willpower that I was not aware existed, I had managed to keep up appearances throughout camp, where the news of my dear boy and Hale’s involvement in the duel with the great Henry Laurens had spread like wildfire, dividing the camp. Some believed that my father had deserved it after so many months of depriving the army of even basic necessities, coupled with the fact that he had insulted the honor of a lady, he had simply had it coming. Others believed that duels were immoral and wounding the president of congress deserved being court-martialed. I was firmly on the side of they did no wrong and my father had it coming, however Tallmadge seemed more torn. As a former minister, he was in possession of morals, no matter how forcefully indoctrinated they might have been, and those morals appeared to be tearing him apart on the matter of how exactly to approach current events.

Working became torture, knowing that only a matter of days prior, Alexander had been with me, jesting and making the endless hours spent with a quill in hand bearable. Every part of my soul longed for him. I wished to collapse into his arms, to sob and pull him close, promising that we would never be parted again. I could not bear to lose him. For reasons unbeknownst to me, both Tallmadge and I, along with the remainder of the Hale family, had been barred from visiting either Hale or my dearest Alexander, and the only reason I had to believe of his continued breath was that Washington could not allow him to die. He simply could not.

That damned night was the occurrence of the revival of the snow, the powdery flakes falling lazily against the sides of the now absent Hale’s headquarters as I sat upon the cot I had, up until four days ago, shared with Alexander. Tallmadge was nowhere to be seen, although there were rumors that the man had surrendered to the bottle and was holed up in a tavern only a short trip from camp. It was not a rumor that I believed, but it was most assuredly still a rumor. While the wind howled through the night, making the flimsy board walls of the old farmhouse shutter with every gust, all I could bear to do was wrap the old quilt around my shoulders, staring at the worn down floorboards.

The date of the court-martial was set for six days in the future, and it was one of those damned affairs that I dreaded from the very pits of my soul. Alexander, put on trial as an accessory to insubordination! How being the second in a duel that had wounded my father in the side counted as insubordination, I did not know. However, the mere thought of my dear boy being accused of such a crime that would ruin his entire military career if accused, was a terrifying one. Besides from the terrible punishment that being proven guilty was sure to bring, it would surely mean either a demotion from his position as Washington’s aide de camp, or perhaps even a discharge from the ranks of the army. Alexander had been perhaps the only thing holding me together during the more terrible parts of the winter, and oh god, I could scarcely imagine that I could survive to see 1779 without him by my side. From assisting me when I was wounded at Brandywine, to comforting me as I sobbed, I needed him. I loved him, above all else I loved him. And the terrible truth was that that mere fact was more than enough to have us both hanged.

The world would never truly understand how much I cared for him, no matter how many segments of letters they would find after my death, no matter how many anecdotes were told of our great affection for each other, they would never understand. They would never understand how I loved him as a man loved his wife, and how Alexander cared for me the same way. They would never understand that no matter how hard I tried, I could not force my heart to love a woman as I did a man. They would never understand how hard I had tried to force it to. They would never understand how unlucky I was in love, how my heart seemed to have it out for me.

Francis, Martha, both had hurt me, in different ways of course. Francis, he was terrible to me, looking back I knew the only reason I had stayed was because I believed that I had deserved the punishment. It was under his “affection” that the damned business of cutting myself had begun. It had been after one of those evenings that we had both become intoxicated, retreating to the room we had rented. All I had desired to do was sleep off the liquor, but he had had quite different plans. He had forced himself upon me, ignoring my pleas for him to stop, and seemingly taking as much care as possible to injure me. When he had finished, I had been left there, tears forming in my eyes and shaking as the bruises began to form on my body. He had left me there, miserable and in pain from all he had done, having taken advantage of me and fled. Only weeks later did I receive his letter, in which he promised to never forget me. I would assuredly never forget him. That night, I had taken the razor in my luggage, and, sitting amid the soiled sheets, sobbing and barely able to grip the handle, I had pressed the blade into my skin, taking the pain it produced as a punishment, a punishment for not being all I was supposed to, a punishment for not being all everyone else believed I was supposed to.

It had continued as I journeyed to London, slicing up my wrists, then my lower arms as letter after letter of criticism poured in from my father. It was a curse, at worst a blessing, being God’s only son. Being seated at the right hand of the father yet already fallen. When the letter from Francis had arrived, I had done it the worst I had up to that point, covering both inner arms in the sort of cuts that were sure to be painful for days and scar slowly. It was that same night that I had made the association of Martha Manning. She was sweet, far better of a girl than I had ever deserved, the exact sort of woman that my father would have willingly married me off to, the sort of woman that I would have felt trapped with. I was the one to have taken her innocence in a drunken mistake. When the news of her pregnancy had reached both her parents and my father, we had been forced to marry. On our wedding night I cut myself in so many places that I had fainted and been forced to stay in bed for three days. I could not bear to look at my new wife.

The only reason I had not cut deep enough to take my own life was the news of the brewing revolution in America. I had fled, like the coward I was, running from my wife and the child she had not lost. The news reached me a matter of weeks before I had received the news of my acceptance as Washington’s aide de camp. She had named the baby Frances. I wanted to throw up the moment I saw our infant's name written out on the parchment of my letter, the memories of Francis rising in my mind. Once again, I retrieved the razor and opened old wounds, creating new ones in the process, punishing myself for not being normal, punishing myself for not being the husband I ought to have been, punishing myself for not being the father I ought to have been.

Cutting myself had morphed into being reckless in battle as the war progressed, intentionally putting myself in harm’s way as we fought in battle after battle. The only wound I had sustained was a musket ball graze on my shoulder. Of course in the stagnation and stress of Valley Forge, old habits died hard. It had been the letter from my father, the one that had enclosed correspondence from Martha, that I had done it again. Tallmadge and Alexander had found me, bleeding out in the forest, blood decorating the perfect snow. That was the first time I had nicked a vein. Whatever force had been so cruelly keeping me alive had made sure that I survived. Alexander was the only thing that had kept me from trying again. And now I was in danger of losing him.

It all seemed to happen in a blur. My fingers found the smooth hickory handle as easily as ever, and rolling up the sleeves of my nightshirt was a process that barely exerted effort. Covering both of my forearms were the reminder of just how many times this exact action had already occurred. The blade glinted in the low glow of the singular candle as I pressed it into my flesh, the ruby red blood glistening as it flowed freely from wounds I had created a thousand times before. I barely even felt the pain anymore. My tears blurred my vision, combining pale skin and dark blood until I could barely tell them apart. Only when both of my arms were covered with cuts and freely leaking blood did I put down the razor.

I collapsed onto the cot, arms wrapped once again around myself and sobbing even harder than before. Perhaps this time I would actually manage to die. Sometimes I could barely even tell if living was worth it anymore, in a life lorded over by my father, where I was tied to a family I wished to run from, and the only person who had ever managed to sooth my soul was locked in a cell, awaiting a court-martial that was sure to ruin him. My father always managed to rip the people I cared for away from me. Alexander, I wanted Alexander. No one else. I needed to tell him how much I loved him and how sorry I was for being such a failure of a person.

As it felt like my lungs failed to allow enough air in, the sound of the door creaking open cut through my rambling thoughts. Based on the way I was lying, I was unable to see the intruder, however it was not long until they revealed their identity. Footsteps immediately approached where I was still crying on the cot.

“Laurens?” Tallmadge’s voice filled the silence of the room. He sounded scared.

It took more effort than it really ought to have for me to turn to face him. The moment that I could see his face, it immediately contorted into a mask of calmness, a pitiful attempt to hide the shock of seeing the blood that blossomed from my self inflicted. I could not bring myself to say anything to him, only attempt not to show it as the pain finally set in. God it hurt. It hurt like hell. I wanted Alexander.

“I want Alexander.” The words somehow forced themselves out of my lips, barely more than a hoarse whisper, although it seemed clear that Tallmadge heard them,

“I know.” He attempted to soothe me, “He shall be with you soon, however we have to fix you up first. Alright?”

All I was capable of bringing myself to do was a small nod. With that confirmation, Tallmadge left nearly as quickly as he had appeared, abandoning me like everyone else had, like Alexander was surely to do when he realized how truly broken I was. No one would ever be foolish enough to love someone like me. It had been a lie, all his affection faked, nothing more than a front of someone who pitied me. My chest began to tighten again, that familiar action that was none the less terrifying every single time it occurred.

After quite a few heart wrenching moments that seemed to last an eternity, Tallmadge reappeared, holding several rolls of bandages and an ointment that I vaguely recognized. He brought me into a sitting position, taking a place next to me and placing one of my arms in his lap. The way he bandaged it was slow, nearly meticulous, and during the period that it took for both of my appendages to be treated, not a word passed between the two of us. We shared the same fears regarding the jailed men whom we both loved, and there was no need to vocalize them when they were so terrifyingly real. Upon the completion of the bandaging effort, I changed into a non blood stained nightshirt and Tallmadge traded his uniform for nightclothes of his own. During that process I could have sworn that I saw the same kind of scars that litter my arms on his. Better not to comment, for he did not on me and returning such a courtesy was the least that I could do. We pushed the two cots together before retiring to bed, Tallmadge allowing me to curl up next to him as we slept, nothing but thoughts of my dear Alexander occupying my mind.

Notes:

Hey everyone! This chapter's early cause I'm gonna be outta town on Friday and won't be able to post it on time, so enjoy!

Every kudo is one hug for John. he needs one...or 317

"Sources":

-letter from Kinloch: https://john-laurens.tumblr.com/post/145777622748/john-laurens-and-francis-kinloch

One line (It was a curse, at worst a blessing, being God’s only son.) is from the song Ballyhoo by Green Day, which honestly fits John's situation

Chapter 38: Prevaricate

Summary:

prevaricate
/prēˈverəˌkāt/
verb
to avoid giving a direct answer or deviate from the truth

The first time that any of the Hales, Tallmadge, or I had been allowed to interact with either Hale or Alexander came the night before their trial was to occur. Apparently, it had been decided that both of the accused required fresh uniforms in order to appear presentable in court. In the grand scheme of things, how my dear boy looked during a court martial was irrelevant, especially given how much was at stake: Alexander’s future career in the army, Hale’s future career in the army, and quite possibly also my life. But, I still found myself digging through Alexander’s trunk, attempting to locate one of his uniforms that did not have holes in the cuffs. He had a terrible nervous habit of rubbing the cuff of his coat between his thumb and forefinger when stressed. Upon finding said coat, I laid it upon what had once been our shared bed and continued my search for a full set of clothes. It was easy enough to locate his shirt, breeches, and spare waistcoat, however a clean caveat was so impossible to find that I eventually was forced to give up my fruitless search and simply tossed one of my own onto the rapidly growing pile that constituted my dear boy’s complete clean uniform.

Mercy Hale accompanied me to the jail where her brother and my lover were being held. She carried Hale’s clothes in a basket while I had Alexander’s in the very same satchel I had first used when I had arrived at camp all those months ago. While Tallmadge had initially been offered the opportunity to take Hale the clean uniform, my only remaining roommate had declined for reasons unknown. Perhaps he simply could not bear to see the man he loved imprisoned, I scarcely could even believe that someone as wonderful as my Alexander would be sent to rot in a cell. Still, I wished that I could have better companionship than an eight year old girl on the journey.

The camp’s makeshift jail was actually a log building, the inside of which had been divided into cells, each of which measured no more than thirty feet square. It was a rather unassuming structure from the exterior, but the feeling of dread that seemed to originate from the place was enough to make Mercy look up at me with her big grey eyes and send silent pleas to me that I could not answer. All I was capable of doing to comfort the poor child was to allow her to take my hand, allowing the small girl to essentially hide under my cloak as we approached the guard stationed at the entrance of the jail. He was a stockily built man, and a Massachusetts man by the looks of it, a former dock worker if I had to take my guess. Whereas the long winter and meager rations of military life had left the majority of the enlisted men gaunt, the man in front of me had clearly retained his prewar strength. 

“Colonel.” He saluted me, clearly not noticing the small girl cowering behind me.

“Corporal.” I returned his salute, although half heartedly. “I am here to present the requested uniform to Colonel Hamilton and escort General Hale’s younger sister to do the same.”

The man nodded at me, stepping aside and allowing the two of us to enter, not commenting on how my rank did not correlate to the task I was completing, instead giving Mercy the sort of look that only a man with children of his own could. Some part of me wondered if the whole reason he had joined the army in the first place was to fight for his children’s freedom.

Inside of the jail was nearly as depressing as I had initially thought it to be, with rough log walls, a packed dirt floor, and dimly lit by only a few meager lanterns that seemed as though they were about to burn out at any moment. Only two soldiers had been tasked with guarding the prisoners, both of whom appeared to possess the same sort of exhaustion that had settled over the camp. Repeating my task to both of them, I received two nods in return. All in all, the prison was actually rather empty, a man accused of taking advantage of one of the camp followers being the only incarcerated person besides the two men about to go on trial for shooting my father in a duel. Given that the girl was still at my side, I first escorted Mercy to her brother’s cell, the more weary of the two guards unlocking the cell door for us.

Hale was reclining on the thin straw pallet in the corner of his cell, a ratty blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he stared, looking at something that only he could see. The second that he noticed his younger sister and I hovering in the doorway, his face lit up, or perhaps merely contorted itself into a convincing mask of happiness, and he held out his arms for his “little Robin”, Mercy running into them. The little girl’s cloak certainly made her look like a robin, especially in contrast to the snow and mud that coated Valley Forge. Brother and sister embraced, clearly not noticing me. Only when Hale finally released Mercy did his grey eyes meet mine.

“Laurens.” His lips twisted themselves into something that resembled a bitter smile. It was obvious that he was disappointed that I was not someone else.

“Glad to see that you are well Hale.” I replied, setting down the small bag that contained his clean uniform. At some point during our walk, I had ended up carrying it for Mercy.

“As am I.” He attempted to laugh, however halfway through Hale broke into a coughing fit, pressing a corner of the blanket to his mouth like one would a handkerchief. Mercy’s little face flooded with concern, but not surprise. Not one soul close to General Hale ever seemed surprised, it was slightly terrifying.

Not knowing what to do, I lingered until Hale’s coughing subsided, leaving him and Mercy to converse about whatever you speak to an eight year old about. As much as I did enjoy talking with Hale, Alexander was my immediate priority. The guards were quite amicable and happily let me into my dear boy’s cell, even shutting the door behind me, not locking it. I could only assume that they believed I would be fine there, and if Alexander were to attempt an escape they would catch him. Much like Hale, he was sitting on the provided straw pallet, curled up in the dirty blanket in an attempt to keep warm. The jail was freezing. Unlike Hale, my dear boy’s face lit up when he saw me.

“Jack! You came.” He pulled me into a hug the moment that the door closed behind me, burying his head in my shoulder, red hair splaying out across his shoulders.

“I would never leave you.” I attempted to soothe him, holding him as close as I could while I pressed a light kiss to the top of his head. Luckily for our affection, both of the guards seemed far more interested in guarding the rapist and making sure Mercy was alright than paying any attention to Alexander. Taking a seat next to Alexander on the pathetic excuse for a bed, I wished I could do more than merely take his hand in mine. I wished he could hold me as I cried, tears and new scars saying more than any words ever could. The second that my wounds crossed my mind, I automatically tugged the sleeves of my coat down as far as I could. This action produced no reaction from my dear boy, who had begun to ramble on about how the outlook of his court-martial was overall positive, with the alcohol consumed the night of the incident making almost every testimony objectionable. It was not clear if this rant was supposed to comfort me or him.

“You see how this must end, of course! I shall be innocent, I must be innocent.” Alexander repeated. “Jack? Are you listening?”

Before I even realized what was happening, his hand was gripping my forearm, pulling me towards him so that we were looking each other in the eyes. Pain flared up my arm, not the worst I had ever experienced, but still pain. Right where he had grabbed, that was where the most tender of my injuries were. The second that he saw me grimace, Alexander immediately dropped my arm, face filling with concern. “Jack?”

I could not bring myself to face him. The second time my name was softer, more like a plea than a question. “Jack?”

Wrapping my arms around myself, the same thoughts that had filled my mind when I had retrieved the razor returned. No one could ever love me, someone so pathetic and useless, someone who reacted to the slightest downturn in fortune by slicing up their wrists. The second Alexander realized what was occurring he would look at me in disgust, tell me what a terrible person I was, and spit in my face, leaving me forever. He would hate me, they would all hate me. No one actually cared for me, they merely tolerated and pitied me. If I were to die, not a soul would care, they would be happy. It took me a moment to realize what was occurring, Alexander was cupping my face in one hand, an emotion that I could only describe as a controlled terror at my state on his face. I did not deserve him, I did not deserve anyone, but he deserved the truth, Alexander deserved everything I could not give him. Before my mind caught up to my hands, I had already begun to push back the sleeve of my jacket, unbuttoning my shirt’s cuff and rolling it back as well, unveiling the horrid truth that the cloth hid.

“Jacky, oh my god.” He gasped upon seeing the truth of what I was, gazing upon the mass of raw cuts that littered my forearms, a sliver of gauze peeking out from where Tallmadge had deemed rebandaging the wound necessary

“It is nothing of note.”

“Jack.”

“I can not lose you.” I half confessed, half begged, the five words the only explanation for my actions that I could bring myself to articulate. After a miserably long pause, I choked out the words: “I supposed you hate me now.”

“Do you honestly believe that I would ever be capable of hating you?” Alexander scrutinized my features, taking my arm littered with exposed evidence of my uselessness and bringing it to his chest. Lowering his voice so as not to alert any nearby guards, he continued. “I love you. I have loved you ever since I set eyes on you. You are one of the most wonderful men I have ever met and it breaks my heart to know that you do this to yourself.”

“I must apologize.” I muttered, still unable to look him in the eyes despite the hand cupping my face. Alexander’s touch felt as though it was the only thing tethering me to this earthly plane.

“God Jack. Hannah told me, the first time you…well you cut yourself, that this is an illness of the mind that is not easily cured. If this is not truly your fault, then do not hold yourself accountable for it. If I get out of here, when I get out of here, I shall help you as best I can. And no matter what happens, I shall love you all the same.” Faint tears were running down his face when he placed the lightest of all possible kisses to the back of my injured hand. Dear lord, how I wanted to be consoled by him, to not let the possibility that I might never see my dear boy again taint the moment, but it did.

As I left, I pulled Alexander into the tightest embrace I could, the opinions of the prison guards be damned, praying that all I wished to communicate to him was through the act. His court-martial loomed tomorrow, a terrifying event that I desperately wished to never occur. If I could, I would have frozen time at that very moment, making it so that the court-martial would never arrive, that I would never have any chance of losing the one person I cared about above all others to the cruelty of my father. However, that was not the way that the world worked, for it did not care about my longing, instead letting time progress as typical, fading from one day into the other like my whole life was not about to be turned upside down.

Notes:

Hey everyone! Update schedule should be back to normal now...I think.

I'm thinking about doing another oneshot in the universe, so if you've got any ideas, I'd love to hear them!

Chapter 39: Evanesce

Summary:

evanesce
/ˌevəˈnes/
verbliterary
pass out of sight, memory, or existence.

The court-martial was held in a makeshift court room in the front room of Greene’s headquarters, it was packed with about as many men as could be crammed in the space, with the majority of the attendees being of the higher ranks. A table had been brought in from another room to seat the judges of the case, seven brigadier generals that I did not recognize, but who were to decide the fate of the rest of the accused's lives. Besides the table, the rest of the room had been filled with an amalgamation of chairs that appeared to have been gathered from every possible source within ten miles of camp. Dividing the room was a hastily constructed barrier, leaving the chairs for the audience on one side and the crude imitation of a court room on the other. It was abundantly clear that camp had not been prepared for a court martial of such magnitude, and truthfully I was not either.

Tallmadge accompanied me as we both took our seats, both in the witness section. As the other attendees filled in around us, the familiar panic began to flood my mind. This was the day that was to decide if I would ever see my dear boy ever again. Alexander’s future hinged on the verdict of seven strangers, none of whom knew just why he had so eagerly volunteered to be involved in a duel with my tormenter. Telling the court that would be a terrible idea, for it would ruin my reputation and hint at the true nature of our relationship. Somewhere to the left, I could just make out the voices of the rest of Washington’s aides, or at least the part of the group that remained when one removed me and Alexander. They seemed to be making up jests and almost laughing. How could anyone jest at a time like this? It felt blasphemous to do so when the nature of the day’s proceedings were to be so somber. As I cracked my knuckles over and over again in a futile effort to distract myself from what was to come, the attorney acting on behalf of the army entered the court room. My heart dropped when I realized that I recognized him. David Stewart, one of my fathers proteges and endlessly loyal to him. No, oh dear god no. He was an exemplary lawyer, so skilled at convincing juries to sentence the accused that I could practically already hear the execution rope creaking. Only the night prior I had had one of the most terrifying nightmares of my life, one that I feared might function as a warning of the exact nature of the outcome of my dear boy's court-martial.

In my dream, I had found myself in a crowd of soldiers, surrounded by the faceless enlisted. All around me, a sort of anticipation seemed to be building, they were all waiting for something exciting to occur, what exactly that something was, I had no idea. The sky was a foreboding grey, in fact the whole world seemed to be comprised of shades of grey. It looked like a place where nothing good could ever happen. A pit of dread began to form in my stomach as we all waited, the masses of soldiers so quiet that I could hear a crow cawing in the distance. Just as I began to grow bored, two guards solemnly marched down the path that divided the great crowd of soldiers in two, a single prisoner following them. His hands were bound and face turned away from me, but I could determine his identity at a mere glance. For in a world where everything appeared to be dull, my dear boy’s red curls were by far the brightest thing for miles. He held his head high as one of his guards read out the orders, Alexander was to be hanged. At the news, I sank to my knees, sobbing and begging for god, for anyone to not let him hang. I could not lose him, I could not lose him! But no one cared. He was marched up a hastily erected scaffold, and asked if he had any last words. If any were spoken, they were carried away by the wind before they managed to reach my ears. Just as the trap door opened and Alexander plummeted through it- I awoke. Tallmadge had shaken me awake. It took the better part of half of an hour for me to calm my mind enough to even attempt to lay down again to sleep. When I closed my eyes, the sight of the man I held dearest plummeting from the scaffold with a nose around his neck was all I saw. Needless to say, sleep did not find me again.

By the time my mind returned to the present, the whole room had filled, and all necessary for the court martial to proceed had arrived. It was time, and I had never felt more terrified in my life. Amid all of the whispering and shuffling of feet, the harsh sound of a gavel falling pierced the air. The general chosen to lead the panel of judges, one rather sickly looking man by the name of Ebenezer Learned, called for order, which was obeyed. His words punctuated by the occasional cough, he read out the charges against Hale and Alexander.

“Brigader General Nathaniel Hale is accused of the attempted murder of President of Congress Henry Laurens. Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton is accused of assisting in the attempted murder of President of Congress Henry Laurens.”

Attempted murder. It sounded so harsh being read out as such. At that moment, it seemed as though the majority of the men assembled finally realized the true gravity of the situation, something that had been hanging over me for the last week: these were charges that carried a serious weight. I could see Hale grow even paler than he typically was in the defendant's seat, and Alexander’s face darkened beside him. They knew as well, they knew that they were both poor and the sons of working men, while my father and all those on his side came from generations of wealth. My dear boy met my eyes through the court room, giving me a look that I could only interpret as meaning that he knew what was about to occur as well. I felt sick to my stomach knowing the severe miscarriage of justice that was about to occur. Neither Alexander nor Hale had even been given the opportunity to represent themselves, an opportunity that would have benefited the former far more than the latter, an opportunity that my father, the true mastermind of all this, had intentionally deprived him of. Much like he had all of my life, it was clear that he was once again attempting to separate me from all those who actually cared about me, and my refusal to be his second had only fueled his rage.

“How do you plead, General Hale?” General Learned asked him.

“Guilty, sir.” Hale swallowed his fear before speaking, voice scarily firm. Guilty. He was taking responsibility. Why was he taking responsibility? His defence ought to argue that my father was guilty of the same sin as him. With my incomplete law education, I could have argued the case. He knew that, my father knew that, and that was the reason why he had pulled strings so that Josiah Chernow, a slight boy of no more than nineteen, was the entire defence. Any remaining fear inside of me was replaced with rage when I realized how utterly planned out this all had been. Hale and Alexander had no chance, and it was one of the worst things I had ever realized.

“How do you plead, Colonel Hamilton?” The question was repeated for my dear boy.

After a pause, Alexander replied, “Not guilty, sir.”

With that, the case began. The first witness called was John Harvie, the poor man appearing far more nervous than he really ought to have been, eyes darting back to where my father sat every few seconds. When asked to state a summary of what occurred the night of the duel, he gave the following account: 

“I arrived at Hale’s headquarters around seven, along with President Laurens and my fellow committee members Folsom and Dana. General Hale hosted us in the parlor where we were joined by Dr. Hale, Colonel Hamilton, Major Tallmadge, and Colonel Laurens. We made polite conversation before Mrs. Hale signaled to us that supper was ready. After eating supper, we returned to the parlor where we spoke some more and enjoyed the typical after supper drinks before the duel broke out.” It was an exceptionally short summary, devoid of almost any meaningful detail, although with the way my father was staring at Harvie from the other side of the court room, I had a nagging feeling that that might be by intention.

“How did General Hale’s demeanor towards President Laurens change over the evening?” Stewart questioned him.

“General Hale appeared polite near the beginning of the evening…however as the night progressed and the alcohol began to flow, he became out near hostile towards both me and President Laurens.” An outright lie on Harvie’s part, Hale had been cordial towards both him and my father the entire night. It had been my father who had been outright hostile.

“What seemed to be the catalyst for the duel?”

“President Laurens made an offhand remark, really it was closer to a jest, about a member of Hale’s family, and Hale challenged him to a duel on the spot.” Calling Mrs. Hale a "common tavern whore” was most certainly not a mere jest!

“Were the proper rules of the dueling code followed?” Stewart almost prompted him. Whether or not the dueling code was followed ought not to have mattered, not when both challengers had readily agreed to the duel and were eager to progress.

“No. The challenge was given and less than five minutes later guns had been drawn. Colonel Hamilton and I never even had a chance to attempt to diffuse the situation.”

Ending his questioning, Stewart took his seat, stealing a glance over at my father when he thought no one would notice. However, I most certainly noticed the smug grin both of them wore on their faces. While Chernow was granted an opportunity to question Harvie, he asked nothing of note, merely further questions aimed at seeing if the dueling code had been followed properly, a line of questioning that made Hale look more like a lowlife and hot-tempered scoundrel than anything else.

My father was called to the stand next. He made quite the show of limping and stopping every few feet to wince in pain as he walked over. I had seen better acting from Turtle when she desired a second bowl of food. Once again, Stewert asked him to recount the occurrences leading up to the duel. This account demonized Hale, made Alexander seem like a bastard with no decorum, involved me not being present for the majority of the evening, and had Hannah outright seducing him halfway through dinner. I wished to proclaim how the entire thing was an outlandish lie, for some terrible reason, when I looked out upon the sea of faces in the court room, I saw the majority of them nodding alone. They believed him.

“Presdient Laurens, how did General Hale conduct himself throughout the duel?”

“Well,” My father began, "General Hale, I hope you do not mind my referring to him as such, there are simply so many Hales in the camp, the family multiplies like damn rabbits.” At that he let out a laugh, an awkward echo of it reverberating through the audience. They seemed nearly as uncomfortable as I felt. From his place, I could see Hale glaring at my father, the bastard most assuredly deserving it. “He acted hastily and rudely. You see, the challenge was sprung upon me so suddenly. I had simply made an offhanded remark, and he stormed towards me, demanding that I see him outside, listing off several false claims of what I had said as ‘evidence’ that his accusation was valid. Now, my gout had been acting up that day, however I am no coward-in fact I participated in several duels when I was a younger man, so with some difficulty, I rose from my chair, bade Harvie to be my second, and headed outside.

“Dr. Hale followed us out there, bringing a pair of firearms that General Hale so conveniently owned. In my opinion, something that I am sure Harvie shall agree with, this was not his first time participating in a duel, that was clear. Colonel Hamilton, General Hale had made him his second, and Harvie conversed for a mere moment, before General Hale and I met. ‘Do you still wish to go through with this?’ I asked him. ‘I relish the opportunity to.” He replied. With that said, we were handed our pistols, weighed them to ensure that they were both loaded, then walked ten paces away from each other as the seconds counted, and upon reaching ten, turned back around towards each other and fired.

“I aimed my gun into the sky as I did not wish to in any way injure my opponent, however general Hale appeared not to have shared the same sentiment since, as I am sure you are all aware, he aimed directly at me, hitting me in the side. Thank god I was not mortally wounded, for if it had not been dark and our duel lit by the light of a single lantern, I have no doubt in my mind that I would not be alive to provide testimony today. Right before we fired, General Hale had this terrible look in his eyes, if looks could kill, that one most certainly would have. I can not recall much after my wounding, only that I was rushed to the house I am staying at and was attended to by Dr. Hale.”

Lies, all of it lies! He had not made an off hand jest, he had insulted the entire Hale family and Hannah’s honor. Knowing my father, he most assuredly aimed towards Hale, and with the accuracy of dueling pistols, it was nothing more than blind luck that the bullet found him at all. Besides, with what I had heard of Hale’s life before the war, he did not seem to belong to the social class that solved their problems with duels, if anything he had the advantage on my father in wrestling or another form for hand to hand fighting, but nothing more. He also neglected to mention the jabs at the Hale family he had been dropping all throughout the evening. Had I been in Hale’s shoes, I would have demanded a second round in order to try and shoot him again.

Allowing a moment for my father's lies to sink in, Stewart asked him: “What was Colonel Hamilton’s conduct like throughout the duel.”

Before my father could even open his mouth, I already braced for the atrocious things he was to say about the man I held dearest. “Hamilton…Hamilton, yes, Colonel Hamilton. Well, Hale asked Hamilton to be his second and the man agreed. As I am sure you can understand, I was not paying very much attention to Hamilton during the whole affair, however it seemed as though he was actually bothering to attempt to conduct himself properly throughout the whole affair." 

When his statement ended, I let out a small sigh of relief. Despite how much he criticized Hale, my father had not had the foresight to damn Alexander as well. I could only pray that Chernow would have the prudence to use this to my dear boy’s advantage. Speaking of Chernow, he seemed to be deep in thought throughout the whole of my father's testimony, and when Stewart finished with his questioning, he approached the witness stand.

“You mentioned your participation in several prior duels,” Chernow said slowly, as if he was putting the pieces together as he spoke, “President Laurens, would you consider this to have given you experience about equal to Hale’s? And if so, that would mean that he had no advantage over you on the dueling grounds, something that you claimed.”

“Why Chernow, you seem to have misunderstood.” My father’s words cut like a knife, the same mask I had witnessed slip a thousand times doing it once again. He knew that the young lawyer had picked up on one of his lies. “The majority of the duels of my youth had been settled before they occurred, and even when I did participate, any skills I might have gained from doing such are at least three decades old. On the other hand, General Hale appeared to possess the skills of a man who had shot at others numerous times, and quite frequently I might add. In no other case could he have shot me at such a distance under the cover of darkness.” Drat. The one hole in my father’s logic that might have been exploited once again shut.

“Both you and Mr. Harvie have mentioned a night of spirits, in your opinion would this have affected General Hale’s state of mind, perhaps rendering him unable to fully articulate that your jests were mere jests and not insults?”

“What does drink do if not pull off any masks a man might wear?” My father countered. He did not know just how correct that statement was, especially upon applying it to himself. Whenever any liquor touched his lips, all facades were removed and he turned into the monster I knew all too well.

Cowed, Chernow asked no further questions. After my father, Stewart called several more witnesses, all men who praised my father’s character and conduct and criticized Hale’s. I could not help but wonder how much they were paid to give such testimony. Once all of the prosecution’s witnesses had been called, Chernow was free to call his own, and to my surprise, the first man he called up was Tallmadge. As he rose from his position next to me, I could not help but to notice that my friend's hands were shaking. Was it out of fear of being called upon the stand or of what might await Hale?

“Major Tallmadge, how did you first meet General Hale?” Chernow questioned.

“I first met General Hale in 1774. That year, I had just been appointed to lead Cornerstone of Faith Church of Albany, my predecessor had clearly not been in possession of the same morals as I, and had taken to drinking, a vice that led him to taking out lines of credit in the church’s name at various establishments across the city. The Hudson Tavern, run by General Hale, Dr. Hale, and Mrs. Hale, was one of those establishments. Upon my arrival to settle the debt, I explained the situation to General Hale, who only allowed me to pay half of the owed amount, insisting that I keep the rest for the church, and invited me to supper. He very kindly provided me with several meals and even assistance cleaning out my church when he had time to spare. Eventually, due to the lack of proper housing provided for myself in that position, I took up rooming at General Hale’s family tavern for a duration of time. During that time he became a friend, and we remained close until I departed Albany.” While I did not doubt Tallmadge’s account of his and Hale’s meeting, the romance I knew them to have been embroiled in at that time had no mention in his account. No need to create further trouble. When I was called to the stand, I had no intention of mentioning anything regarding Alexander and I’s relationship.

“And throughout this time in Albany, along with your time with him in the army, what impression have you gained of the man?” Followed up Chernow, this question the most thoughtfully worded of his last dozen.

“The impression I have gained of General Hale is that he is an exemplary patriot and extremely devoted to his country, along with being willing to sacrifice all he can in an effort to help the enlisted men of this army fight another day. Just this winter, when the cabins of part of the 3rd New York collapsed in a blizzard, General Hale happily invited the men to take refuge in his headquarters. As you can imagine, it was quite cramped, a minimum of four men to a room if my memory serves correct. Though he easily could have reserved an entire room for himself, General Hale did not, instead suffering through the same conditions as the rest of us. In fact, the two of us ended up sharing a bed due to the lack of space. Throughout the whole of the war, I have known him to be nothing but a steadfast patriot devoted to the cause, and willing to put personal grudges aside in order to assure that the army makes it through the winter as best we can. I can not say that I know a better man.”

“And what of Colonel Hamilton?” Chernow prompted him.

“Colonel Hamilton, well the man is something. I must confess that despite us sharing quarters, he is so devoted to his work on Washington’s staff that I had not had much of a chance to interact with the man. However, what I do know of him is that he is exceptionally well read, almost always with a book in hand, and refrains from participating in the card games that the enlisted men seemed to favor. As I am sure many have, I have heard Colonel Hamilton speak in length on the future campaigns we ought to reorganize and how exactly, along with how our country should proceed when this war is over, especially regarding the financial aspect of it, a topic on which he has offered numerous insights.”

With Chernow done with Tallmadge, Stewart began once again. “Major Tallmadge, what is your opinion on duels?”

“I believe dueling to be foremost among all the vices and false pursuits to which the military life is liable.” The Major stated, clearly having been expected to be asked something regarding Hale or Alexander, or perhaps even his account of the duel.

“The tavern you credit General Hale as running was one located in a section of Albany notorious for its criminal activity.” Stewart’s eyes gleamed with something I could only attribute as evil as he informed Tallmadge.

“Some people are simply born into less fortunate circumstances than others. However, even in these circumstances, General Hale was generous with both his time and money, and I never saw him commit anything immoral or criminal. He attended church regularly and held God in high reverence.” Tallmadge shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he spoke, and he began to fiddle with something out of sight. He was lying, we both knew it. Hale often bragged of his smuggling efforts before the war began, and the man himself had admitted to me that he only attended church to, and I quote, “observe Ben’s rather nice ass for two hours straight.” Honestly, I was rather impressed that Tallmadge was capable of making Hale seem like a semi decent person.

With a nod, Stewart seemed to take this defeat, and instead tried another tactic. “Are you aware, Major, of the rumors regarding General Hale’s…how ought I to put this, rather immoral interactions with the same sex?”

At that Tallmadge flushed quite the shade of red and immediately sputtered out: “Oh no, goodness no. He has been nothing but a proper gentleman. No improper advances of any kind, none I say!” Somehow, this actually convinced the opposing council. Satisfied, Stewart dismissed Tallmadge, and he returned to his place next to me looking thoroughly shaken. I could not blame him. For, he had just been asked, under oath no less, if he was guilty of the one sin that he and I both partook in. As much as I wished I could assure him that all would work out in the end, I could not, since I had just been called to take the stand.

After swearing on a bible not to lie, I took my place upon the witness stand. Being seated in the one place that all the eyes in the room were directed was enough to make my palms sweat. But oddly enough, I felt no fear, not even when my father’s piercing gaze fell upon me. Any semblance of fear had been replaced by a righteous anger. How dare my father and his cronies attempt to rig the court against Hale and Alexander. How dare they lie so blatantly on the stand. How dare they threaten Tallmadge by dangling knowledge of Hale’s less than Chrsitan tendencies in front of the assembly of officers.

My first question was regarding what I thought of Hale, a question that I answered in much the same manner as Tallmadge, however this time without the need to mask a relationship through technically true statements. I described him as a true patriot who, although in possession of a temper, was a good man who thoroughly cared about the men serving under him, using instead an anecdote about Hale advocating for better rations for the enlisted men, even going all the way to Washington to plead his case. Like Tallmadge before me, I conveniently forgot the man’s extensive criminal record.

“Colonel Laurens,” Chernow asked me next, “how did you first meet him, and what is your overall impression of Colonel Hamilton?”

“We met when I was appointed as an aide de camp to General Washington. Colonel Hamilton was the man to initially introduce me to the exact specifics of my duties and helped acquaint me with life in camp as a whole. During the last campaign, we ended up sharing a tent for some portions, along with numerous different sleeping configurations here in Valley Forge. For the whole of this time I have known Colonel Hamilton to be nothing but devoted to the great cause of independence, almost to a fault at times, as I am sure my fellow aides can attest, we have had to physically drag him away from his works at times. All men do have their faults.” I shrugged. “Through the forces of proximity and shared workloads, Colonel Hamilton and I have become quite close, and I have seen first hand just how intelligent and stubborn he truly is. In fact, despite his devotion to his work, when I fell ill this winter he always made time to sit by my sick bed and discuss classical literature with me.”

Hopefully, in the eyes of both the panel of judges and all present, this synopsis of Alexander and I’s "friendship", read as nothing more than such. I had not mentioned how he held me as I cried from nightmares, nor how he had run his fingers through my hair after I had cut one of my arteries and nearly bled to death, not even hinting at how he would pepper my face with kisses and do almost anything to see me smile. I loved him, I loved him above everything else in this life, and I would happily be damned to hell for eternity if it meant that I would get even a year with someone so lovely. If even a fraction of my admiration for my dear boy had come across in my answer, then the court would think that I believed him to be the best man in the world.

“Do you believe that Colonel Hamilton is the sort of man who would hunger for the violence that comes with a duel?”

Now this question caught me slightly off guard, but I still answered it as best I could. “For the thrill of the duel? Nay. While it is well known throughout camp that Colonel Hamilton wishes for a command come next campaign season, I do not believe that he is the sort of man who would desire to be involved in a duel.”

“Now,” Chernow continued, creating the first coherent line of questioning I had heard from him all court martial. I would have bet money that this was the first case he had ever defended. “Based on the testimony of Mr. Harvie and President Laurens, do you believe the actions they attributed to both General Hale and Colonel Hamilton to be in the nature of the men?”

“No, no I do not.” I answered, knowing perfectly well what was to follow.

“Then, Colonel Laurens, would you please give the court your account of the event leading up to the duel?”

“After supper ended, Dana and Folsom departed, and the entirety of the Hales, Major Tallmadge, Colonel Hamilton, my father, Harive, and I moved to the parlor, where drinks were served. Prior to supper, my father and Harive had been quite enthusiastically speaking about their plantations and the enslaved workers that fuel those plantations, a topic of conversation which served only to divide the group, as, in my opinion, the talk only served to make them seem superior to the others in the room. However, that conversation was not resumed. Instead, we all began to speak of our occupations before the war, and eventually my father raised the question of why he had never heard of the Hale family. General Hale informed him that they had run a tavern before the war began, a fact that I am sure you are all aware of. Seeing as that both he and my father were rather intoxicated by that point, Harvie followed up General Hale’s statement by saying something along the lines of how the whole Hale family was only invested in the war as otherwise they would be in the poor house. Despite an objection from Dr. Hale, my father only added on, laughing, and I believe I quote: ‘the moment that we win this war, then people like you will go back to where you belong: serving my people.’ This remark was followed by a comment about how Mrs. Hale must be a woman of loose morals as she was married to a tavern keeper. I could not tell if my father thought that Mrs. Hale was General Hale’s wife, or considered Dr. Hale a tavern keeper.

“Quite rightfully so, Dr. Hale was outraged over this comment about his wife. However, no doubt in part due to the drink, my father merely doubled down, this time outright calling Mrs. Hale a whore and in addition insulting the whole family further than he already had. Upon hearing this, General Hale challenged him to a duel, a challenge that my father happily accepted. It was agreed that the duel would occur immediately, and Colonel Hamilton agreed to be General Hale’s second. At first, my father asked me to be his second, however I declined as I did not wish to be involved in such an affair, and he instead enlisted Harvie to help him. My father, Dr. Hale, Colonel Hamilton, Mr. Harvie, and General Hale all ventured outside the moment that they had procured firearms. Not quite knowing what to do, Mrs. Hale, Major Tallmadge, and I all waited in the parlor, and after a moment, two gunshots rang out, signaling that the duel had occured.” Having recounted the events as best I could, I simply waited for Chernow’s next question.

“In your opinion, who was the aggressor of the whole affair?”

“It was most assuredly my father, for General Hale was merely defending his family’s honor.”

Stewart attempted to cross examine me and poke holes in my story, however I held my own against him, not allowing any cracks in my story before being dismissed. Following me, Hannah and Dr. Hale were both also called to the stand, with Hannah giving an account of the lead up to the duel that was nearly identical to mine and Dr. Hale mainly focusing on the extent of my father’s injuries. Only after all of that had occurred, did the two defendants take the stand.

Hale was first. Dressed in his formal uniform, he still looked every part the general, however a week confined to a cell had clearly taken a toll, and he appeared rather unwell, almost as if he were to faint again. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Tallmadge scrutinizing his beloved’s face, probably having the same thoughts I was.

Chernow began examining Hale with a rather simple question: “General Hale, whose account of the events leading up to the duel do you believe to be most accurate?”

“I believe that it would have to be Laurens’s- the Colonel, not the president of congress, and also Mrs. Hale’s as well.” He answered promptly. “If I were to give you a complete account of the duel, I would not express the events leading up to it any differently."

“In that case, would you describe what occurred when you exited your Headquarters?”

“Of course. We headed over towards the side of my headquarters, a decently empty place that does not have any cabins or other structures directly in the line of fire, so if a bullet was to go astray, no innocent parties would be harmed. My brother was carrying a lantern, which he placed in the middle of the dueling ground in order to afford us light. There was also a full moon, or at least something quite close to one, so I could see President Laurens quite clearly and he could see me as well. Colonel Hamilton and Harvie both stepped aside to speak for a moment, however there was no declaration produced from the affair and thus the duel commenced. Since my brother had agreed to function as the present doctor, he turned his back to us, then Harvie and Hamilton both moved off to the side as well. President Laurens and I stood back to back, before Harvie counted to ten aloud while we walked away from each other. Upon reaching ten, I turned around and fired my pistol, and evidently President Laurens did the same.” Hale’s account was rather brief but seemed truthful, I hoped the court thought so as well.

“Was it your intent to kill President Laurens?” Chernow gambled with the question, a gamble that he was hopefully only making because he had been able to meet with Hale before the court martial, however even that could not be assured with how much my father had meddled in the day’s events.

“My intent was to preserve my family’s honor by going through with the duel.” Hale avoided the question. “I aimed my gun in his general direction as one does during a duel. Pistols are not the most accurate weapons, so it is pure chance that my bullet hit him. If the duel were to occur another hundred times under the same conditions, I do not believe that I would injure him again.”

“Did President Laurens aim to kill you?”

“I can not know the man’s true intentions, however what I am sure of is the fact that I heard a bullet going past me, maybe only a few feet to my right at most. He certainly did not aim for the sky as he claimed, for if I recall correctly, a tree only a meter to my right sustained an injury, not the eves of my headquarters.” A few suppressed chuckles broke out throughout the courtroom at Hale’s final remark.

Processing the remark, Chernow paused for a moment before posing one final question: “Did Colonel Hamilton become your second of his own free will?”

“No.” It was a lie, Hale knew that, Alexander knew that, and perhaps even Chernow knew that. This was their grand plan, to attempt to exonerate my dear boy of any wrong doing at the cost of any chance of Hale’s innocence. It was the exact sort of plan that only Alexander and Hale could have come up during a week of incarceration. In that moment I realized the abysmal truth: they had both realized that either one of them was going to be declared innocent, or both of them would be found guilty, and Hale had decided to take the fall, sparing Alexander. The army was losing a general so Washington’s right hand man might fight another day. But that was not all, Hale continued: “As I was his commanding officer, he had no choice but to accept or face the consequences of denying his superior. Colonel Hamilton's participation in the duel was not of his own free will, he was merely acting on my order.”

Even Stewart seemed surprised by this admission, for it had shook the whole of the assembled audience. I could scarcely believe what was happening. Next to me, Tallmadge appeared to be whispering “Oh god no,” over and over. My father appeared shaken by the revelation, however neither he nor Harive had mentioned anything to the contrary regarding the exact events of Alexander becoming Hale’s second, and combined with my thoughts on how my dear boy did not desire to be involved in a duel, Alexander’s remaining in the army was almost entirely ensured. As much as I wished to celebrate, much like all the others present that fateful night, who also knew the truth, I knew that it had come at the expense of Hale’s military career, a fact that left me deeply saddened. For tales of Hale’s yet to be properly harnessed tactical skill abounded, and all the men who had served under him trusted him with their lives.

There was little to no cross examination from Stewart, and any questions he did ask simply reaffirmed what Hale had already said. Before long my dear boy was called up as the final witness of the case. Seeing Alexander was almost uncanny. He appeared perfectly at ease in the makeshift military court, something that I ought to have expected since he had practiced law before the war, and one might have even gone as far as to say that he was confident. It was obvious that he knew he was not to be seriously punished for his involvement in the duel.

The majority of his questioning involved recounting the evening’s events, along with a lengthy monologue in which he condemned my father as the aggravator of the duel who simply got what he had coming. During this, I could not help but steal a glance over at my father; he looked furious, as if he would throttle Alexander if not for the current audience. I had never seen the man so furious at someone who was not his own blood or property. Perhaps his rage was increased by the fact that he knew his carefully engineered trap had failed to catch the one man he knew I held close. Despite all his meddling, I ought to still have Alexander by my side when all was said and done, or at least I prayed I would. Chernow’s questing was a rather exhaustive one, and very clearly just an excuse for Alexander to speak his mind, meaning that when Stewart began his examination, he had very little related to the actual duel to work with.

“Colonel Hamilton, if you consider dueling to be abhorrent and know that his excellency, General Washington, shares the same opinion, why did you not disobey General Hale since it is clear that general Washington would have overridden his orders and freed you from any consequence?” Stewart’s question was a good one, but I knew my dear boy was far too clever to be tricked by such a proposal, and his answer proved me correct.

“I did not wish to show disobedience in front of the president of congress, as I feared that no matter General Washington’s disapproval of the order given, disobeying a direct order in front of President Laurens would still force him to discipline me.”

All further questions were shot down in a similar way, and before I even knew it, the panel of judges had retreated into a separate room to determine their verdict. Despite my tentative knowledge that my dear boy would not be discharged, I still feared greatly for the possibility that he might not be considered an innocent man and charged with the crime. While others around me spoke of the events, I merely stayed silent, only occasionally locking eyes with Alexander from across the room and giving him a small smile when I did. He looked slightly terrified but also as confident as he had on the stand. Oh god how I wished I could be with him! As the anticipation of the verdict grew, Tallmadge appeared to only grow more miserable next to me. He had been staring at the same spot on the floor for a good quarter of an hour when I finally spoke to him.

“They ought to be out soon.” I attempted to reassure him. “There is no reason to drag this whole affair out any longer than they must.”

He did not respond, only stared even harder at the patch of floor. Thus, lowering my voice, I added: “Hale shall be fine. He is highly regarded as a general, at worst they will demote him.”

Although Tallmadge appeared as though he wished to say something back to me, he did not get a chance, as that was the moment that the panel of judges reentered the room. At the sound of the gavel falling and the call for silence, both of our heads snapped up, eyes darting between our respective partners and the head judge as the man cleared his throat and began to speak.

“After thorough deliberation,” He began, his words once again punctuated by the occasional cough and voice ungodly raspy, “My fellow judges and I have determined our verdict.” Not a soul moved and I held my breath as he paused to cough once again. “On the charge of attempted murder, Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton is found not guilty. On the charge of attempted murder, Brigadier General Nathaniel Hale is found guilty.”

The room erupted in chaos, with protests over Hale’s conviction and relieved shouts of praise to god for Alexander’s lack of one mixing. I myself felt relief wash over me. My dear boy was alright, I would not lose him. My father’s efforts had failed. In that department, at least, everything was going to be alright. Tomorrow morning, I would wake up holding him, the whole affair past. I wished to pull him into my arms and kiss him when the news was read out. He was safe, he was safe! But only a seat beside me, quite the different scene was playing out. Tallmadge’s face fell the moment Hale’s conviction was read out. Only a few chairs from him, Hannah let out a gasp and Dr. Hale placed his arm around his wife’s shoulders. Their world was just turned upside down, while mine was finally returning to normal. Oh how cruel fate could be.

Another call for order was required to silence all present, and after some semblance of peace returned, General Learned read out the remainder of the panel’s decision. “For his crimes, which not only led to the injury of President Laruens, but also brought shame to the whole of the Continental Army, Brigadier General Nathaniel Hale is to be dishonorably discharged from his position effective immediately on the authority of his excellency, General George Washington.”

Dishonorably discharged. I fumed at the verdict. The punishment reeked of my father's muddling. Dueling was not the sort of thing that would get a prominent Brigadier General discharged, especially after the other player in the duel had been almost unanimously decreed the aggressor of the duel. How many threats had been given to the members of the committee? How many pockets were now just a bit heavier with that verdict secure? How many men proved to be a hundred times more of a dishonor to the cause of independence in that moment than Hale could ever be? Not a soul had told the truth in the courtroom that day, yet the more outrageous narrative had still won, a narrative that was fueled by blood money and ego. Justice had not been delivered, nothing even resembling it had been accomplished that day. All that had been proven was that men were inherently corrupt figures.

Alexander was released immediately, the second that he was allowed to go free, he made a beeline for me. The moment that we escaped Greene’s headquarters, I gathered him up in my arms and held him as close as I could. He was here, and I would not lose him. Likewise, my dear boy gripped me as tightly as he could. In the privacy of the thin alley between Greene’s headquarters and stables, I pressed the first real kiss I had given him in ages to his lips. Relishing in his new found freedom, Alexander returned it nearly as fervently as he could. He was safe, he loved me, and he would never be torn from me again. That was enough. Despite the throughout miscarriage of justice that had occurred that day, I still had my dear boy back, and in that moment, that was all that mattered. For pamphlets were sure to be written, and speeches given, and opinions expressed, all showing outrage at how Hale had been treated, some perhaps even hinting that my father had a heavier hand in the outcome of the court-martial than was initially obvious.

That very night Hale was forced out of camp. The very men of the 3rd New York who he had so generously allowed to take shelter in his headquarters watched with loaded rifles as he gathered up his relatively few belongings, shoving them in his saddlebags and satchel. Hale departed as night began to fall, wearing the remnants of his military uniform, all insignia and indications of rank removed. Alexander and I gathered with the remaining members of the Hale family on the porch of Hale’s former headquarters as he mounted his horse, giving us a half hearted wave before pulling on his horse’s reins and slowly plodding down the road that led out of camp. In sporadic patches along said road, the men who had so long and dutifully served under him gathered, saluting their former commanding officer. As the fading sun cast its final purple rays over Valley Forge, I saw in the faces of the masses the truth: they knew this was not justice, and would not forget the grave mishandling of the case of General Hale.

“This is a mistake.” My dear boy whispered to me when Hale’s silhouette finally disappeared over the horizon. “If not the army, then your father shall surely grow to regret it.”

Notes:

Well, if you've made it this far... congratulations! This is the second-to-last chapter of John Lauren's POV! The last one's just gonna be a plotless epilogue, so I'm probably gonna post that either today or tomorrow, it's almost finished.

I'm so glad to know that people are enjoying this fic! If you have any feedback, I'd love to know if I've made any atrocious grammatical errors XD

Also, it has come to my attention that this is officially the longest chapter yet at 7,826 words! I wrote all of this in under 24 hours and should probably sleep, but we've at last beaten part one of the Christmas special in May (Espy) by a whole 358 words.

Sources!:

-Ebenezer Learned: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ebenezer_Learned

-Dueling in Early America: https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/duel-history-dueling-america/

-More on dueling in early America, plus a quote from Tallmadge ("all the vices and false pursuits to which the military life is liable.") : https://allthingsliberty.com/2014/08/duels-of-honor/

-List of Brigadier Generals during the American Revolution: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_military_leaders_in_the_American_Revolutionary_War#United_States

Chapter 40: Énouement

Summary:

Énouement
ay-noo-mahn
Noun-French
The bittersweet feeling of arriving in the future and finally knowing how things turned out, but not being able to share that knowledge with your past self

The army’s departure from Valley Forge was scheduled for the nineteenth of June. We were to pursue the British forces who had recently abandoned Philadelphia. Needless to say, excitement buzzed throughout the camp at the idea of our first true fight in nearly six months. Winter had long thawed into spring, and spring was beginning to slip into summer, transforming Valley Forge from a desolate plane of snow and ice to a place where I could almost imagine the fertile farmland and shaded oaks that must have covered the area before the army had invaded. Birds called to each other in the trees on the edge of camp, unburdened by the sorts of fears that still lingered under the surface, for despite the beautiful weather and hope brought by the turn of season, every man in camp’s mind still held the omnipresent wonder if this would be the last time they would march out of camp. Looking up at the seemingly endless sky, the morbid question of how the sky would look when I breathed my last crossed my mind, but instead of dwelling on it, I attempted to clear it from my mind.

In the days leading up to our departure, the entirety of camp had been turned into a chaotic frenzy of packing and attempts at organization. Alexander had spent the majority of the last week holed up in the meeting room with Washington and several other generals, taking notes and giving suggestions on just how the next campaign was to be plotted out, a campaign that he was still not to have a military command in. This was a fact that I had heard hours worth of laments over. Due to this, I had grown quite skilled at blocking out my dear boy as we sat side by side down at the Schuylkill river, Alexander ranting about his lack of a command while I sketched the turtles and birds, turtles and birds that I might never see again. While the man I loved was involved in endless discussions, I spent my time taking messages from the Baron’s headquarters to the various generals, most of which regarded specific troop marching drills that needed to be carried out for each company.

The night before we would be leaving Valley Forge forever, Alexander and I did not spend our time drinking in the office with our fellow friends, instead we had the wonderful experience of both attempting to pack our belongings up in the cramped garret of Washington’s headquarters. After Hale had been so unjustly discharged, Gates had been forcibly returned to camp, taking over Hale’s former headquarters and making us move our sleeping arrangements one last time. As I attempted to figure out how on earth I would transport Turtle on the march, Alexander was digging though his small library, searching for a volume to read for the foreseeable future. We were both to carry only whatever would fit in our saddle bags on the march, the rest of our things to be back with the baggage train.

I folded two of my clean shirts as tightly as I could, tucking them into one saddlebag, followed by my small collection of pencils and charcoal, all wrapped up in one of Alexander’s handkerchiefs. Along with the remainder of my clothes, I also slipped the thinnest of my sketchbooks in, however not before reviewing a winter’s worth of sketches. The cream colored pages were decorated by all sorts of images, everything from Alexander laboring over his work, to drawings of friends who we were to never see again. If I were the sort of man to dwell on the past and its injustices, then the sketchbook would be the artistic record of a winter of joy and tragedy, the two of them linked together by some sick bond. But I was not, and no matter how many people were immortalized in quick sketches, people who I was likely to never cross paths with again in my life, I would keep moving forward, hopefully with the man I loved with the whole of my heart by my side.

“Lookign forward to the ride, Jack?” My dear boy offhandedly remarked following another dozen minutes or so of silent packing.

“So long as you manage to not injure your ankle falling off a horse on the way to camp again.” I jested.

“That was an isolated occurrence!” Alexander blushed, embarrassed. 

I could not help but to laugh, pulling him into a kiss, smiling into his lips. When we pulled apart, my dear boy was wearing a mischievous grin, arms looped around my neck as a sly look overtook his features. Within a moment, he had backed me onto our cot, forcing me to sit and slipping onto my lap. Cupping his face with one hand, I captured his lips, not bothering to care about how the discarded books were digging their sharp covers into my lower back. He tugged on my caveat, pulling me as close as possible. We were pressed together in a more sensual way than I had ever been pressed against someone else in my life. God, it felt amazing. At some point I shifted from kissing my dear boy on the lips to kissing every inch of his face I could reach; around the same time he began to run his hands through my hair, tugging gently as he did so, an action that I never realized I craved so much.

With only the stars visible through the garret window as our witnesses, I went far enough with Alexander to comfortably refer to him as my lover. He was gentle, far more tender and caring than Francis had ever been, whispering promises in between kisses. There were no comments on the scars that crisscrossed my lower arms, nor on the fact that if he shifted in just the right way, I swore I could see his ribs. In the end, we laid together, covered by but a thin blanket, our livelihoods preserved only by the fact that Alexander had had the foresight to lock the door and I had shoved a handkerchief in my mouth to muffle my moans. Tracing light patterns that somewhere resembled constellations between the spattering of freckles on my dear boy’s chest, a light breeze from outside making the discarded papers flutter around the room.

“This place looks nearly as terrible as your tent when we first met.” I chuckled, letting Alexander tip my chin up for another kiss.

“Well Jacky, you do complete me, and perhaps that completion also helps preserve the state of my quarters.” He murmured right before our lips met.

More whispers were exchanged, everything ranging from jests to vague promises regarding everything he wished to do with me once the war was finally over. Eventually, my dear boy fell asleep, snoring lightly as I wrapped one of his curls around my finger, simply watching as his naked chest rose and fell. I could not bear to lose him, and perhaps a part of me was secretly glad that Washington had once again refrained from granting him a field command. But no matter what threats the danger of battle posed, it could not erase the fact that we faced endless peril from our own side. Countless men would have happily turned us in to advance their own careers, but tonight at least, we were safe.

Seeing that we were both in possession of rather high ranks, both Alexander and I were to be riding along with the rest of our fellow aides on the march, which was how we found ourselves standing by the side of Washington's headquarters’s stable with Meade, Tilghman, Reed, and Fitzgerald, saddling our horses and preparing for the day’s journey. In order to transport my cat, I ended up fastening a small basket, with the help of Meade, that hung off the side of my saddle, allowing Turtle to curl up and bask in the day’s rapidly rising sun. By the time we began the ride, falling into line a few meters behind General Washington, who was carrying on a conversation with Lord Stirling, both Alexander and I were covered in hastily bandaged scratches from forcing Turtle into the basket, which I had to cover with a piece of cloth to keep my ornery feline from escaping.

Through the chaos of rapidly aligning troops, I caught a glimpse of Tallmadge atop a chestnut mare, leading his company of dragoons. To put it bluntly, he had not taken Hale’s banishment from the army well, having become withdrawn from b oth Alexander and I and instead preferring to devote himself to shaping the  2nd Continental Light Dragoons into one of the finest units in the whole army. This training was sure to be put to good use, especially with the newly forged French alliance, an alliance that was sure to help us achieve a swift victory. Having caught his eyes, I gave Tallmadge a small wave, and for the first time in several weeks, he approached me, bringing his horse up beside me.

“Looking forward to the thrill of battle, Major?” I asked him.

“Anything shall be better than spending one more second in winter camp.” He insisted, laughing that: “If a man wishes to go mad, I shall certainly now have a place to recommend him!”

I joined in, simply happy that we were speaking for the first time in what felt like ages. We discussed the transfer of one Benedict Arnold, a man who had, like Hale, gained quite the reputation at the battle of Saratoga, to oversee the recently evacuated Philadelphia. It came about that we both agreed that, despite any physical limitations, Arnold would be far more effective in the field, especially concerning the battle that was sure to be coming. During this conversation, I could not help but to notice the barely concealed admiration Tallmadge held for Arnold, and when the man himself passed by, the reason for this admiration showed itself. Benedict Arnold was a rather handsome man, tall and rather stocky with well formed features and a strong brow. Alexander, who had reappeared from a short absence, and I teased him mercilessly about this.

After so many gloomy months spent holed up in winter quarters, it felt magnificent to be riding on a sunny summer’s day, laughing with both my close friend and lover, every foot of road traversed a foot closer to the glory of battle. Once again, we would defend the great American experiment on bayonet point, every man’s death merely a glorious sacrifice for the great and noble cause of liberty. And in this conflict for indepence, it would be us soldiers and our muskets left to determine who the rights Thomas Jefferson wrote so much about two years prior actually applied to. No matter how much my father and his likeminded slaveholding peers wished to pretend that they in congress were the power shaping America’s future, they were not. For the first time in history, every man had a chance to determine where the course of history would lead, what route our new country was to go down, what vices we were to succumb to, and which we were to rebuke. No class of men had ever been given this sort of privilege before, and if we did not succeed, then none might ever again. But never mind that, the future still shone brighter than it ever had before. Our soldiers had been trained by a former member of one of the greatest militaries Europe had ever known, over the dreary months spent at Valley Forge, they had been shaped into a formidable fighting force capable of challenging the British. And during that time, suffering had bonded the troops together, creating bonds that men who had spent the winter in pampered comfort in Philadelphia would never possess.

With the apparently endless blue sky stretching out above us, t he slow plodding of the horses’s hooves and men’s footsteps melded together as I gazed out upon the grassy fields and wild forests as I rode along the quaint country road, two men who I trusted with my life by my side. I was not the same man who had entered Warwick nearly a year ago, and I would never be again. My dear boy’s auburn hair shone under the golden sunlight, and I could not help myself but to imagine the future I would spend with him, a future that I was more than willing to fight for.

Notes:

And here we have it: the end of John's point of view, over 100,000 words and a hell of a lot darker than I had originally planned!

I'm going to be editing and slightly rewriting along with condensing the first section of this story (Ben's POV), so in order to do so, I'm taking a week break for my own sanity. Don't worry, you'll get to see the next segment really soon. (I'll give you a hint at the narrator: he's a bastard orphan, son of a whore)

Sources!:

-Benedict Arnold: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benedict_Arnold#Marriages_and_children

-Ben's unit (I still haven't memorized it XD): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benjamin_Tallmadge#American_Revolutionary_War

-Valley Forge: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Valley_Forge#French_alliance

Also, one final note: I'm not sure if I've already said this, but everyone's appearances are based on history, except for when I just steal TURN characters. I regret nothing.

Chapter 41: Desiderium

Summary:

desiderium
desəˈdirēəm
Noun
an ardent desire or longing

I paced back and forth in the dimly lit hallway of Washington’s headquarters, stopping every few seconds to glance out the front window. Still no rider. Drat. Wayne’s forces had been sent to Stoney Point for a night ambush a few hours prior, and no news of the success of their attack had reached us. Meade, McHenry, Tilghman, Harrison, all of my fellow aides had long retired to their beds, even the General himself had left for sleep. But I could not, someone had to intercept the rider. With still no incoming messengers visible through the window, I took a seat in the well worn chair I occupied during our endless hours of work, picking up a quill and writing the beginnings of a letter to Jack. He was not with me in New York, no matter how much I wished he was, having been called down to South Carolina by his fellow statesmen in hopes of establishing a regiment of enslaved men, however, knowing my Jack, they would not remain in that condition of servitude for long. Despite my lengthy letters to him, he had written me back but once. It was quite annoying, even though I knew the man to be objectively terrible at keeping up with his correspondence, I would have hoped that he might have bothered to prioritize me above all else.

Tallmadge had proved to be no better company, having become thoroughly occupied with organizing his spy ring, which consisted primarily of his childhood friends, since we had arrived in New York. Due to Washington’s trust in me, I had been positioned as one of the only officers aware of this ring’s existence, a fact that was rather useful given that Tallmadge was very easy to manipulate for information by dangling his relationship with Hale in front of him, and I would have gotten the information quite quickly anyway. Speaking of officers I dealt with on a daily basis and were rather easily convinced to listen to me, over the last year since we had departed from Valley Forge, Washington had replaced the majority of his aides. Fitzgerald had been wounded at Monmouth and resigned from the army to recover, and Reed had left to join congress. Reed had been replaced by Harrison, who was unanimously called “old man” by all of us aides due to his advanced age; he despised this yet nothing on earth would be powerful enough to stop us. Fitzgerald’s replacement was McHenry, a surgeon with a thick Irish accent that Dr. Hale had been quite reluctant to give up. When Jack finally returned, he would at long last be able to meet a military medical practitioner who was not Dr. Oliver Hale.

Over the course of the last year, little to no news had reached my ears regarding the now former General Hale. There were rumors that the man had returned to Albany and put his knowledge of the local landscape and smuggling routes to create a company of men capable of terrorizing any enemy force for months on end. With what I knew of Hale, it seemed rather believable, however I had seen no evidence proving these rumors, not even enough to offhandedly mention them to Jack in some of my correspondence, which he had still not answered! It seemed to me as though locating the exact whereabouts and occupation of Hale would be an easier task than dragging a response out of Jack!

Still seeing no messenger, I at long last gave up keeping vigil, leaving headquarters for the comforts of my tent, which I alone occupied, removing my outer layers and slipping under the thin blanket. Before I knew it, I was waking to the bugle, once again dressing, and heading back towards Washington’s headquarters in hopes that the bloody messenger would have considered it worth his time to make an appearance! Washington’s headquarters were located in a rather nice, although be it somewhat boxy and cramped, stone house which possessed ample room for his offices and for Washington and his closest staff to sleep. I preferred my tent, no one appeared to mind.

I was the first to arrive, a fact that was not surprising, and busied myself by starting on the pile of letters from Lafayette to General Washington that required to be translated into something resembling English. This was an effort that required a good three quarters of an hour to accomplish, mainly due to Lafayette’s enthusiasm, which led to his handwriting becoming nearly illegible. At this rate, it would be far more productive for some of his aides to just transcribe his letters, for the translation was the easy part, figuring out what on earth Lafayette was saying was far more difficult. If the work was more monotonous, I was sure that my thoughts would have drifted back to Jack, with his blue eyes that were the exact same color as the sky when we departed Valley Forge, and the way that he would always nudge my led under our shared desk as we worked, plus the adorable look of concentration he got in his eyes when he sketched, the way that he looked filled with righteous fury whenever we entered the field of battle, just how he called me “His dear boy” the whole of it so sweet and loveable—

“Message from General Wayne!” A thoroughly exhausted man announced from the hallway, looking as if he’d been dragged through the Hudson and back before crawling to camp.

“This was expected last night.” I snapped at him, snatching the crumpled piece of parchment from his hand. 

“There were complications…” It took him a moment to read my rank, clearly a new recruit. Wayne was supposed to have only taken his best troops. Fool. “Colonel.”

“Colonel Hamilon.” I informed him, already having turned on my heel and rapidly walking towards the room that had been allocated for our office.

The second that I reached there, I retrieved the letter opener from Harrison's desk and sliced open the wax seal on the letter. Scanning the hastily written lines, I quickly realized that the attack had been a success! Finally, a victory after a drought of the like. The attack had begun at midnight sharp, carried out through horrid weather conditions, Wayne’s roughly a thousand men attacking with only bayonets, much like the British had against him back at that wretched massacre at Paoli. Mufree’s North Carolinians had orchestrated their distraction perfectly, drawing the enemy’s attention and allowing for the remainder of Wayne’s troops to advance. According to the author of the letter, who had sealed it using Wayne’s seal, but was clearly not the man himself, Wayne had sustained a head wound from a spent bullet during the advance, relinquishing his duties to Colonel Febiger, however the wound was not too severe, quite the good news given that we could not exactly currently afford to lose another talented general. All in all, the whole affair had been accomplished in under half of an hour, with Wayne’s forces sustaining casualties of under a hundred, while we had taken a total of five hundred and fifty prisoners. 

The battle had played out exactly how it had been designed to, executed perfectly. This was in no small part due to the training our troops had received under Baron von Steuben. It was but a matter of time before we bested Clinton on the field of combat. However, that was in the future, right now I needed to give Washington the report. The General was eating breakfast when I knocked, sitting at the dining table and inspecting a map of the Hudson as he did so. His personal manservant, Billy Lee, lingered by the doorway, giving me a nod to enter upon locking eyes with him.

“Thank you, Hamilton.” Washington said as I handed him the full report. “I received General Wayne’s a few hours ago if you wish to read over it.”

“Yes, sir, I shall.” I nodded, already grabbing Wayne’s report and returning to the office and my desk, stopping only to snag a piece of toast and nibbling on it as I took my seat in the office, unfolding the creased paper and quickly scanning it. Wayne had written: “The fort and garrison, with Colonel Johnston, are ours. Our officers and men behaved like men who are determined to be free.” Perfect. This was sure to boost the morale of the enlisted men, for nothing was sure to get spirits in camp up like well carried out retribution against the enemy for an injustice they had long mourned. Refolding it, I placed it to the side before retrieving a fresh sheet of parchment and my quill, dipping the nib in the inkwell Jack had sent me for Christmas in his absence. I would have much preferred him in its place. By the time I had finished writing out the first of several letters that were to be sent out to the other generals, informing them of the success of Wayne’s endeavor, the rest of my fellow aides had arrived, all red eyed and exhausted. I recalled a plot that Meade, McHenry, and Tilghman had spoken of regarding saving their rum rations and drinking them all the previous night. Assuming that they had gone through with the plan, it was to be quite the miserable day for them. 

“What are you working on, Ham?” Meade yawned, scrubbing at his face as he collapsed into his desk chair.

“Last night’s assault at Stoney Point succeeded, I am merely copying out a missive to all Generals in the army alerting them of such.” I figured that it was better for them to assume that Washington had ordered said missive than to have informed them that I was sending it out without prior approval. Washington surely was not to mind, for the number of times that I had written correspondence for him with only vague directions had become countless.

“How wonderful.” McHenry attempted to steal one of my spare quills from my desk as he spoke, however I swatted his hand away before he got the chance. 

“Yes, nearly as wonderful as learning to source quills from a more gullible aide.” I shot back at him, brandishing the tip of the quill firmly in my possession at him like a knife. He gave me a playful glare before settling at his desk, where he promptly pocketed one of Harrison's quills when the man was not looking. Well, so long as it was not me. 

After finishing the letters that were to alert the higher ranking members of the army of the recent success, I handed them off to waiting messengers, all of whom were riding atop horses that we had acquisitioned from an “abandoned” house that used to be used as stables by the British cavalry. Having done that, I once again returned to my desk, translating more of Lafayette’s correspondence, and forcing Meade to help me, given that he was my only compatriot semi fluent in French. Even Jack was more useful than him, and he was rather horrible at translation work, his only shortcoming, but even then he could always do some, usually completing the first stage of translations and handing the letter off to me for the more complicated phrases, which were occasionally simply the Marquis’s misspellings. Around noon, we were once again interrupted by the arrival of the day’s mail, late and sure to not contain a reply from Jack. Still, I rose and joined Harrison to gather Washington’s mail, which we would sort through, dividing the urgent from what could be put aside for later.

“I have a letter for Colonel Hamilton from Baltimore, Maryland.” The courier announced.

“He is I.” I hurried over to him. There was no one I was acquainted with from Baltimore, however it was a place that Jack would most likely stop at if he were to be making his way back north. Did I dare hope? I longed for Jack, for him to kiss my forehead and call me his dear boy; to wake up next to him, hearing his protests over my early hour of rising; to tell him what I could not in letters, how much I loved him. The wax seal bore no insignia I recognized, having simply been sealed with a thumb print, whoever wrote to me had been in quite the hurry. The lack of insignia also meant that this was not a letter relating to my work on Washington’s staff…

“Read personal letters on personal time.” Harrison admonished me before I had even had a chance to crack open the wax seal. Very well then, if it was from Jack then I would not have wished to read it out in the open anyway, lest any of my coworkers notice the blush that always spread across my cheeks whenever I cracked open an oh so rare letter from him.

Waiting for the end of the working day was agonizing, the letter feeling as if it were burning a hole in my jacket pocket. Like usual, I worked through lunch, only stopping when the sun set in the sky and darkness enveloped camp. I practically ran back to my tent, anticipation only building as I tied the canvas tent flaps closed, shucked my uniform coat and sat on my cot, running my thumb nail under the wax seal in an attempt to remove it whole. But it was all worth it when I broke the wax seal and instantly recognized the hand that had written my name.

“My dearest, Alexander. I shall be returning to camp in eleven days. I have received your last thirteen letters, and I apologize for not replying sooner. Yours, J. Laurens.”

A letter from Jack! He finally wrote to me! Only after two dozen unanswered letters and three threats! The letter was dated from a week ago, meaning that my dear Jack was to be arriving in two days, two days! In two days I would once again be able to embrace him and call him my own, two mere days!

Notes:

Welcome back everyone! Sorry that this is a day late, I lost wifi and couldn't post. Hope you're all excited for the next hundred thousand words regarding Hamilton's experiences during the war. At this rate, I project that it will be at least 128057 words. Send help. This is the longest thing I've ever written. Hamilton doesn't shut up. This will be longer.

Sources:

-McHenry: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_McHenry

-Harrison: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_H._Harrison

-Washington's aides list: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Washington%27s_aides-de-camp#Military_secretaries

-Battle of Stony Point: https://www.battlefields.org/learn/articles/battle-stony-point

Because Hamilton doesn't shut up, expect a lot of verbatim quotes from his letters. Founder's Online has 7,637 of his letters. 7,637. I'm scared. You probably should be too.

Chapter 42: Ameliorate

Summary:

ameliorate
/əˈmēlyəˌrāt/
verb
make (something bad or unsatisfactory) better.

For me, it did not seem as though two days could have passed any slower than they did in the time since I had received the letter from my dear Jack. Luckily, I was spared spending those agonizing hours at my desk by the fact that General Washington wished to make an excursion to Stoney Point, an excursion that I was to accompany him on. We were to set out after breakfast, which I wrote through, having to reply to a question from General Edward Hand regarding the exact specifics of his role in the expedition against the Iroquois. It was a question that he had very much had answered in the last letter written to him, however apparently , further clarification was required. The man had been enlisted in the military for years prior to this war starting! In all likelihood, he was simply seeking out a response from Washington himself, as if the general would ever be troubled with such a stupid question. I had long taken over handling all of the General’s correspondence, writing nearly everything for him. It had gotten to the point where I had even become adept enough at forging the man’s signature that he was no longer required to sign the letters.

Following my throwing of the letter to Hand in the small mountain of similar letters that were to be posted, I gathered my coat, brushed off my uniform, and headed to the front of headquarters, where the excursion to Stoney Point was gathering. Members of the life guard were stationed all around, just in case the British attempted a counter attack of their own, and General Washington was speaking to Harrison on the front step just as I arrived, nearly knocking Harrison down when I opened the front door. He glared at me, however Washington did not seem to really care. As we waited for the grooms to bring the horses around from the stables, I filled the General in on the reply to Hand.

“Thank you, son.” He thanked me. For a man who was such an admirable figure, he had one troublesome habit: his constant reference to me as “son.” I was the only person called such. The only person. “General Hand is a good soldier, however he does enjoy further clarification beyond what is often provided in orders.”

“Then he ought to ask Sullivan. To this date, not a single shot has been fired, and yet he still requires clarification.” I lamented. While Hand was a capable soldier, he was also currently the youngest of all the Brigadier Generals, a trait that in all likelihood contributed to his need for clarification, but left me longing for the previous youngest Brigadier General to return. Well, Jack had written me back, so locating Hale might actually be possible.

Before I could complain about Hand any more, one of the grooms brought Washington’s horse Nelson around, and he mounted, leaving me to annoy a groom into remembering my existence and retrieving a steed for me, for I did not possess the funds to have purchased one for myself. More often than not, I found myself atop a dark brown beast that was universally known as “Dandy” because of his rather haughty attitude; some jested that we were kindled souls, and by some I meant Tilghman, he was the only person to have ever said such, and that comment had led me to stealing his coffee rations for a week. It was only a few moments before we set off, the expedition consisting primarily of us aides, along with General Washington of course, and the life guard, who rode both ahead and around us lest an ambush occur. All in all, it was a rather nice morning for a ride, with a clear sky and birds singing in the trees and a horse who was not attempting to damage my ankle, quite the lucky fact as the ride took a good two hours.

During this time, my mind drifted, like it so often did, back to my dearest Jack. The first time I had ever really been in the closest of quarters with him was on a ride of this sort. When I had been thrown from my murderous horse on the way to Valley Forge and injured my ankle, he had helped me up and insisted that I rode upon his horse, an insistence that had led to me leaning against his back and wrapping my arms around his waist for the better part of an hour, an action that was quite enjoyable when he placed one hand over mine. Jack was always such a gentleman, such a sweet, earnest, caring, extremely fuckable, gentleman. On subsequent rides I had been able to tease him and ask him if that saddle was comfortable. The only person who had ever overheard was Tallmadge, and the second he had he immediately pivoted away from us. Coward.

It was not long before we reached the field of battle. Stony Point overlooked the Hudson river, and before war had touched it, it must have been an idyllic and lovely place. But now? Dirt fortifications covered every inch of the place, and they were covered with stains from where bodies must have laid. I knew that a truce was to be arranged in order to negotiate a trade for the prisoners we had captured here, however I was not quite sure what had been done with their dead. I could only suppose that they had been buried like ours. Following a tour of the field given by none other than General Wayne, who had very much recovered from his injury, boasting only a small bandage and seeming very much himself, Washington gave a speech to the remaining troops, thanking them for their service to their country and telling them that they had avenged their fallen comrades from the massacre at Paoli. It was a very good speech if I did say so myself, mainly because I had written a good half of the thing the prior night. After a good two hours of inspection, we headed back to headquarters. During this ride, Washington beckoned me to his side for us to speak. Dandy did not appear to like this and attempted to bite Nelson, which led to me having to be a good foot farther from the General than I ought to have been.

“What did you think?” He asked me.

“I am glad that we finally executed revenge on them for Paoli.” I shrugged. About two years prior, a group of British troops under Major General Grey attacked Wayne’s troops, massacring them and giving no quarter. Our men had been eager to give the British a taste of their own medicine since 1777. This would be sure to boost morale in camp and reinvigor spirits.

“While that is quite beneficial, I was speaking of the tactical properties of this position.”

“It is quite far from our lines, as well as not being the most advantageous. Seeing that we retain control of West Point yet, I do not believe that it is important of ground to hold as it was important for us to gain revenge.” Attempting to recall the exact state of the earthworks at Stony Point, I gave up and answered without commenting on the British defences. During that portion of Wayne’s account of the battle and battlefield, I had been thinking of how Jack’s eyes looked under the summer sun.

“Quite right son. I am of the opinion that we shall not be able to hold Stoney Point for very long, especially given the inadequate defences and lack of true strategic importance. Upon our return to headquarters, I shall require you to take down a letter for me to the troops still stationed there and instruct them to completely withdraw.” Once again, that infuriating habit of calling me “son” resurfaced.

“I shall, sir.” I agreed, suppressing my desire to yell at him that I was not his son.

“Good. Now, I have heard that Colonel Laurens is to be rejoining us in a matter of days, is that correct?” I supposed that General Washington must have known of Jack’s return, primarily because I had spent the last day or so telling anyone that would listen that he could be back soon. 

“It is. According to the letter I received from him, he shall be due at camp either late tonight, or early tomorrow.” This was a slight fib, Jack’s letter had been painfully sparse, however given the knowledge that he was journeying from Baltimore and the information he had provided me, it seemed a reasonable assumption.

“Well, that is good.” The General nodded, before chuckling. “I shall be glad to regain a member of my staff and even more so for you to cease lamenting about his absence.”

“I do not lament.” I grumbled under my breath. Lament, no. Yearn for Jack with every fiber of my soul? Yes. Very much yes.

“There is no shame in missing one you hold dear.” He attempted to console me. If there was one benefit of being close to Washington, it was that I was not reprimanded for half of the things I said in his presence, the majority of which could probably be considered disrespecting a commanding officer. “I myself have called for my Martha to join us for a short period, for I do not expect a counter assault on camp.”

All I could do in response was sputter. General Washington knew. He knew about me and Jack! Dear God he could ruin us, have us arrested, executed! “I-um, we–!”

“You two are not exactly masters in subtly.” He laughed. “I do not mind if you engage in such a ‘friendship’, however I would recommend you attempt to be less affectionate in the presence of those who might. Those who might, do not include Martha, for she seems to consider you and Laurens her favorites among my aides.”

“Thank you, sir.” I breathed a sigh of relief. We were not in danger, and we would face no danger from either of the Washingtons. Thank the lord. I supposed that it was what the universe owed me after so many times of Jack not writing me back!

By the time that night had blanketed camp, Jack still had not arrived, and I was reading in my tent, having been forcefully kicked out of the office by a combination of Meade and McHenry. My tent felt rather empty, both due to the lack of my lover, and because I was not being attacked by a fluffy devil. Seeing as that it was nearly impossible to transport Turtle in between camps, Jack had elected to leave his cat with me, as taking her to South Carolina with him would assuredly result in nothing other than his untimely death, and I very much liked him alive, thank you very much. However, Turtle did not take well to being essentially abandoned by her owner, and had taken to making my life a living hell. I was bit, scratched, meowed at at ungodly hours of the night, booted from my own bed. It was terrible. Luckily, the only other person the damn cat appeared to like was still attached to camp. Hannah Hale was very much still a nurse, and had begrudgingly taken in Turtle. Jack could deal with getting his cat back upon his return, for I most assuredly would not.

At some point around ten, I finally shut my book, and was about to retire when I heard footsteps approaching my tent. What did the General want, or what did Tallmadge’s childhood friends turned spies manage to mess up now? I opened the flap of my tent to suddenly encounter someone. Perhaps the footsteps had been closer than I had originally thought. Whoever was right before me was tall like Jack, wore a Lieutenant Colonel’s uniform like Jack, had blonde hair like Jack, blue eyes like Jack, and looked exactly like Jack. Jack! Oh god it was really Jack! I fell into his arms, pulling him as close as possible in the darkness, for no one could see us. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, murmuring apologies for not writing. But in the moment, it did not matter. Nothing mattered other than the fact that the man I loved was in my arms! I got an arm around his neck and pulled him back into the tent, firmly pressing our lips together. He tasted as he always did, of fresh country air and coffee. He was mine, all mine! 

“I am so sorry.” He looked so sorrowful when we finally pulled apart, leaving one hand cupping my cheek and the other around my waist. God, I had forgotten how much I desired his skin in contact with mine. There was nothing I was looking forward to more than spending the night in bed with him. “I ought to have written to you. I ought to have come back sooner as well.”

“All is well.” I whispered into his lips, giving him a quick peck before adding on: “I still love you above all else.”

“I love you as well.” Jack kissed my forehead and I leaned into his chest. He was so nice to hold onto. So very nice.

“Dada?” Some small voice called from the other side of the tent flap, startling me beyond words. What on earth? A small girl, no older than two, with wispy blonde curls and the biggest blue eyes I had ever seen peeked through the tent flap. She seemed rather shy, and was dressed in far finer clothes than any of the children who I had ever seen running around the outskirts of camp. Was she lost? I looked at Jack in confusion.

“My daughter.” He explained. Daughter?!

Notes:

Washington is an ally because I say so.

Martha Washington did not join her husband during the summer campaigns, or at least not this one; however, I really like her, so she's making an appearance. Deal with it.

If you want to know how they know about Hamilton and Laurens, go read this: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67071952

Sources:

Evidence for Washington's excursion to Stoney Point:

https://www.battlefields.org/learn/revolutionary-war/battles/stony-point

Info on Edward Hand and his super cool house (seriously, check it out):

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_Hand
https://www.historicrockford.org/

The Sullivan Expedition is the referenced expedition in the first few snipits of conversation. It was a disgusting campaign, and I obviously do not support it. However, Hamilton is unfortunately stuck in a 1770s mindset, so he has no problem with it.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sullivan_Expedition#

Nelson the horse, who will hopefully be a recurring character:

https://www.mountvernon.org/library/digitalhistory/digital-encyclopedia/article/nelson-horse#:~:text=Of%20the%20many%20horses%20that,chestnut%20(reddish%2Dbrown)%20in

Battle of Paoli:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Paoli#

Chapter 43: Dissolution

Summary:

dissolution
/ˌdisəˈlo͞oSH(ə)n,ˌdisəlˈyo͞oSH(ə)n/
noun
the closing down or dismissal of a partnership

“Daughter? What on earth!” I exclaimed, pulling away from Jack. Daughter? Nay, he could not be a father…could he? My mind raced, trying to scrounge up any fleeting comment, any offhanded remark over the last year and a half that might have mentioned such a relation. There were none, or at least I could recall none, and given that I could probably recite all of Jack’s letters to me by heart, it seemed as though this was not something he had ever mentioned. That meant he had lied. He had lied to me about being a father, and consequently a marriage. He had tricked me into thinking that I was the only one whom he cared for, tricked me into having an affair with him.

“Alexander, I swear I can explain.” He pleaded, looking so utterly pathetic.

“You have better.” I spat, standing up and crossing my arms, staring down at him.

“When I was in England before the war, I-I made the acquaintance of Ms. Martha Manning. We, we were young and foolish and spent the night together. It soon emerged that she had become pregnant and my father forced me to marry her. Shortly after the wedding, I departed for America to join the revolution, where I obviously met you. A few weeks before I left for camp, I received the news of my daughter’s birth. Martha and little Frances stayed across the ocean. However, when I was in South Carolina, I received a letter from Martha’s father, Mr. Manning, informing me of my wife’s passing and of how he had arranged passage for my daughter to come to America to stay with me. I do not know if he was aware of my position in the army, but nevertheless, about a month after the letter, Frances arrived in Charleston harbor to be in my charge. I am so, so sorry for my prolonged absence.” Jack did look sorry, that was the worst part, he looked genuinely remorseful that he had essentially abandoned me without sending a single reply to my multitude of letters. But that did not matter when he was so clearly oblivious to the true cause of my anger.

“I am not mad that you were late, I am mad that you were married and did not tell me! You looked me in the eyes and told me that you loved me! You allowed me to court you without any mention of the fact that you were lawfully wed with a child! You let me believe that I might get a future with you! You let me fall in love with you!” I erupted at him, not giving a damn who heard us. They could mind their own goddamn business. A lesser man might have broken down in tears, but right now, all I felt was fury. How dare he trick me, how dare he lie so!

“Alexander, please—”

I did not stop my tirade, merely continued on. “No! Do not lie to me anymore Jack. You sick bastard. Was this all a game to you? Having a dalliance with the poor orphaned immigrant just so that you could tear me down and break my heart for fun, knowing perfectly well that you had a wife waiting for you back in old England?”

“I love you, I have loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you.” Jack begged.

“I wish I could still delude myself into thinking that that is the truth.”

“I-I swear that I would willingly do anything to hurt you.” He was distraught now, tears falling freely and breath hitching. I did not care how obviously I was upsetting him now. He had lied to me, he had lied to me for the last year and a half, and this was nothing more than another one of those lies.

“Liar.” The accusation hung in the air between us. Jack did not respond, merely sunk onto the empty cot and put his head in his hands. Coward. That was what he was, a coward, nothing more, nothing less. Too much of a coward to trust me with the truth, too much of a coward to reveal what he truly was. I could not honestly believe that I had fallen in love with him. I left him there, sobbing pathetically in our—no my tent.

Walking out into the inky darkness, no moonlight gracing the camp, I fumed. For a year and a half, a year and a half, Jack had told me he loved me, told me that I was the only one in his heart. Yet I had never been, I had merely been the replacement for his wife across the sea. He sought solace in me only because I was convenient, because the orphaned immigrant was easier to toss aside, easier to forget when the affair ceased. And I had loved him, I had so foolishly loved him with my whole heart, so foolishly believed that if we both made it out of the war unscathed, we would make a life together, run a law firm, perhaps join Congress. I had been nothing but a lovestruck idiot.

And the little girl who had his blood running through her veins, he had abandoned her, as swiftly and unremorsefully as my father had me. Jack had shirked his responsibilities in order to flee across the ocean to take part in a revolution that would surely get him killed. To rid himself of the burden of fatherhood, he had longed for death. I had always known that he did not expect to make it through the war alive, some days I did not either, but this—this put all the times he had rode recklessly into battle, and even the time he had slit his wrists, into a whole new perspective. I could not believe that I had fallen in love with a man like that. Someone so…so pathetic. Even the stars looked down on me in disapproval for my foolishness.

With nowhere to truly head, I settled for storming through the camp to Tallmadge’s tent where I flung myself down upon his cot and complained to him for the better part of an hour. All in all, Lafayette was the better confidant, I had accidentally told him of Jack and I’s relationship, well former relationship now, back at Valley Forge; however, the man was currently in Frances and thus unable to listen to me. Aroused from his sleep, Tallmadge was not exactly an eager participant in the conversation, however he did listen, and that was enough.

“He was a married man! Then and now and always a father as well. A father! He risked his life and limb as the father of a child he had never met. He abandoned her, abandoned her!”

“Yes, that is not a good thing.” Tallmadge yawned. “But dear god Hamilton, it is past midnight and unlike you, I actually have responsibilities tomorrow that take me out of camp. You are welcome to stay here for the night, but for the love of god shut up.”

Seeing that Laurens and his wholly existent daughter were still in the tent, my tent, I had no choice but to take him up on his offer. Using an extra blanket he for some reason owned, I slept on the floor, spending a not insubstantial amount of time whispering more laments over Jack’s character to Tallmadge. After about an hour, he shoved a pillow over his head and stopped responding to me. Rather rude of him.

When I returned to Washington’s headquarters the next day, much to my surprise and thanks, Jack was not present. Neither Harrison nor Washington himself commented on this fact, leading me to suppose that he had decided to act like the coward he was and hide away in my tent with his daughter. Speaking of my tent, I would need to somehow get them out of there, for all of my belongings were still in there. Perhaps I ought to send Tallmadge. If Jack wished to hide from his responsibilities, then he could do so in a place that was not my tent! As I was silently fuming over this fact, Harrison instructed me to write another letter to congress, asking for more supplies and funds, the exact sorts of things that we would not get from them. While Jay was far more amicable than Henry Laruens, well pretty much anyone was more amicable than Henry Laurens, that did not mean that congress would provide us with our requests. Thank god for the french alliance and Lafayette, otherwise the army would have crumbled in Valley Forge.

Around sunset, Tallmadge appeared, covered in the sort of dust that could only accumulate after a long ride and holding a bundle of papers that only the two of us and Washington were allowed to set eyes upon. Typically, the courier that carried the information his spy ring had gathered to camp was a man named Brewster, however he was apparently indisposed, leading Tallmadge to have been tasked with bringing in the latest information. By the time he had arrived back in camp, the rest of the aides were on their supper break; I ate at my desk and thus was writing yet another letter, this time to General Putnam and instructing him on forming a disposition for opposing the enemy in concert. I barely looked up when Tallmadge entered, thinking that he simply required a spare quill and would quickly depart. He did no such thing. In lieu of a typical greeting such as hello, he instead noted: “I saw Laurens today.”

“I do not give a damn.” I replied, not looking up from my writing to Putnam.

“He looked horrid and begged me to tell you that he never meant to hurt you.”

“Does not mean that he has not.” If Jack had not wished to hurt me, he ought not to have hid a whole life across the ocean from me. It was not an exceptionally complicated concept.

“I am aware of that.” He sighed, sitting down next to me and handing me the deciphered letters from his spy ring. “Nathan used to do much the same thing, refused to tell me anything important and got confused when he hurt me.”

“Did he hide a wife and child from you?” I pointedly asked.

“Nay, merely a smuggling ring that was centered in the basement of my church.” Ah yes, the infamous Hale smuggling operation that had somehow managed to get Tallmadge stabbed twice, him and Hale arrested for murder, and me my first criminal defence case.

“Well then I assume you understand my anguish?”

“I do.” He nodded, glancing over my shoulder at the letter to Putnam. Nosy.

“Then tell John that I do not wish to hear any more of his pathetic attempts to win me back.” Strongly insinuating that the passing on of this message was to occur quite quickly, I set down my quill and sealed the letter to Putnam.

Tallmadge shook his head, evidently tired of being the middle man. He could be sick of being in the middle once he passed my information onto Jack. “I shall…in kinder words. However, as you are both aides of Washington, I think you ought to be able to tell him yourself.”

“I would rather jump off Stoney Point into the Hudson.” This was not an exaggeration.

“Suit yourself.” He rolled his eyes. “If you are so intent on avoiding Laurens that I must run your personal errands, can you at least go over to Hannah Hale’s to pick up a book I lent her?”

“Of course.” I agreed, anything that better than having to deal with traitorous Jack. “Tell him to vacate my tent while you're at it as well.”

It seemed as though Jack listened to our mutual friend, for upon being kicked out of the office by a very angry Harrison after I had called him “Old Man” for the fifth time, I arrived at an empty tent, the only sign of Jack’s previous occupation being a short note on his vacant cot that apologized for his inconveniencing me. I burned it. As I lay on my bed, in my wonderfully solitary sleeping quarters, I could not help but let a single weak thought slip into the back of my mind: this would have been a very nice night to have Jack wrapped around me, to be kissed on the forehead and told how loved I was. Much like the letter, I burned it, only this time it was merely metaphorical. After so many weeks of longing for him, I could only assume that some part of my mind had not yet realized that Jack was not a person worth longing for, no matter how nice of a kisser he was.

Notes:

I promise I'm gonna post the edited Albany section soon. Enjoy this for now.

Sources:

- List of the presidents of congress: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/President_of_the_Continental_Congress#List_of_presidents

-The letter Hamilton's writing when Tallmadge interrupts him (even when heartbroken, the writing never stops!): https://founders.archives.gov/?q=Project%3A%22Hamilton%20Papers%22%20Dates-From%3A1779-07-20&s=1511311111&r=2

Chapter 44: Indurate

Summary:

indurate
/ˈind(y)əˌrāt/
verb
to harden one's heart to love

The following morning, after waking up in my tent by myself once again, I headed off to find Hannah Hale, for it was clear Tallmadge had upheld his end of our bargain. Following the expulsion of Nathan Hale from the army, all of the other Hales had remained in camp. It was rather easy to find Hannah Hale, given that her husband was employed as a surgeon there were only so many places that she could logically be. The hospital tents were located on the perimeter of camp, mainly due to the distinct odor that emanated from them. By the time I reached the clustering of tents, the early July sun had already begun to beat down, foretelling the kind of scorching heat that had taken so many men’s lives at Monmouth the previous year. The dead grass crunched beneath my boots as I approached, scanning the people darting to and fro like worker bees for a woman with red hair and a fiery spirit. At last I spotted her, balancing a basket of dirty linens on her hip, two young girls trailing behind her.

“Good day, Mrs. Hale!” I called out, striding over to the woman that some of the enlisted men thought was my sister. We were not related.

“Colonel Hamilton, so nice to see you again.” She smiled at me, brushing a curl out of her eyes as she spoke. “I thought you were preoccupied with your duties for General Washington.”

“Most of the time I am.” I admitted, falling into stride next to her as we headed over to the hospital’s laundry, two young girls still in tow. The elder of the two I vaguely recognized as Mercy Hale, the youngest of the Hale siblings and oftentime mistaken for one of her brother’s daughters, yet the youngest, barely old enough to toddle around, I could not place. “However, in exchange for him doing me a favor, I agreed to retrieve a book that Tallmadge lent you.”

“Bold of him to assume that he is getting that back.” Hannah pointedly said. I now understood why Tallmadge had sent me to complete this errand in exchange for dealing with Jack. Tricky bastard.

How to go about this? “If you do not return it, he would have a probable case that it was stolen.” Pointing this fact out, I had a basket of clean linens thrust at me, evidently intended for me to carry. I took it, and we began to head back to the hospital tent.

“Oh, he shall not do that if he knows what is good for them.” Hannah laughed, shaking her head. Given that I was not sure how much Tallmadge valued keeping in the remaining members of the Hale family’s good graces, I refrained from commenting on this fact.

“Well if you would bother to return it soon, I would quite appreciate it, as I am sure that Tallmadge would.” Trying once again as we set down the baskets of clean linens next to the hospital, the off white cloth was already growing warm in the summer sun. The opposing force did not say anything for a moment, merely gazed around, sighed, and said:

“Mercy! Fanny! Where did you two little rascals get to?” Both of the girls had abruptly vanished from their previous positions directly behind us. Likewise, I gazed around. Children could not be so easy to lose, right?

“Here!” A small voice giggled, a child’s voice, from underneath a nearby table. Both girls were hiding under there, taking advantage of our preoccupation to disappear. Hannah tutted at them and beckoned them both out, the children not appearing remorseful, only disappointed that their grand disappearing act had been foiled. Yes, the older of the two girls was most assuredly Mercy Hale, that was undeniable. Her companion, perhaps only two or three years of age, well I could have sworn that I recognized her from somewhere, but where that somewhere is, well I did not have the faintest clue.

Seeing my confusion, the only other adult within a ten foot radius asked: “I assume you do not know Fanny?”

I shook my head no. “Nay, the only one of these two lovely young ladies I am acquainted with is Miss Hale.” Said young lady gave me a small and rather clumsy curtsy, to which I saluted her, an action that sent her into a fit of giggles. Children were quite odd little things.

“Well, little Fanny here is John Laurens’s daughter. He asked me to watch her, and well, I am sure you have seen how utterly hopeless of a parent he is, so I agreed.” She must have seen how my face turned at the sound of Jack’s name. The treacherous liar could not even be bothered to watch the little brat! He had pawned her off on Hannah the first chance he had gotten and fled. All he ever seemed to do was flee. Said woman he had dumped the child on quickly added: “My apologies. I forgot you two were having a spat.”

“I can assure you that it is far more than just a spat.” I snapped back, already regretting my tone the moment that the words escaped my lips. Hannah’s face soured, and she reached into the pocket of her dress, rooted around, retrieving a small bound volume that I could only assume was Tallmadge’s book.

“Do not hold the daughter accountable for the sins of the father.” She hissed at me, thrusting the volume into my hands, before turning back to her work and beckoning the two girls closer. I took that as a sign to leave.

Who was Hannah to comment on my handling of the situation? If I did not wish to interact with Jack, then so be it! It was none of her business what I chose to spend my time doing, and I had most certainly not been taking my dislike of Jack out on his daughter? Was it that terrible of a thing to not wish to constantly see the symbol of his deception and betrayal? Nay, it was not. I supposed that I would have to add Hannah to the list of people I wished to avoid. McHenry was just as good of a doctor as Oliver Hale anyhow, it would not be an extreme inconvenience. 

The whole book returning affair had not taken too terribly wrong, and after I had deposited the volume in Tallmadge’s tent, I was still the first person to arrive at our office, taking a seat at my desk and dipping my pen in the inkwell. I had promised Harrison that I would copy some old notes on drilling from the Baron that had been taken all the way back at Valley Forge. Since the Baron’s notes were in French, I thought it in everyone’s best interests that I also produce an English translation as well, sparing myself from the inevitable fact that a copy would have to be produced. Given the detour I had taken, I was not as early as I wished to be. Thus, while on a typical morning I could have finished the French transcription by the time the rest of the aides arrived, when the door creaked open. I had only reached the halfway point, and not even begun on the English translation. Harrison stopped by my desk, leaning over my shoulder to see how far along I was. It was one of his most annoying habits, especially given that the same information could be garnered through a verbal request.

“Coming along well, Hamilton.” He nodded.

“I quite agree. The French copy ought to be done soon, and if Tilghman sees fit to complete his own work for once, then I shall have the English copy done as well before the end of the hour.” I could not count the number of times that I had gotten stuck picking up one of my coworker’s slack. 

“Well you ought not to.” He finally straightened up and ceased leaning over my shoulder. Thank god. “Laruens has retired, thus we shall finally no longer be down a set of hands. I am assuming that you have heard?”

“Oh, I have heard.” I was most assuredly aware of Jack’s presence in camo

“Wonderful.” Clapping his hands, Harrison took another step back before he continued. Good. I valued my personal space. “In that case, you two can return to the same arrangement you occupied before Laurens departed for South Carolina.”

Behind him was Jack, wearing a clean uniform, blonde hair pulled back into an orderly queue. He did not meet my eyes. If Harrison had not been so adamant, I would have refused. However, there was no way that I could go about arguing with him regarding me and Jack sharing close quarters without revealing the origin of our disagreement, and I did not feel like being court-martialed again, thank you very much. I did not say anything to him as he pulled up a chair next to me, merely slid the stack of Lafayette’s correspondence that was in need of translation and clarification across the desk to him, and turned back to my work. The only sound his work produced was the scratching of a quill against parchment and muttered curses under his breath as he struggled with the translation. I could not believe that I used to think it was a cute habit.

As usual, we stopped around lunch in order to eat, or at least the rest of the office did. I continued my work, this time having moved onto yet another letter to congress outlining our need for more funds. In this letter, I made sure to also add several not so subtle hints that Henry Laurens ought to be removed from the institution. My hatred of him sprang from his attempted manipulation of my court marital, not his treatment of Jack. Speaking of the younger Laurens, he did not see fit to join the rest of our fellow aides in the time honored tradition of leaving me alone over our lunch break. I heard his footsteps approaching before I saw him. He had paused at the door, probably working up the courage to talk to me. Fool, he thought that I wished to see him. When would he realize that I now despised him?

“Alexander, can we please speak?” Jack asked. He did not truly approach me, simply hovered at arm’s length. Not even bold enough to demand a conversation. It was pathetic.

“We are speaking right now.” I snapped at him, not looking up from my letter.

“I meant in a more private setting.” He clarified, giving me the sort of look that, a few days ago, would have gotten me to do anything in the world for him. No longer was that the case.

“No.”

“Please?” Oh he sounded desperate now. Dear god, one would have thought that he had never been hated by someone before for a reason that was wholly his fault.

“I have given you my answer. Now if you would excuse me, I have actual responsibilities to attend to.” I stood up and headed for the General’s office. We did not speak for the rest of the day.

When night fell, I stayed in the office the longest, waiting for everyone else to depart before finally extinguishing my candle, burning the balled up ruined drafts, and wiping the ink off of my hands. On the walk back to my tent, I encountered not a soul. All the other soldiers were already asleep. Good for them, when we were to finally engage the British forces on the field of battle once again, we would require well rested soldiers. I would sleep as well, but Washington’s repeated denial of my requests for a field command told me that I would not be required to maintain such a state. Thus, when I returned to my tent, I did not immediately sleep, instead I pulled out a book and read. It was only when I was fourteen pages in did I realize exactly what I was reading: the book Jack had gotten me the Christmas we had spent at Valley Forge. I slept the rest of the night, it was better than being reminded of that traitor. What sort of man willingly engaged in a romantic affair when his heart was bound to another? A terrible man, that was who. Especially when a child was in the mix. Abandoning a wife and child and fleeing across the sea in an attempt to die gloriously in battle, then spending every waking moment flirting with a fellow soldier; if Jack was not already damned to hell for what we had done to each other, well that would be more than enough to cement his destination for eternity.

Notes:

Didn't really do any historical research for this, just pure drama <3

Also, if you haven't checked out The Hamilton Family and the Forces of the Supernatural, go do that. (Its the series name, not the fic. There are two with a third on the way!)

Chapter 45: Rancourous

Summary:

rancorous
/ˈraNGk(ə)rəs/
adjective
characterized by bitterness or resentment.

Over the next week, only about a hundred words passed between Jack and I, mainly consisting of pleasantries and assignments of labor. I would not have it any other way. He finally seemed to get the idea that I did not wish to speak to him, and found it fit to merely work in silence, the only sound that of scratching quills. While we worked, I silently cursed Harrison for maintaining our former arrangement, especially given the size of the desk, as we were essentially shoulder to shoulder for the entire day. It was quite the wonderful position. In a sick parallel of what had occurred before Jack’s return, Meade and Tilghman still spoke to me as if we were still good friends. There was no way to communicate that I wished to never see the bastard again without getting myself in further trouble. Damnit.

It seemed almost as though Jack was following me at times, for I could not seemingly escape him in camp. Wherever I turned in Washington’s headquarters, he was there. Our tents were a mere two hundred yards from each other. There was no way for me to escape. Like I did, Jack spoke with Tallmadge in length, and with his daughter in Hannah Hale’s care, neither of my old acquaintances could provide me refuge. I was losing a battle that he was winning simply by existing. It was infuriating. In one final desperate bid to escape his piercing blue eyes, I decided to take a walk around camp, and by walk around camp, I meant go as far as possible away from it on foot as I could in an hour and still be under our side’s military protection.

Given that it was a rather warm afternoon, being the last day in July it was to be expected, I stuck to the woods, the leafy tree branches providing ample shade. Tucked under my arm, I carried a book I had been meaning to read; with all the noise and bustle of camp concentrating on the printed words was rendered far more difficult than it ought to have been. After walking for about half an hour, I found the perfect spot. Under the shade of a grove of old maple trees, there was a rather prominent boulder, moss creeping up its sides and surface warmed from the sun. I clambered up on the boulder, shucking my uniform coat and taking a seat. If anyone so desperately required my attention, then they could deal with a lack of proper uniform.

I had recently procured Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations, and within an hour, I was already a good quarter was through it. Smith was not an exceptionally insightful economist, and I was fully confident that I would be fully capable of managing an economy about a dozen times better than he ever could. Perhaps that was a career I could pursue after the war, since someone would have to organize our new nation’s finances, Congress clearly was failing miserably in that regard. The army had no rations half the time, and the rest of the time they had been bought on French credit! It was ridiculous how little the men running our country looked to the future. I was already formulating the strongly worded letter I planned on submitting to Congress, in which I would heavily criticize their handling of the whole situation and suggest how to improve our financial circumstances, when I heard it: the sound of a small child crying. Closing my book, I began to search for the source of the disturbance.

It was in the clutches of a blackberry bramble that I found the child, mouth and hands stained with the dark juices and crying from the places where the brambles had pricked her. The poor child was Frances Laurens, because of course she was. Apparently, the Laurens family could not stop disturbing my life for one afternoon. However, despite how much I disliked Jack, and by extent of the concept of his daughter, I could not in good conscience leave his young daughter alone in the woods. How on earth had she even managed to get all the way out here? Frances stretched out her plump little arms to me, and I lifted her out of the blackberry’s bramble’s twisted briars, letting her cling to my shoulder as she cried out for her “Dada.” Jack. She wanted Jack.

“We shall find your father soon.” I said to her, taking a short detour to the boulder to retrieve my book and coat. It seemed as though my afternoon excursion was to once again be cut short.

“Want Dada!” Frances sobbed, starting to kick me, her small feet pummeling me right in the ribs. Great. This was going to be fun.

She continued to attempt to run away from me as I walked down the road into camp, already beginning to regret this whole situation. No matter how much I wished that the girl could have just walked by my side, that was impossible given both her age and the fact that I was fairly certain she would bolt the moment that I set her down. At long last, we reached the edge of camp, where two sentries were posted at the entrance, the afternoon sun causing their bayonets to glitter. Behind them, I could see men returning from one of the Baron’s drills, exhausted yet prepared for the next time we engaged Clinton.

“Password?” The taller of the two shouted out at me. He knew me, I guaranteed he did, but the same formality had to be completed by all.

“Saratoga.” I responded, shifting the kicking and screaming toddler to my other side. If I were to be bruised, it ought to at least be equal on both sides. They granted me entrance, neither asking why I was carrying a furious child, only giving me sympathetic looks. Now, the next order to business was locating someone to dump Frances on. Luckily, this was not an exceptionally hard task given that the very man she kept demanding was in sight. Jack looked unbelievably frazzled, brow knit in worry as he asked various soldiers if they had seen his daughter. His blonde hair was falling out of its queue, and he looked as if he had been running all over camp looking for his missing daughter, probably because he had. Idiot. He had managed to hide a whole family from me, yet was incapable of keeping track of a small child who had not yet even realized she was alive.

“Colonel Laurens!” I called out over the hustle and bustle of the quagmire of moving bodies. Jack immediately turned around at the sound of his name, eyes instantly locking onto Frances in my arms. Actually, to say she was in my arms was misleading. She was actively trying to escape my arms.

“Alexander, oh thank god you found her.” He said as he hurried over to us. I was rather caught off guard by the fact that he did not accuse me of kidnapping his child. If I had been in his shoes at the moment, I most certainly would have, probably with far more threats of violence as well. If I had not been forced to deal with his daughter, I would not have even bothered to acknowledge his presence at all.

Handing Frances over to him, only a few new blackberry stains on the back of my coat and some rapidly forming bruises on my ribs to show for my heroism, I replied. “Enjoy your berry eater. And I would recommend keeping a closer eye on her.”

“I swear I did.” Jack ran one hand through his hair, Frances curled up on his hip, having suddenly become very sleepy. She must have exerted all of her energy attacking me. Such a wonderful child. I would have to save her from blackberry bushes more often. But, no matter how much I wished to return to my tent to begin on my anonymous letter to Congress, Jack continued to speak, half to himself, half to me. “Where on earth did you find her? Last I saw her she was at Headquarters and I had just popped in for a moment to speak to Meade. She could not have gotten that far, it is all the way on the other side of camp…”

“I found her in a patch of blackberry brambles about a half hour outside of camp.” I informed him, wheels in my brain already turning. How on earth had a toddler managed to get herself over a mile from Headquarters in only a few hours?

“How on earth did you get all the way over there?” Directing his query towards the little girl, Jack began to walk back to his tent. I followed, for there was one reason that had immediately come to mind when I asked myself the same question: kidnapping. It was really rather simple, Frances Laurens was the daughter of one of Washington's aides and the granddaughter of the former president of the Continental Congress. Even a small band of loyalists could have executed the kidnapping, so long as they had had a single person on the inside. When Frances did not bother to reply, I laid out my theory to Jack, adding in several snide remarks regarding his capacity as a parent. I could be concerned over the wellbeing of a child and still hate him at the same time.

“I-I fear you may be correct.” He looked rather pale by the time that we reached a quiet area of the camp. I was already cursing myself for getting tangled up in this whole affair, yet some part of me demanded that I stay long enough to tell him what he ought to do. It was probably because if the British had managed to sneak into camp and take Frances, then we had a far larger problem on our hands.

“Go speak to Washington, or Tallmadge about it.” I instructed him, already making a beeline for my tent. Better to write that anonymous letter before any of the ideas escaped my mind. Just as I was about to round the corner of the row of tents we had found ourselves in, I heard Jack call out to me:

“Thank you, Alexander. Really, I mean it.” Fool. Had he not realized that I still very much hated him? Hiding a whole family from me was not the sort of offence that I took lightly.

Later, I heard what had occurred after I had settled myself in my tent with my ink and quill. Apparently, when Frances had awoken from her overdue nap, she had begun screaming about the bad man who wanted to take her away. Needless to say, this had confused Jack to no end, and he had decided to take her to Hannah, in hopes that she might know how on earth he ought to deal with this. On the way to Hannah’s, they had passed by Archibald Craner, a newly enlisted man from Rhode Island; upon doing so, Frances had begun to cry out and beg Jack not to “Let the mean man take me.” By some miracle, Hannah and Jack managed to figure out what on earth she was saying, something that was exceptionally impressive given that I have never once understood what a small child was attempting to say to me. They had both come to the conclusion that someone had kidnapped Frances, or at least attempted to as said kidnapping had obviously failed, and immediately reported their suspicions to Tallmadge, who, upon looking over the facts and knowing perfectly well how far a toddler can get in the hour she was out of Jack’s sight, agreed and began to investigate. For he knew what I did: there were British agents in camp. 

This was all recounted to me around midnight by Tallmadge, who claimed it was revenge for when I had woken him up to complain about Jack’s deception. In other news, I immediately decided to cease all questioning into the location of Nathan Hale, as that bastard no longer deserved the chance to experience joy. After I shooed him out with a promise of helping him investigate on Washington’s behalf, I lay awake in bed, thinking. I hated Jack with every fiber of my being, yet even he did not deserve to have his child ripped from him. His child, who he had abandoned in favor of risking his life. His child, who he had abandoned like how my father had abandoned me. Perhaps that was part of why I hated him so much, he reminded me of the man who had left such a gaping hole in my childhood.

Notes:

Over six months in, and AO3 spell check still doesn't recognize Ben's last name as a real word.

Sources! (And by sources, I mean source)

The Wealth of Nations: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Wealth_of_Nations

Hamilton did actually read this (we don't know exactly when), and didn't seem to like it very much

Tune in next Friday for more of the dysfunctional gays!

Chapter 46: Enmity

Summary:

enmity
/ˈenmədē/
noun
the state or feeling of being actively opposed or hostile to someone or something.

A few days following my discovery of Frances Laurens in the blackberry bramble, my work was interrupted when I was summoned to Washington’s office. While Washington summoning me to his office in order to offer an opinion on the latest discussion of the war council, or to transcribe his thoughts into yet another missive to Congress, one again begging them for money and supplies, was not at all an unusual occurrence, what was unusual was that fact that, when I entered his office, General Washington was not alone. Laying on one of the nicer chairs, clutching a dolly and fully asleep, was Frances Laurens. The young girl alone would have been strange enough, however I was somehow less surprised when I realized who exactly was speaking to the General. It was Jack, of course it was Jack. Could I not simply have him and all of his problems leave me alone? I glared at the back of his blue uniform coat, wishing he could feel my annoyance through the wool.

“Hamilton.” Washington nodded at me, gesturing for Jack and I to both take seats across from him at his desk. Begrudgingly, I did, angling my chair as far as physically possible from the other present officer. Why on earth did he need to be here?

“What did you wish to speak about, sir?” I asked him point blank, trying to scan the papers spread out across his desk to see what on earth we had both been summoned to discuss. As I did do, Frances awoke, her cries abruptly cutting off Washington’s response. Jack immediately stood up, retrieved his daughter, and retired to his seat with the child on his lap. Her crying ceased, and she began to grab repeatedly at the shiny buttons on his coat with her chubby little hands.

General Washington cleared his throat and, with a surprisingly sympathetic glance to Jack, who Frances was now attempting to scale, began to speak. “I was recently informed by Major Tallmadge of an incident that occurred a few days prior involving Hamilton finding Ms. Laurens in a blackberry bramble. While this would typically only be an event that would concern Laurens and his handling of his child, it has come to my attention that this may have been perpetrated by a circle of British spies in our ranks. Tallmadge informed me of his and Mrs. Hale's suspicions when he reported this incident to me, and quite frankly I believe him, for in this war, it has been proved again and again that our enemy is willing to do almost anything in order to secure victory; both Paoli and the crown’s actions prior to this war come to mind. Thus, we obviously must do something in order to remedy this fact.”

“Of course.” Jack and I said at the same time. I shot him a glare. How dare he.

Washington either elected to ignore this, or simply did not notice, and continued. “Major Tallmadge is my head of intelligence, something that neither of you are to mention to anyone outside of this room, however he can not handle this endeavor alone, as he has other obligations to fulfill that take precedence over this affair. Hamilton, you are my most trusted aide, and Laurens, you have proved yourself to be an ardent patriot; for these reasons, I have decided to assign you both to uncover the extent of the British infiltration in this camp.”

“Yes, sir.” Next to me, Jack merely nodded. I supposed that he must have figured that Tallmadge was no longer merely a major in the 2nd Continental Light Dragoons, especially that the man had become a very useful outlet from complaints.

Now, investigating the British spy ring that was sure to exist in camp was quite the substantial responsibility, and given that success could lead to my highly coveted battlefield command, I was not against the assignment as a whole, what I was against was my choice of partner. I could barely stand spending the day writing next to Jack in silence, working with him on this would be miserable! Why on earth did Washington think this was a good idea? Between Tallmadge and I, we could uncover it easily. Jack simply did not need to be involved. He had gotten his daughter back and his involvement in the endeavor ought to have ceased!

“May I speak to you in privacy, sir?” I asked the General through gritted teeth, sending a pointed glare at Jack and Frances.

He nodded, and politely asked Jack and Frances to leave for a moment. Only when the sound of footsteps and childish babbling had faded, did I speak again. “With all due respect General Washington, I simply can not do what you are asking of me.”

“And why might that be?” He sighed.

“Under absolutely no circumstances will I collaborate with John Laurens.”

“Son, this is a far larger problem than whatever disagreement you and Colonel Laurens are currently having. Our entire country could be at risk if these spies are not located and expelled. The whole of this issue takes precedence over everything else at the moment. I would not assign you and Laurens to this if I did not trust you to complete it.”

“But—” I began to say before I was abruptly cut off.

“If you cooperate and do not intentionally antagonize Laurens, I shall consider your request for a field command.” That was enough to stop my protests. For years, I had been bothering Washington for a field command, and always it had been denied. Time after time, I had been confined to my desk. But this? This was the first time that he had ever appeared to seriously consider the prospect. Well, I could probably put up with Jack for a few weeks if it meant I would finally be given the command I deserve.

“Fine.” I agreed. “I shall do it.”

“Good.” Washington nodded. “I have instructed Tallmadge to fill you both in on all the information he has gathered pertaining to enemy spies, so please take Laurens to his tent so that you might begin on your work as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir.” Standing up, I gave him the salute that protocol required me to, before departing the room and closing the door behind me. This ought not to be too bad, right?

Out in the hallway, Jack was sitting on a chair, Frances still on his lap, babbling on about her dolly to him. He looked up when I arrived, sunlight hitting his face in a way that, only a week or two prior, I would have found handsome. I no longer did. Everything about him disgusted me, from the top of his abnormally tall head, to the sole of his boot. For someone who had seemed so sweet to me, he was far too good at lying. The field command was just barely worth putting up with him. Dear god, at this rate, I might as well simply defect and spend the rest of the war with Hale, doing whatever the hell that man thought was enjoyable. Murder, it was probably murder.

“Alexander—” He began. Dear god, why did he still speak to me like that? Like we were still on speaking terms, like he had not willingly and knowingly withheld rather important information from me. The sole reason that I still mentally referred to him as Jack was that there were far too many Johns in camp to do anything else. There was absolutely no reason for him to still use my given name.

“Do not speak to me like that.” I hissed.

“Like what?” Jack asked, appearing genuinely bewildered. Fool.

“Like you did not betray me.” Having slid off of her father’s lap, Frances toddled up to me, attempting to wrap herself around my leg. I was not so cruel as to kick a child, however a part of me half wished to, if not for the sole purpose of seeing Jack miserable.

“I swear it was not my intention to do so.” As I began to walk away, Frances having seen fit to divert her course and head for her discarded dolly, he grabbed onto my arm. It was light, and would not leave a bruise, yet I pried his fingers off all the same.

“Then when would you have informed me?” I shot back, moving out of arm’s reach and crossing my arms. The middle of Washington’s headquarters was no such place to be having this sort of argument, yet it unfurled there all the same. Not another soul was in the hall anyway, and so long as we continued to whisper, we would not be overheard. This left plenty of time for Jack to flounder at such a remarkably simple question. When would he have bothered to inform me of his wife and child? When would he have bothered to inform me of the fact that he had never simply been mine? When would he have bothered to inform me that every time he told me that he loved me, he was merely repeating the words he had told another?

“I-I, I swear, please, oh god.” He sputtered, looking so pathetic. “Alexander, I-I—”

“Ah, so you never would have.” I looked down my nose at him, all of that blonde hair, and blue eyes, and steady hands, and continental uniform, and drops of blood dried to his hand that must have come from slitting his wrists again…oh shit. I might have forgotten about that part. Memories flooded my mind: his sudden absence at my side; asking an even more confused Tallmadge if he had any idea where he might have been; running through the woods as the sun set, snow crushing underfoot; finding Jack there, sitting in the snow, penknife at his side, covered in ruby red blood and already delirious from blood loss; sitting by his bedside, placing his head in my lap and running my hands through his hair, begging him over and over not to die, for the love of god he could not die. It was such a curious thing, to be simultaneously filled with rage at the mere thought of someone, yet at the same time be absolutely terrified of the thought of what they were doing to themselves. 

“This, this is nothing.” Jack quickly tugged down the sleeve of his coat, putting on a facade of normalcy, but I could see the fear in his eyes. He knew I knew. Had he done this because of me? I suddenly felt sick. Never, never in eternity had I wished for him to do this because of me. All of our past interactions flooded through my head. Had I been too rude? All I had been doing was informing him of how cruel he was. I hated him, had he thought that I hated him and done this? Was this all my fault? It could not be my fault, yet what else would have possessed him to do such?

“Might we speak alone?” I finally asked, choking out the words. He had requested the same thing a few days prior, hopefully he would still agree to it now. God he had to agree to it.

“Yes. Simply allow me to deposit Frances with Hannah.” Jack agreed. Oh thank the Lord he had agreed. 

“I shall meet you in the field by Tallmadge’s.” Tallmadge had somehow managed to get himself moved to a tent on the very perimeter of camp, a fact that made finding him to complain was rather difficult. Seeing that we had been directly told by the General to meet with Tallmadge, it would not be strange for soldiers to see us in the field by his tent. Besides, we would still be meeting with him, it would just occur after a few other events.

“Of course.” He nodded, before disappearing into the camp to go and locate the most terrifying woman from Albany that I had ever interacted with.

Notes:

....yeah this is a bit late. This weekend was my homecoming, and I've been too busy to update. Sorry! Don't worry, next week's chapter is almost done, so that one should be on time.

Chapter 47: Redamancy

Summary:

redmancy
(RED-uh-man-see)
noun
the act of loving someone who loves you, or a love that is returned in full

About twenty minutes later, I found myself pacing back and forth in a field, desperately regretting the whole affair. On one hand, I wished to never see Jack again and to banish all thought of him from my mind forever, yet on the other, I desired for all to return to the way it was before he had left for South Carolina. However, there was no way that I would ever be able to forget his lies, no matter what occurred, they would always taint my image of him. I had been a fool to so completely accept that a Southern gentleman with a rather concerning love of turtles would have no skeletons in his closet, no dark secrets that he buried as far down as I did mine. The dry grass crunched beneath the soles of my boots as I continued the repetitive action. The field was far enough out on the edge of camp that no one would see us, save for perhaps Tallmadge if he really went looking. It had been nearly half an hour of this rather panicked pacing when I finally saw Jack approaching, holding something in his hands.

“I picked this up for you in Baltimore.” Handing me the object, which was actually a thick volume, I inspected it. It was a complete printing of the Illiad, something that I half remembered mentioning to him that I wanted in an offhanded remark a few months prior.

“A bribe is not required.”

Jack just smiled and shook his head, a glimpse of the way things used to be. I half wished to return to those days, half knew that that would be impossible. This time, I did not shoot him a glare. Instead, I just watched as Jack took a seat on the chunk of felled tree. This field tended to be used as a site for a fire, and the felled log actually sat on the edge of a scorched circle, evidence of a blaze gone awry.

“I propose a game.” He said abruptly after a moment of rather awkward silence. I was quite confused, obviously unaware of his overall strategy. For, arguments had clearly not worked, why on earth would he wish to play a game? Those were for children, although so much time around Frances may have affected his mental state. Given that I did not have children, I could not know.

“What sort of game?” I slowly asked, sitting on the log next to him and kicking at the remnants of last night’s fire.

“I ask you one question and you must answer absolutely truthfully no matter what. Then, you ask me one question and I must answer absolutely truthfully no matter what.” Jack explained, like this was the most logical way to solve an argument such as ours that ever existed. He then added: “You may go first if you wish.”

As little as I understood how this was in any way supposed to lead to me ensuring that he would not kill himself in the next week by accident, I decided to play along, for as much as I wished to yell at him, and scream how much he had hurt me, that was not very productive. Besides, there were several things I wished to ensure before I continued that whole affair. Thus, I agreed,there was not exactly any other thing to do. “Fine. Here is my question for you: why did you not see fit to write me back for the eternity of your absence?”

At this, Jack appeared rather caught off guard, for it was obvious he had expected me to ask him something far more obvious, such as why he had not told me he had a wife. Little did he know that this was a test, nothing more, nothing less; a mere opportunity for me to see if he would be playing this game according to the rules he had set. Besides, I did wish to know what on earth had prevented him from penning a simple message altering me that he had at least received my letters! For god’s sake I had taken to making multiple copies and sending them out with different messengers in hopes that one of them would make it to him.

“I did not write you back for two reasons. First, when I arrived in South Carolina, the fighting was in full swing, and all I had time to do in between scouting perspective battlefields, transcribing correspondence, using some of my limited French to translate for the captain of a unit all the way from New Orleans to help us, and preventing myself from being shot, was to sleep. Occasionally I could steal a moment to read your letters, and believe me when I say that I read them over and over again, yet there was never enough time or privacy to compose a response. When the fighting ended, I had every intent to write you a letter so long that it would make up for everything, however only a few days later, I was informed of the fact that Frances would be deposited in my custody within the week, and I am sure you can understand why she prevented me from writing to you. The only reason that I was even able to inform you of our arrival from Baltimore was that, I am sure you know Major Poe, well his wife watched Frances for a few moments while I did so. And I am endlessly sorry that I failed to write to you for so long.” Jack apologized yet again.

Honestly, I was rather inclined to believe him. There were times from before he had arrived at camp, when Washington had not employed nearly enough aides and the British were near, that I had put off my own personal correspondence for weeks. Thus I told him such. “That seems as good a reason as any. Now, I believe that it is your turn to ask me a question?”

“Correct.” He nodded, looking rather pleased with himself that I had gotten the hang of his little game so quickly. Oh only if he knew the questions I had in store for him later. “Here it is: do you like it?”

“Like what?” I asked.

“The book.”

Of course, the copy of the Iliad I was currently holding. “Yes, I do. I lost my copy somewhere around Trenton, and it is nice to once again own a copy.” Jack looked rather pleased with himself at that, a fact that I intended to soon change. “And for your next question: why on earth did you get married in the first place when you have made it abundantly clear that you experience no attraction towards womankind?” 

Jack was silent for a moment, and I half thought that he would call the whole affair off, a rather dramatic response given what I had still yet to ask him. When he did finally speak, his voice was far more quiet than it had been. “I suppose I ought to tell you the whole story then. It began in Geneva, when I was there studying law. Now I assume that you are aware that you are not the first man I have ever been with, and I am not sure if you will be the last—but that is beside the point. In Geneva, I entered into an…intimate friendship with Mr. Francis Kilnoch. He—you were far better to me than he ever was, and the long and short of the whole affair is that when, on my father’s wishes, I moved to London to continue my studies, he wrote me a scathing letter telling me that we were through. It devastated me, I am not quite sure why as he was—well best not to dwell on the past. What matters is that the same night I received the letter, I made the acquaintance of Ms. Martha Manning. I am not sure if it was to punish myself, or to merely prove to myself that I was not broken, I took her to bed. It seemed but a youthful mistake that both of us could move on from and forget, however that was not the case.

“A few months later, it came out that Martha was pregnant, and, under pressure from my father, I married her. It was out of obligation more than anything else; perhaps some twisted sense of duty. Never in my life have I ever looked at her and desired her the way I am supposed to. In London, I was miserable, absolutely and utterly miserable. The whole marriage was a sham, an elaborate lie that neither of us had our heart in. I–I was not happy to hear of Martha’s death, I do not know if I was relieved or sad. I was just numb. I suppose that probably does not actually answer your question though. Duty. I married her out of duty. Nothing more, nothing else. Looking back, the only love I ever held for Martha was not even that of a friend. We were never together enough to have become friends.”

It was not the answer I had been expecting. He had not loved her. I had expected to be told that, but not in this way. Any residual fury in me had been replaced with confusion over what exactly I was supposed to feel. On one hand, Jack had been married, he had carried on the whole of our relationship being legally bound to another, he had abandoned a child to adventure across the ocean and fight in a war, and he had told me that he loved me, all the while lying to me about the very nature of his existence. However, that whole marriage had been an honor-bound mistake, and he felt no love for his wife like he had for me. But a marriage was still a marriage was it not? The union had produced a child, and if he did not have a duty to his wife, then he at least had a duty to that child, to not abandon her and take up a lover. Perhaps the whole of the situation was far more complex than I had originally assumed it to be.

“Jack, dear god.” That was all I could say, struck dumb from astonishment as what had to be the truth unraveled in front of me. He did not say anything in response, merely stayed silent. I wished to take his hand, yet at the same time I was not sure that was the right thing to do. At least one truth was clear in my mind: he did love me, despite all of the severely complicated events that had occurred before we met, and his failure to inform me of them, he did love me. And I think that I must have still loved him as well.

“Do you hate me?” Jack’s voice was quiet— soft. He sounded as if he might cry.

“No. I do not think I could ever truly hate you. I hate that you hid a marriage from me, I hate that you hid a child from me, I hate that you lied to me, and I hate that you betrayed me. But I do not hate you.” It was the truth, the closest thing to the truth I could summon. For beneath all the layers of defense and spite, I had never truly hated him. His actions? Why, of course. But him? Never. Despite all of his transgressions, I could not help but to retain affection for him. With so few people I held close, I supposed that it could not be helped.

“I am sorry.” He whispered. “I am so, so sorry.”

I was a fool, such a fool. I believed him. Maybe it was the way he said it, perhaps it was how this time, he seemed like he meant it with every fiber of his being, or it might have simply been the fact that I was tired, so tired of feeling as though I was alone. Jack, even removing the whole romantic affair, was my closest confidant, Lafayette being the only one who could ever come close, and he was in France. But, before I would tell him that outright, I had one more question in this little game. One of his hands was right next to mine, and, against my better judgement, I covered it with my own before I spoke, trying to be as gentle as possible. “Why did you never tell me? Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I-I had hoped it would just go away. I thought that if I ignored the problem for long enough, it would just go away. And, I was fully expecting to die on the field of battle. I supposed that I had been hoping that would happen, and when you were informed of my marriage and daughter, then your grief would be replaced by hatred, and you would not be miserable.” He did not look me in the eyes, merely staring down at the remnants of a long burnt out fire. “It is far easier to believe that someone was a terrible person than to accept they are dead.”

“Please do not die.” Death. It had loomed over the two of us from the beginning. The threat of it was the whole reason that we had ever begun our affair in the first place. Every time we headed into battle, it was everywhere. Our profession was death, the killing of men of opposite belief to further a cause. But it could not come for Jack, I could not lose Jack to its talons. Everyone else had died. My mother, my cousin, my father had to be dead. Death was the whole reason I had ever made it this far. It could not be the reason Jack was taken away from me, it could not be the reason that he had inadvertently made me hate him. I had long known, from a whispered confession, that he intended to die a glorious death on the battlefield, yet I had never yet understood just how much of a given that he had believed this to be.

“I promise I shall not.” Jack knelt in front of me now, holding both of my hands in his, with that unbelievably ernest look on his face. “Alexander, never in a million years would I ever mean to hurt you in such a way; do you think that you might be able to forgive me, or at the very least understand why I did it?”

“I do not think that I shall ever be able to fully forgive you for this, but I do understand, and I would much rather not hate you than be alone.” It was not quite forgiveness, for I would forever remember his betrayal, but dear god I did not think I could make it through this war without him. 

“I quite agree. Truce?”

“Truce.” I agreed, pressing a feather light kiss to the back of his hand. The way Jack’s eyes lit up at the action reminded me why I had never thought myself capable of hating him in the first place. For, I still loved him. Things would not immediately return to the way they used to be, but I loved him enough to stick around. For, in a time when emotions ran high, camaraderie seemed far too easy, and death was all around, I wished to love him before he was ripped from me. I had to. Everyone seemed to be torn from me eventually, and it seemed there was nothing I could do but savor the fact that he was here now. I murmured, my voice barely louder than a breath:  “I love you. I think I still love you.”

“I love you as well. I love you above all else.” I let him kiss my cheek. All was well, for now at least.

Notes:

They finally had a healthy conversation!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter 48: Inquiry

Summary:

inquiry
/ˈinˌkwīrē,inˈkwīrē,ˈinkwərē/
noun
an act of asking or searching for information.

As much as I desired to simply continue speaking to Jack for the remainder of the evening, we unfortunately still had orders to obey, and those orders entailed finding Tallmadge and learning all he had uncovered on the existence of an enemy spy ring in camp. The Major was still in his tent, and was most assuredly not reading a book on duty, for why on earth would a dutiful former minister ever do that? Of course he was reading Shakespeare, I supposed that if anything could ever rival the sheer cacophony of drama that surrounded Hale, it was probably that volume of plays. He closed it when we approached, Jack having dropped his hand from where it had been resting on the small of my back, all three of us pretending that we had not seen what was occurring right before our very eyes a mere few seconds prior.

“Glad to see you two are finally speaking to each other again.” Tallmadge remarked when he looked up at us. I had to physically repress my desire to roll my eyes at him. Apparently, he lacked the decency to have neglected to bring up our spat.

“General Washington has given us an assignment that requires some information you have gathered.” I said instead, shooting him a small glare nonetheless.

Our so gracious host ushered us inside his tent, which housed a small desk and cot. Given that Tallmadge was sitting in the desk chair, that left Jack and I to either stay standing, something that the tent’s height did not exactly allow for my companion, or to sit on the cot. We sat on the cot, knees bumping together in the cramped space. In hushed tones, we recounted the exact purpose of our latest assignment from Washington to his spymaster, who listened at rapt attention, or perhaps he was just pretending to pay attention. During my college years, I had developed a rather convincing listening face for exceptionally boring lectures, and I could only imagine that there was nothing more boring to study than Theology.

“Oh yes, the infiltration of our army by British forces. It is really a given if you think about it, for in war there is nothing more useful than having men inside the enemy camp.” The object of our haphazard explanation mused

“Does that mean that we have men in the British camp?” Jack asked him.

“Perchance.” Tallmadge shrugged. “I am not at liberty to tell.”

We had men in the British camps. I knew this for a fact as I had been in the room when Tallmadge and Washington had discussed it. However, given that Jack was not privy to the full range of knowledge that I was, I refrained from commenting on this fact. Instead, I merely said: “To what extent are we aware of the infiltration of our camp? Assuming of course that it extends beyond our efforts in theirs."

“Well that,” the man sitting across from Jack and I began, “Is a rather complicated answer. You see, it is obvious that there must be British operatives in this camp, however we have last pinned down a specific man involved around 1776, and as you can reason from that, they have gotten quite good at hiding their actions. But, it seems as though we might have found another spy, or at least someone who said spy was paying off.”

Jack and I both pressed him at the same time: “Who?”

“It seems as though the fellow might have been one of the men who organized the kidnapping of Frances.” Jack’s expression grew dark, and I could not blame him. He had been in such a state after someone had tried to take his daughter, not that I still particularly liked the little girl , and the sheer brazenness of attempting to steal a child could be nothing but an enemy plot. Or at the very least a loyalist plot, for I was not particularly convinced that the British military, despite their many crimes, would occupy themselves with the kidnapping of a singular little girl. Tallmadge continued, saying: “Despite how much I wish I had more information to pass on, I have found no concrete evidence of a spy ring, there is one of course—no denying that, but the captured man appears to be the only operative, if he was even ever one in the first place.”

“Where is he?” I asked at the exact moment that Jack lamented: “If you are not investigating spies in camp, then what on earth have you been doing?”

“First off, that is not information you are allowed to be privy to, and second he is in the guardhouse, locked in and under constant surveillance. If you desire, I can walk you there, however it seems as though this is not an investigation that is to concern me, besides, I have prior commitments. My dragoons are to go on a patrol of the area, and I do not trust them to do it alone.”

“Have fun watching over your dragoons, we shall update you on anything we find.” I assured him, gears already turning in my head. One of Frances’s kidnappers had been captured. That was good of course, and it explained a lot; it explained how they had known that the little girl was in camp, and also how they were able to approach her without alerting the suspicion of anyone nearby. However, what it did not explain was why. While Henry Laurens, the old bastard, was exceptionally wealthy, and Jack could strangely enough access that wealth whenever he desired, a faucet of his father’s generosity that had always perplexed me, no ransom note had been left, nor any sort of indication that the kidnapping was monetarily motivated.

“Do you think that the dragoons are actually going on patrol?” Jack whispered to me as we exited Tallmadge’s tent, heading in the direction of the guardhouse.

“Of course not.” I shook my head. “In all likelihood, he is completing something that he can not name in our vicinity, or meeting up with someone to have sex.”

“For Tallmadge being a minister, you seem to have a very low opinion of his morals.” He chuckled next to me.

“You did not know them in Albany.” I pointed out to him. “And I can guarantee you that Hale was not the only criminal in that city; he rubbed off on our dear spymaster much like how I have rubbed off on you.”

“And how exactly have you done that?” Teasing me, Jack glanced around, saw we were practically alone, and gave my hand a quick squeeze.

“You can translate French better now, can you not?”

We spent the rest of the walk to the guardhouse in much the same manner, jesting to each other and teasing in the sort of light hearted way that made me wish I could have known Jack in a world without this dreaded war. The guardhouse was not an exceptionally impressive place, simply an old smokehouse that we had converted into a base of operations for the life guard, who had quite the work cut out for them when it came to protecting Washington and his headquarters. With a salute from both of the Corporals stationed at the door, Jack and I were both granted entry, not a single explanation for our presence required. Perhaps they had been warned, or perhaps they merely recognized me as Washington’s right hand man, although it might have simply been our ranks that permitted us to do so.

Descending into the darkness of the smokehouse, the dank smell creeping up my nostrils, I could soon make out the figure of a man, wrists still tied together and illuminated rather poorly by the lantern that some engineering soldier had decided to fasten to the ceiling to light the place. He was probably at least thirty years of age, but not much past that, with a receding hairline, great domed forehead, greasy brown hair, and a rather crooked nose that looked as though it had been broken and healed incorrectly. All in all, he looked the rather slimy type, and for the life of me I could not understand why he would have joined the army, although, to be fair, the Hales were all ardent patriots, so perhaps that was not as strong of a point as I had initially thought.

The man looked up at the two of us, beady eyes glinting in the short burst of sunlight that followed us in. Beside me, Jack looked at him with disdain, asking in a voice far sterner and far more cold than I had ever heard him to be: “Name, rank, unit.”

“Silus Rainsford, Private, Second Georgia." The prisoner informed us. Now, I was no expert on regional American clothing or accents, for I had not come to the country but a decade before; however, I was very much sure that this man was not from Georgia. He did not possess the slightly slower cadence and tendency to drop the letter R that both Jack and his father did, nor did he dress in the same light summer clothes that many of the other southern men did.

“I suppose you are aware of our purpose for being here?” I asked him, crouching down so that we were eye to eye. His breath was rancid, exactly how I executed the breath of a man who took part in the kidnapping of a small child to smell.

“No Lieutenant Colonel, sir.” Rainsford responded. A lie if I had ever seen one. I turned to Jack, the look on his face betraying the fact that he had clearly come to the same conclusion that I had.

“We are here to question you regarding your involvement in the attempted kidnapping of one Miss Frances Laurens.” Jack informed the prisoner, tactfully leaving off the fact that he was the father of the young girl in question. I had never seen so much pent up rage boiling under his surface, for a man who spent a non insubstantial amount of time sobbing in my arms, it was an exceptionally unique state. It would be a lie to say that I did not appreciate it in some way.

“How long have you been enlisted in the army?”

“Three weeks.” If he had been in for only three weeks, then how on earth had he so quickly recognized my rank? Most of the new enlisted men had to take a moment to mentally compare my uniform to what they were used to. Taking a mental note of that, we proceeded.

“Where were you four days ago?” He was asked by Jack.

“Out on patrol.” He answered far too confidently. I would have to see which unit had been assigned that task, and to ensure that he was also not lying about what unit he was in.

“Have you seen Miss Laurens around camp before?” I demanded of him.

“I suppose I probably have, all those children look the same in the end. Little babies all blend together after a while, especially when they have blonde hair. Too many blonde men in this camp I tell you.” How on earth had he known Frances’s age and approximate appearance? For she and Jack had not been in camp long, long enough only for those we both saw on a daily basis to become aware of the girl’s existence, not for the average soldier to become acquainted with her. Jack and I shared a look.

“What do you know about the attempted kidnapping?”

“Why nothing!” He exclaimed. “I know nothing about it at all. No sir! I had nothing to do with that whole sad affair. I would never dare snatch up a babe and cart her away. Poor little thing was probably scooped up by someone who wished to play a joke, small enough for one man to take anyway.”

“How do you know that?”

“I told you that I have seen her around camp.” The man bristled. “I was stationed near where her mother did the laundry.”

Yet another falsity. While Hannah might have been able to be mistaken for Frances’s mother, and for some reason my sister as well, she was most certainly neither of those things, and she was also definitely not a laundry lady, but a nurse instead. And, to further tighten the noose around Rainsford's neck, the Second Georgia was stationed on the very opposite side of camp from the medical tents. He was a dreadful liar.

“That is rather odd, given that your tent is on the opposite side of camp and your commander told me that you were not stationed anywhere near there.” That was a bluff, neither Jack nor I had spoken to Rainsford’s commanding officer, but he did not need to know that.

“I-I was running errands.” He sputtered.

“Then how would you recognize my daughter and learn her name if you only saw her on errand runs in the company of a woman who was not her mother?” Jack glared down at the quivering traitor, and in that moment I became exceptionally thankful for the considerable advantage he had on both Rainsford and me in the height category.

“I, um, well–you see—”

“How did you know!" Jack demanded.

“I was given a description of the girl and told to kidnap her!” Rainsford blurted out. So he was guilty! For a would-be kidnapper, he was a terrible liar. Now the real question was why. And who had given him the description of Frances? It was fairly clear that her kidnapping was not the result of the twisted mind of this single man, it was far more likely that he was merely a pawn in a larger game, and Jack and I now needed to discern the chess master.

“Who told you to kidnap her?” My voice was as icy as I could force it to be, mainly because I did not want to have to oversee a fight between the two other people in the smokehouse, for it looked as though Jack was two seconds away from punching Rainsford in the face. Honestly I could not blame him, especially given that that was exactly how furious I had been at him only a few hours prior.

“I-I do not know.” Rainsford was cowering in the corner now, obviously aware that we both wished violence against him, in no small part because he continued to lie! “He threatened me that he would have me hanged for treason if I did not take the girl! This was not what our deal had originally been. It was not kidnapping! No kidnapping, no sir!”

With that, the man collapsed into a fit of sobs and shouts. It was obvious that we would get no more useful information out of him at the moment. I had to practically drag Jack out of the smoke house in order to prevent him from physically fighting Rainsford. While I did most certainly understand the reason why he wished to physically assault him, I also did not desire to go through another Henry Laurens influenced court martial, unless of course it was a court martial of henry laurens, in that case I would happily participate.

“Slimy bastard." He muttered under his breath as I shut the door behind us, nodding at the two guards, both of whom looked rather disinterested in the whole affair. 

“Quite.” I agreed once we were a good dozen or so feet away from the smoke house turned prison. “Rather useless as well, the second he said something important he broke down sobbing. It shall be quite fun to extract more information from him.”

I took Jack’s hand in mine as we walked to Washington’s headquarters for the midday meal, dropping it when our fellow soldiers drew near. During the meal, I supposed that I had missed having him so near to me, having someone who would simply listen as I spoke on whatever matters came to mind, having someone who was simply there. It was a luxury that I had taken for granted, especially with how much he loved me. On the walk over to Tallmadge’s, as he needed to be updated on the information we had gathered from Rainsford, the sound of rapid footsteps approached Jack and I. It was one of the messenger boys, panting and face red from exertion.

“Colonel Hamilton, Colonel Laurnes, you both need to come quick—Private Rainsford is dead!”

Notes:

The action's heating up now!
Just a few notes for this chapter: According to a quick Google search, the Southern accent began to develop around the 1700s, however it wouldn't become what we think of today, so don't think of Laurens as a texan cowboy or anything, its much more minor, but Hamilton picks up slightly on it. Here's a reddit post explaining it a hell of a lot better than I ever could: https://www.reddit.com/r/linguistics/comments/5xn77e/how_did_the_southern_accent_develop_on_the_us_and/#:~:text=These%20characteristics%20were%20a%20result,to%20upland%20Appalachian%20speakers%20today.

Also, not really as important, but Rainsford is named after the protagonist in The Most Dangerous Game.

Chapter 49: Inquest

Summary:

in·quest
/ˈinˌkwest/
noun
A judicial or official inquiry, typically into the circumstances of a death.

Dead? But we had seen him only two hours prior! The man had been locked up under guard, how on earth could he have killed himself, or have someone snuck in in order to kill him? Following the messenger boy, Jack and I both ran back to the smokehouse, the action aggravating that old injury from when I had fallen off my horse on the way to Valley Forge. As we ran, my mind raced through all the possibilities of how Rainsford could have died. Had he fallen prey to illness? No, he seemed perfectly healthy two hours prior, if not maintaining the highest quality of hygiene. Then had the cause of his demise been due to suicide? Well, that was slightly more probable, but it would still require the procurement of a knife, poison, or rope, and two hours ago, Rainsford had had access to none of those objects. If it was neither suicide nor illness, than had it been murder? It almost had to have been. But who on earth could have dealt the fatal blow?

The smokehouse was drawing closer now, and perhaps running the whole way here had not been the greatest idea I had ever had, especially given the faint burning feeling in my lungs. As we approached, I could make out a dozen or so members of Washington’s life guard gathered around the smokehouse, all speaking amongst each other.  I silently hoped that Major Gibbs, the head of the life guard, had at least been informed of Jack and I’s special relation to this whole affair, for something in the back of my mind told me that this was somehow all connected to Rainsford’s involvement with the British spy ring. The outer ring of soldiers parted to allow me and Jack access to the other high ranking officers, namely Gibbs and two of his subordinates whose names I did not recall and frankly probably never would. All three of them were gathered around the open smokehouse door, occasionally peering down into the darkened space, yet at the same time not venturing down. My stomach turned at the thought of what horror might be awaiting us in that smokehouse. I had never enjoyed the sight of blood.

“Colonel Hamilton, Colonel Laurens.” Gibbs and both of his subordinates saluted us once we had picked through the assembled crowd in order to reach them at long last, an action that both of us returned. “I see that you received the message from Gabriel."

“Yes, we did.” Jack affirmed. “You said that Rainsford is dead, correct?”

“Correct.” The Major nodded, glancing back into the smokehouse, almost as if to confirm that that was still true, an action which prompted me to ask a follow up question.

“And you have affirmed that he has in fact passed?” I pressed him.

“Colonel Hamilton, I can assure you that Private Rainsford is dead, but if you wish, I can send for a physician to confirm such.”

“That will not be needed, although the offer is appreciated.” Next to me, Jack quickly interceded. It was a fair decision, no need to involve more men than necessary at the moment, although I was sure that Tallmadge would end up dragged into this by some matter or another; at this point, it seemed practically impossible that he would not be.

“Well, so long as we do not require a physician, then might Colonel Laurens and I inspect the scene?” Gibbs looked physically uncomfortable when I proposed the action. It was rather odd, given that this was simply the logical next step assuming that we were to track down Rainsford’s killer, or who had smuggled him whatever had caused his death. For if Ransiford had died a natural death, there would have been no reason for either the large assembly of life guards or Gibbs’s discomfort.

“I-I suppose you may if you wish.” He conceded.

Descending down the few steps from the smokehouse door into the actual room, what hit me first was certainly the metallic scent of blood that had been warmed in the afternoon sun. The smell lingered heavily in the air, making me feel nauseous the moment it first assaulted my nostrils. However, I could not retreat, for Jack was on the step directly behind me so I was forced to press on. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, one of the most horrific sights I had ever seen assaulted my eyes, causing me to clamp one hand over my mouth. The walls and floor were both slick with warm blood, which was pooling in the middle of the floor. Sitting discarded in one corner was a knife, covered in blood and still buried in the scalp that had been taken from Rainsford. Speaking of Rainsford, no one had yet bothered to remove his corpse, which was very much a mistake. The man was laying stomach up on the flood, drenched in his own blood; but that was far from the most stomach turning part. Some unknown assailant  had cut him from collar bone to pelvis, and had pulled as many of his internal organs as they could reach out of his body. Combined with the removed scalp, it was easily the most horrific death I had ever borne witness to.

I could not exactly remember stumbling out of the smokehouse, only staggering over to the nearest tree, leaning against it, and puking my guts out. Bile burned my throat as I heaved, already wishing that I could banish the images of what I had just seen from my mind. I had seen the tunnels where Hale hid bodies for fun—blood stains covering half of them, I had seen the hospital in the direct aftermath of a battle, hell I had even once accidentally walked in on General Washington half naked, but that—that was quite possibly the most disgusting and horrific thing that I had ever born witness to. Following the entire contents of my stomach having been emptied onto an unsuspecting patch of grass, I merely stayed there, a hand over my mouth, still dry heaving.

“Are you alright?” A hand rested between my shoulder blades, and Jack’s face appeared by my side. In a low whisper he added, “Do not fret, no one can see us here.”

All I could do was furiously shake my dead. No, oh dear god no I was not alright. Jesus fucking christ. Wrapping one hand around my waist, Jack led me over to a felled log, having me sit down as he stayed by my side. I still felt sick to my stomach, images of what I had just seen running through my mind on a sickening loop. Despite the fact that there was nothing left in my body to vomit up, I still felt very much like I was going to, something that led to me hesitating before accepting a canteen of water that Jack had somehow produced. While I drank the cool liquid, the acidic burn of vomit slowly ebbing away, he rubbed one hand up and down my back in a somewhat awkward action. Had it been a few hours prior, I probably would have shrugged off his hand, but now, it was rather nice.

“Feeling any better?” Jack asked me once I had finished about half the caffeine.

“I do not think I am going to throw up on your shoes.” I ceded, clutching onto

“That is certainly better.” He agreed, standing up and holding out a hand to help me up as well. I took it, the world seemingly spinning around me as I did so. I still felt rather light headed, clutching onto him until the trees all stopped blurring together.

After a moment, and I finally felt as though I was not going to need to sit down again, I finally asked the question that I had been dreading: “We are going to have to go back in there, are we not?”

“I think this time, we ought to delegate the task of recording the scene to lesser officers.” Jack looked just as sickened at the idea of returning to that smokehouse as I did.

“That seems like an ideal course of action.” I agreed, simply grateful that I would not lay eyes on that building again. “Perhaps, we instead ought to ask Major Gibbs who he had stationed there and interview them.”

“That shall suffice.”

Upon arriving back at the smokehouse, I noticed that we had narrowly missed two soldiers carrying a stretcher covered with a white sheet. Rainsford’s corpse no doubt. Given that the men were headed in the direction of the hospital tents and not the burial ground, I guessed that they must have been taking him over to have a surgeon examine him. Hopefully, they would get Oliver Hale, for something told me that that man would exhibit the most minor reaction to the carnage before him. Also, if I wished to involve any doctor in this affair, it would probably be Dr. Hale, since he would be sure not to leak details to any enemy spy. In my experience, the Hales tended to be exceptionally skilled at keeping secrets.

“Major Gibbs.” I nodded to the man, who then greeted me and Jack in much the same manner. Once he had finished I continued. “Due to the nature of Rainsford’s death, would it be possible for you to answer a few quick questions?”

“Why of course.” He agreed.

“Who was guarding the smokehouse when Rainsford died?” I asked him.

“Corporal Thomas Mather and Private Jude Hains. Both of them ought to be back at their tents if you wish to speak to them, as I am sure you understand why I have dismissed them.” Gibbs informed me and Jack. Neither of the men whose names he provided I recognized, however I did not speak to members of the life guard directly very often.

Following his first response, I then posed: “For what duration had Rainsford been contained in the Smokehouse, and had any other men guarded him?”

Shaking his head, Gibbs replied: “Only since this morning, Tallmadge gave me the name at breakfast and we took him shortly thereafter. Mather and Hains have been the only men assigned this post since.”

Just as I was about to tell Gibbs that we had all we needed, Jack butted in with a single question that I could scarcely believe I had not bothered to ask. “How long have Corporal Mather and Private Hains been serving under your command?”

“Corporal Mather has been here since the summer of last, I believe he enlisted somewhere around Philadelphia if my memory serves me correctly. Hains was a far more recent addition however. As far as I can recall, he was transferred to my command during our winter encampment.” After a moment of pondering, the Major informed us of such. Curious, both men had been under his command for fairly decent stretches, especially given high desertion rates, but both had also been enlisted for short enough durations to simply be well placed spies.

“That is all, thank you.” Jack answered him, the two of us heading back to Washington's headquarters. I very much needed a drink, despite the early hour, for anything that could cleanse those images from my mind would be appreciated.

Upon arrival, we both took up our places at our shared desk in the office, Jack pitching in on copying an order while I transcribed all we had discovered in a small book that had been left on my side of the desk, probably by Washington’s orders no doubt. The afternoon morphed into evening, time passing in much the same manner it always had. I let Jack sit closer to me, even whisper a jest or five to me as we worked, laughing despite myself. When Tilghman noted that we must have made up, I even shot him a less pointed glare than usual. For something more pressing was occupying my thoughts: who on earth could have murdered Rainsford in such a brutal way? It was obvious that such had not been done in order to silence him, but instead to send a message. Were we to be next?

Much like always, I still worked far longer than almost everyone else, Jack staying by my side. Did the same anxieties linger in his mind that did in mine? Around nine at night, an hour that was far before I typically retired but still about an hour and a half after typical operations had ceased, Jack stood up, stretching and told me that he was going to retire for the night. He hesitated for a moment after declaring such, but then, light as a feather, he pressed a small kiss to the top of my head. We had had such a day that I actually appreciated it.

Notes:

Isn't violence great?

Idk if I've explained this yet, but Alexander has still been calling John Jack, even when he was pissed at him, becuase there are so many goddamn men named John in this era

Chapter 50: Vexation

Summary:

Vexation
/vekˈsāSHən/
noun
something that causes annoyance, frustration, or worry

There was such an influx of paperwork that Harrison had steadfastly refused to allow Jack or I to leave to investigate our special mission, however, given the sheer abundance of work that needed to be done, this was something that I would not complain about. For a part of me dreaded having to go back there, to investigate the brutal murder of a man who might have, or might not have been a British spy. Luckily, my thoughts were not able to linger there for long, for I was once again to write a letter to General Hand, once again making a clarification, along with having to pen another missive to Congress begging for more supplies and money. It was getting quite demeaning at this point. Around eleven or so, just as we had finally begun to get our workload under control, a disturbance out in the hallway caught my attention. Actually, to describe it as a disturbance would be inaccurate, it was far more like the wrath of God was bearing down upon Washington's headquarters. Much like Jack, Tilghman, Meade, McHenry, and even Harrison, I also gathered at the doorframe to witness what was occurring out in the hallway. Hannah Hale, so full of fury and determination that she looked like some long forgotten pagan goddess, was in a rage, arguing with Gibbs, who was twice her height and clearly blocking her from whatever she desired.

“I demand an audience with General Washington!” She looked so irate that if she had had a knife, I had no doubt that she would have stabbed Gibbs. Having interacted with the Hales, it was fairly likely that she was planning on. Speaking of the Hales, Hannah was not the only one present, Mercy was there as well, holding onto Frances’s hand. The moment that she spotted Jack, Mercy led his daughter over to him, who he immediately scooped up. In order to not leave either little girl in the direct line of fire between Hannah and Gibbs, we let both of them into the office, Jack entertaining both Mercy and his daughter while the rest of us watched the scene in front of us unfurl.

“General Washington is not available at the moment.” Gibbs lied. Did he think Hannah was going to murder Washington? Well based on the look on her face, she honestly might have been. The head of Washington’s life guard, seeing that she was not backing down, continued: “If  you have anything you wish to say to him, you may say it to me.”

“I am no fool Marjor Gibbs. I know perfectly well that you have absolutely no reason to pass my message on.” Hannah shot back at him. She must have looked rather insane to everyone in headquarters who had not previously met her. However, she was absolutely correct. Gibbs had no reason to give any message she provided to Washington, and since he was not often at headquarters, the time it would take for him to speak directly to the General himself would render the message obsolete.

“If you wish,” I spoke up, “I can pass on something to General Washington.” Hannah’s eyes lit up. She knew as well as I did that I was in regular close contact with Washington, and, given that I was a friend of hers, would not neglect to pass her message on. Gibbs shot me a small glare that indicated he did not appreciate my intervention in the whole affair.

“Thank you, Colonel Hamitlon. Would you please ask General Washington to allow me to visit my husband in prison, as someone here has arrested him?” Oliver Hale had been arrested?

“Dr. Hale has been arrested?” McHenry echoed my very thoughts, speaking half to himself, half to all of us. Quite the same sentiment was running through my mind. Why would anyone have arrested Dr. Oliver Hale in the first place? To the best of my knowledge, he was guilty of no crime—alright that might not have been entirely true, however I was sure that he could not have committed any crime that would have resulted in his arrest.

“What charge was he jailed on?” I could not help but to ask. For, the youngest Hale brother was a surgeon, placing him equivalent in rank to either Gibbs or myself, and it would be quite difficult to get either of us arrested, although not impossible—damn you Henry Laurens.

“Oh,” Hannah laughed roughly, in an entirely unladylike manner that seemed to unnerve Gibbs, eyes blazing with fury. “That was what I was hoping that General Washington would be able to explain to me, as no one saw fit to inform me, and the order came from his very own desk.”

“I promise I shall get to the bottom of this.” I tried to assure her. “In all likelihood, it was probably some sort of misunderstanding.

Just as I finished speaking, Gibbs almost immediately began: “Mrs. Hale, this whole affair is no place for a lady such as yourself to be involved. Rest assured that Colonel Hamitlon and I shall put our full effort into your husband’s case.”

While Gibbs might not have realized it in that moment, it was entirely the wrong thing to say to Hannah, as she simply stormed out in a fit of rage, not even bothering to bid farewell, merely calling over to Jack over her shoulder, in a tone sharper that the situation really required, asking him to watch Frances and Mercy for an hour or so. He agreed, although Hannah might have already been too far away to hear it. All of us simply stood there in stunned silence for a moment. What on earth had just occurred? The only sound in headquarters was Frances’s soft cries when she fell on her bottom and Jack attempting to comfort her. Voice shaking slightly, Harrison called us back to work, pulling me aside to tell me that Jack and I could leave to deal with our “special assignment.”

Now, given that Mercy and Frances were in Jack’s care, and neither of us desired to find Hannah to deposit them on her, for preserving our lives was a minor goal, Jack had the brilliant idea of trying to deduce what on earth had just happened in his tent, since the children could play quietly, and we could figure out what on earth Oliver Hale had been arrested for. Jack’s tent was almost identical to mine, except for a few differences. He had two cots instead of one, the second one being made up with a brightly colored quilt and having a doll tucked half under the covers; despite the fact that he had a daughter to care for as well as being a soldier, I had to begrudgingly admit that Jack’s quarters were far cleaner than my own. Speaking of said daughter, when we entered the tent, she decided that she needed to show me all of her dolls one by one and introduce me to them. When Frances did so, I froze up. Why did she like me so much when I had despised the very notion of her since we had met?

“Alexander?” Jack whispered my name after the little girl left with her final doll, now repeating the whole affair with Mercy, who seemed far more excited to be the recipient of such a ceremony than I ever was.

“Tis nothing.” I tried to wave him off, but he pulled me down to sit next to him on his cot. Despite how much I did not want to, I really did not mind it.

“She does not hate you.” He said to me after a moment, as we watched the two children play, very much procrastinating discovering what had happened to Dr. Hale. “And neither do I.”

“I know.” The admission was a fairly simple one, but it did seem to work, for Jack did not seem off put when I transferred the subject of conversation to our pressing matter. “So, Dr. Hale?”

“That was, well that whole affair was quite the surprise. Not to mention that I can think of no reason for his arrest.” The opinion expressed by my…well I was not quite sure what Jack was to me now, but never mind that. The opinion that he expressed was one that I shared, so it was quite good to know that we were both on the same page.

“I quite agree. Lord knows what the Hales used to do back in Albany, but with the sheer number of men ill, I do not think Dr. Hale would even have the time to commit a crime to warrant his arrest if he wanted to.” I could not help but to recall falsifying evidence by candlelight in a cellar in order to get the elder Hale and our very own Major Tallmadge acquitted; because they most assuredly killed Baker, that I had no doubt of.

“What did the Hales do in Albany?” Jack looked at me quizzically.

“Ask Tallmadge.” I laughed, before continuing on. “But as I was saying, this whole affair is rather odd, however it ought to be easy enough to resolve. All we need to do is figure out what charge he was arrested on, prove it was false, and Hannah shall no longer be a threat to Gibbs’s life.”

“You forgot one part.” He pointed out.

“What part?”

“Finding out where on earth Dr. Hale is in the first place.” That might have been minorally important.

“Oh yes, we probably ought to figure that out.”

Enlisting a poor man who had simply had the misfortune of walking past the tent to watch Mercy and Frances, and to ensure that the latter of the two did not eat any grass, Jack and I set out to figure out where on earth Dr. Oliver Hale was being held. Now, there was no permanent jail in the camp, as evidenced by the fact that, before his untimely death that we still very much needed to look into, Rainsford had been held and subsequently murdered in an old smokehouse. Because there was an icehouse only a hundred yards or so from the smokehouse, and it had already been determined that all the ice was long used up, I decided that we ought to begin our search there.

The icehouse looked much the same as the smokehouse, being a small stone building with a shingle roof and a peeling door. Much like the smokehouse, it also had soldiers stationed in front of it, a good sign for locating Dr. Hale, but a bad sign for Dr. Hale. These soldiers were members of the life guard, meaning that they were under Major Gibbs’s command. That bastard had told Hannah to her face that he would help uncover what her husband had been arrested for, while at the same time being the man who had in all likelihood arrested him! Oh nevermind that right now, once the soldiers let us see Dr. Hale and we proved his innocence, then I could write an anonymous pamphlet bashing Gibbs, for he most assuredly deserved it. Jack, being the more physically imposing of the two of us, went to go and speak to the two guards, while I stood behind him, mentally noting the whole scene in case it would tie back into the whole Rainsford conundrum.

“I am sorry Colonel, but we are under orders not to allow anyone to see the prisoner.” The younger of the two guards, voice still high and reedy, apologized, seemingly intimidated by Jack. It was easy to forget that though both a combination of rank and height, he was capable of being exceptionally frightening at times.

“That was not my question, soldier.” Jack corrected him. “Who are you guarding? That is all we wish to know.”

The two guards looked at each other, obviously nervous. After a few tense moments, the other guard, a burly Massachusetts man, said: “We are under orders not to say.”

“Orders from who?” I pressed him, already knowing the answer, annoyance permeating my words. Gibbs, it had to be Gibbs. Ever since Rainsford had been murdered, he had been meddling in absolutely everything, taking control of an investigation that had been assigned to Jack and I. The fool thought himself far more powerful than he was. Well, against Tallmadge, who I was fairly certain had been forced to deal with the fellow before, he did hold the upper hand; however, Gibbs appeared to have forgotten two very important facts: both of us were Lieutenant Colonels, and I held Washington’s ear. He would not emerge victorious this time.

“M-Major Gibbs, sir.” The first guard squeaked. I let out a huff of annoyance and turned to look at Jack. He wore a fairly similar expression to my own.

“Thank you, soldier.” He let out an exacerbated sigh, before gazing around, no doubt looking for the bastard who we required to answer our questions. Having informed him of the location of Gibb’s tent, we set off in that direction of the camp in order to confront him about his meddling, locate Oliver Hale and clear that whole situation up, and at long last get back to the investigation of Rainsford’s death and the British infiltration of the camp—otherwise known as what we were supposed to have been doing this whole time.

Gibb’s tent was much the same as Tallmadge’s, with a desk taking up the majority of it, and the only sign he also resided in there being a cot tucked in one corner. Now, a fact that threw me slightly off guard was the fact that Gibbs was not alone. His lieutenant, Captain Ebeneezer Williams, was also present. While Gibbs was only about thirty or so, Captain Williams appeared far older, nearing forty if I had to guess, and bore all the hallmarks of a man who was very much bitter about the fact that he had to report to a man a decade his junior. When Jack and I entered, and I called out for the Major, Williams, who had been sitting at the desk and taking notes, raised his head at attention. Gibbs quickly answered, thwarting William’s desire to appear as though he held more power than he actually did.

“Is there something you require?” Gibbs asked after we had all been seated, him behind his desk, and Jack and I on two stools. To be fair, it was not the worst arrangement I had ever seen, however there was something about the way that Williams loomed over him that made me feel uneasy. “Perhaps regarding Rainsford? I did ensure that all of his personal possessions were preserved if you wish to look through them.”

“Our business is not regarding Private Rainsford, although I am sure that we shall require those sooner or later.” I clarified. “Colonel Laurens and I are here on the behalf of Mrs. Hannah Hale, in order to determine what her husband, Dr. Oliver Hale, has been imprisoned for. We have already spoken to your guards at the ice house, and they have refused to allow us to learn the name of the prisoner, or see him, citing your orders.”

“I must offer my deepest apologies, Colonel Hamilton," Gibbs began, pausing for a moment to allow Williams to whisper something in his ear. “That order was intended to prevent the enlisted men from doing anything wicked to the prisoner contained inside of there.”

“And just who might this prisoner be, and for what crime was he imprisoned?" I followed up nearly the second he ceased speaking, hoping that this time, Williams would not interrupt the conversation with a whispered remark. There was just something about that man that unsettled me, and with all the unsavory characters I knew, one of whom I had spent far too much time speaking to when we were both imprisoned and waiting for a court martial, that was certainly something.

The major across from Jack and I looked uncomfortable for a moment, but soon he spoke: “The prisoner is Dr. Oliver Hale, and he was arrested by Captain Williams on the charge of murdering Private Rainsford."

Murdering Private Rainsford? Why with all of the crimes I had been half expecting him to have been charged with, the murder of Rainsford was not one of them. It barely even made sense! Why on earth would Oliver Hale have even wished to murder the man in the first place? I doubted that they had ever even met. This was quite the serious crime, yet it was one that scarcely made a lick of sense. My assumption had perhaps been malpractice, or maybe even stealing from an officer, but killing a British agent? No, that did not seem like the doctor I knew.

“Murder?” Jack asked slowly next to me, sounding as if he were in the same state of disbelief. Given that both of us had known all of the Hales at Valley Forge, I could only assume that he was.

“Yes.” Gibbs nodded enthusiastically. “We have found heaps of evidence for his conviction.”

“What sorts of evidence?” I asked slowly. What sort of evidence could there have been? Blood stained clothes? The man was a surgeon for heaven’s sake! All of his clothes probably had bloodstains on them.

Williams, moving from his place looming ominously behind Gibbs, turned to Jack and I and simply said: “That is confidential.”

“We were given this assignment by his excellency, General Washington. Let us see the evidence." I shot back, standing up and glaring at Williams. Unfortunately, I was not as intimidating as I wished to be, for I had to look up at the slimy Captain. 

“And his excellency has put us under direct orders not to share access to the evidence.” WIlliams sneered at me. Had it not been cause for another court martial, I probably would have punched his slimy face.

“Bullshit.” I countered.

“Prove it.” He looked down at me.

“We shall.” Jack interrupted, grabbing me by the wrist and practically dragging me out of the tent. He seemed nearly as furious as I was at the whole affair. We finally stopped a good dozen feet or so from the end of the row of tents, underneath an oak tree that had its branches stripped bare of leaves. Glancing around to ensure that no enlisted men were near, they were not for they were drilling under the Baron’s watchful eye, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed: “You simply cannot threaten people like that.”

“I was not threatening him!” I objected, crossing my arms. It was very much not my fault if Williams had gained the impression that I wished ill upon him, because I certainly did. Claiming that Washington had prohibited anyone besides him and Gibbs from viewing the evidence, really! I worked with Washington every day, I handled the majority of his correspondence, and I could guarantee that the general had given no such order. The gall of those men!

Jack just shook his head at this. “Whatever you say. Now, restriction, as you so eloquently put it, is clearly bullshit. An order from an actual general would be the best way to counter it, especially given that fighting Williams and Gibbs to produce the order would be a headache and a half.”

“I can go speak to Washington. You ought to go check on Frances and Mercy, perhaps inform Hannah of the reason for her husband’s imprisonment as well.” It would not be that difficult to convince Washington to give the order, worst come to worst I could simply forge his signature and present that order to Gibbs. With the history of miscarriages of justice that had occurred in this army, it was vital that we did not allow another innocent man to be charged for a crime that he did not commit. For he did not commit it…right? I mean, I had been functioning on that assumption so far. But I knew Oliver Hale, and while I was fairly certain that he shared some proclivities with his elder brother, brutally murdering a man he did not know simply could not be one of them. Or so I hoped.

Notes:

the plot thickens....

Chapter 51: Advent

Summary:

advent
/ˈadˌvent/
noun
the arrival of a notable person, thing, or event.

When I reached headquarters, the entire place was in a flurry, with all sorts of people running to and fro. A great brown and black carriage, drawn by two fine Virginian stallions, was right outside of the building, the sort of model that only could have belonged to one person: Martha Washington. Before Jack had returned, Washington had mentioned something to me about how he had called her to camp for a short visit, leading me to assume that this could be nothing other than that short visit. I had not seen the lady since our winter camp, and although this was certainly a complication when it came to having Washington sign an order for me, it would be a lie to say that I was not glad to see her. Picking my way through the mass of soldiers turned impromptu porters and servants, it took far longer than usual to cover the two dozen or so feet between the edge of the activity and the door of headquarters.

In the foyer of headquarters, Mrs. Washington was being greeted by the Major Generals, with her husband at her side. I had forgotten that the council of war meeting was today, typically I sat in, but obviously other immediate issues had demanded my attention. When I entered, Baron von Steuben was bowing to Mrs. Washington and kissing the back of her hand. While he had gained some further knowledge of English, his words were still heavily accented, and based on the pleasant smile on her face, I could only assume that she had absolutely no idea what on earth was being said to her.

“Colonel Hamilton.” She gave me a pleasant smile when I approached.

“Lady Washington.” I bowed to her as decorum insisted, saluting the General at her side. He did not seem to notice, for all of his attention was taken up by looking fondly at his wife. It appeared that I would be forging his signature on that order after all.

“How are you doing, and how is Colonel Laurens?” Mrs. Washington asked me after the crowd of people waiting to greet her had thimmed, and I waited to ask General Washington about issuing an order for the sole purpose of proving to Gibbs and Williams that I was right.

“I am doing well.” I replied. “Exceptionally busy, but well. Ja—Colonel Laurens is as well, although he might have more to occupy him than even I do.”

“Why, I have a difficult time believing that!” She laughed, either not noticing, or pretending not to notice how I had nearly referred to Jack not only by his first name, but by a certain nickname that, here in camp, I was the only one to use.

Just as I was silently wondering where on earth Jack was, the universe apparently saw fit to answer that question, as once again, the front door opened, and the very subject of my ponderings entered, this time trailed by his daughter, the young girl covered in grass stains and Jack appearing as though he had just chased her through the whole of camp. In fact, I had a sneaking suspicion that that was exactly what had just occurred. For such a small child, Frances Laurens was eerily skilled at escaping the watchful gaze of any adult in her presence, and this ability was what I attributed the complete and utter failure of her kidnapping to.

“Good afternoon, Lady Washington.” Much like I had before him, Jack gave a bow to Mrs. Washington after quickly composing himself

“As to you Colonel Laurens. And who might this lovely little lady be?” Mrs. Washington bent down to look at Frances, the young girl gazing up at her with big blue eyes,

“This is my daughter Frances.” Jack informed her, whispering to his daughter: “Say hello to Mrs. Washington, Fanny.”

“Hello.” While her words might have sounded far more like “Hewwo,” the older woman was still charmed, placing one hand over her heart,

“Why are you not simply the sweetest little thing?” At that moment, Frances had officially managed to endure herself to Mrs. Washington in a quicker span of time than it had taken for Washington to start referring to me as son. It was probably some sort of record. Aimed at Jack, our commander’s wife queried: “How old is she?”

“Two.” Never before had I seen Jack assume the role of the proud father, but I did have to admit that there was something about the way that his eyes lit up with pride that I could not help myself but to find it enduring.

“Do not be fooled by her age, for she is already quite the mischief maker.” General Washington’s voice joined the conversation. “Miss Laurens here overturned my inkpot and managed to stain both herself and the floor black.”

At this mention, Jack’s ears turned a little pink. Was he embarrassed at the fact that his child had made a mess of Washington’s desk? Oh god, it was adorable, and something that I would most certainly be teasing him over for the next several days. His face when he was flustered was the sort of thing that I loved. Now, I had not born witness to many of Frances’s mischievous “accidents," however I was sure that I would soon. Poor Jack, it explained how weary he appeared at times. Poor Hannah as well. Actually, I did not feel nearly as bad for Hannah. If she could threaten Major Gibbs' life, then she could probably handle Frances.

“Children certainly are something.” Mrs. Washington shook her head. “Colonel, if you require someone to keep an eye on your little girl, I would be more than willing to.

Just as Jack began to say: “Thank you for your generosity, ma’am, but I would not wish to impose upon you,” I slipped into Washington’s office for just a moment. No one was looking after all, and who on earth would miss a singular piece of paper with the format for a general order on it? I penned at least one a day for him, after all. And besides, the General would be far too occupied with his wife to do anything about it. The blank general order was exactly where I had expected it to be, and before anyone could notice, I tucked it into my coat and rejoined the group.

Frances was in Mrs. Washington’s arms now, peering at the older woman like a granddaughter might view her grandmother. It is no trouble at all, she assured Jack, “I shall be happy to keep an eye on this little troublemaker.”

“Thank you so much.”

“Of course.”

Once their exchange had finished, an exchange that ended with an invitation for both me, Jack, and Frances to eat supper with Mrs. Washington and General Washington, I not so subtly motioned for Jack to follow me outside. He did so, allowing me to drag him by his wrist for far longer than I needed to. In the afternoon sun, his blonde hair turned golden. I wished I could kiss him, god I wished I could kiss him. But alas, others were around, and based on the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, we would not even be allocated a few moments alone.

“Oh! Hamilton, Laurens!” Harrison followed us out of headquarters, finally catching up to us a good dozen or so yards from the edge of the building. “I have been meaning to tell you, but an officer just arrived from Virginia, and we need a tent for him, so, Laurens, you shall be sharing Hamilton’s tent with him. I trust that this shall not be an issue?”

“No, sir.” We both echoed.

“And the great sleeping quarters relocation begins once again.” Jack whispered to me after Harrison had turned to head back inside, causing me to have to stifle a laugh. The previous winter, the one spent at Valley Forge, I believe that we had moved sleeping arrangements no less than five times.

“Tis simply our luck!” I chuckled, relishing in the way that his eyes lit up at my remark. The two of us and Frances in one tent would not be that horrid, especially if it resulted in us sharing a bed once again. I had certainly never been adverse to doing such, especially with Jack, and although it was summer and the body heat was certainly not required, a substantial part of me still very much wished to be pressed up against him for the better part of six hours.

In lieu of going to bother Gibbs and Williams and waving the general order I was yet to actually fill out in their faces, Jack proposed that we tidy up my things first before moving his and Frances’s in, for it would be useful to take advantage of the fact Mrs. Washington was watching the little girl, as doing so white she was present would no doubt lead to my needing to replace half my possessions. I agreed, and we both proceeded to my tent, the stolen general order template secretly in my coat pocket. All in all, gathering up my possessions was not that long of an affair, of course my tent was exceptionally messy so I had to shove far too many papers haphazardly into my trunk, all the while Jack grumbled about how I would trip over one of the numerous discarded books and break my neck. It was rather odd to see him in my tent again, given what had occurred the last time he had been in there. The whole affair had produced a rather complicated reaction in me; I both greatly desired to have him near, but was also terrified that we would do nothing but fight in such close quarters.

Packing up Jack’s and his daughter’s things was far simpler than cleaning up mine, for he actually bothered to keep their tent tidy. Moving both his trunk and a satchel of Frances’s things was also fairly simple, with the two of us dragging the trunk a hundred yards or so to my tent, and then returning for the satchel. I had not been aware of how close our tents had been, however that might have been due to my prior avoidance of him and chosen obliviousness to all events involving both him and the little girl. Speaking of Jack and Frances, the next question was how on earth we were to all sleep. I had retained the customary two cots, despite the fact that Jack was the only person who had ever willingly agreed to share with me. Now, while we would both certainly be comfortable in those, the real question was what on earth was to be done about Frances. Having her share with Jack would work, however neither of them would exactly be comfortable. Just as we were both pondering this, an idea emerged. There was an empty trunk that had belonged to a dead officer that was free for the taking. Using this trunk, which was easily large enough to fit a small child, we pried the lid off and filled it with blankets. Perfect, now Frances had her bed as well.

Having forged my general order and Jack begrudgingly agreed to not judge the action’s legality, we once again approached Gibbs, this time to prove to him that we were no fools. Williams was there of course, for now that I had met him, it seemed as though he was constantly shadowing the Major. 

“Major Gibbs,” I addressed the man who we had actually wished to see, completely ignoring Williams, “I have a copy of the general order I cited previously for your inspection. Thus, I must insist that you allow Colonel Laurens and I access to both Dr. Hale and all evidence connected to his case.”

Turning over the general order in his hand, with Williams leaning over his shoulder in order to inspect it as well, Gibbs did not speak for a moment. Could he tell it was not genuine? I shot a look over to Jack. He did not look worried, although that was not a true indication of anything, for I had met him after all. If there was one thing he was skilled at, it was putting up a mask of calmness. Luckily, when Gibbs did speak again, it was not to accuse me of forgery. “This seems genuine, Colonel. If you would simply give me one moment, I will happily have a man escort you to see Dr. Hale while Captain Williams gathers the evidence for your viewing.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Major.” I said icily, for he ought to have done this the first time we had come to him with the request, not following a whole affair.

A sergeant was summoned, and, with Jack and I in tow, he headed directly to the icehouse, not saying a single word as he did so. Quite frankly, it was a little disturbing, but it was superior to someone peppering us with questions regarding how the order had been obtained, so I did not comment on this. When we did reach the icehouse, our guide said something to both of the guards that I was unable to catch, but they did allow both of us admittance into the makeshift cell. Even with the dry August heat all around us, the inside of the icehouse was cold and dank, reminiscent of another time. It was dark as well, exceptionally dark, and as my eyes adjusted to the light, I began to regret not having asked Gibbs for a candle. But nevermind that, for when my eyes did adjust to the light, I saw something far worse that what I had expected.

Dr. Oliver Hale was bound at wrist and knee, slumped against one of the icehouse’s stone walls. He looked horrid, clothes both dirty and ill-arraigned. There was blood running down his chin in a thin trickle from a cut. It looked fresh. When he heard Jack and I approaching, the man looked up. I was not sure what had been done to the man, but I could only assume that it was some form of a beating based on how swollen his face was. The poor fellow had also been stripped down to breeches and shirt, a state that was sure to be miserable come night, for the chill of the icehouse was certainly noticeable.

“Dr. Hale?” Jack asked as gently as he could.

Dr. Hale simply nodded, either unable to speak due to an injury or unwilling to. Oh god. Hannah was right to be furious, for if she was to see the state of her husband now, well Gibbs would not be able to command Washington’s life guard any longer, that was for sure.

“Are you alright?” He followed up. This question received neither a nod nor a shake of the head.

“Dr. Hale?" I repeated Jack’s earlier question. Yet again, he did not reply, merely slumped forward. Looking at Jack, I announced: “I am going to go get Hannah.”

“Good.” He replied, eyeing Dr. Hale with concern, “I shall stay here.”

It was not that hard to locate Hannah Hale, for she was by the medical tents like usual, this time scrubbing at a bloody sheet with far more ferocity than the task truly required. Her red hair had come undone and was falling over her cheeks. I did not spy Mercy anywhere near her, with Mrs. Washington and Frances no doubt. While the doctors, nurses, and soldiers milled around us, I took a few seconds to attempt to collect my thoughts. How on earth did you explain to a woman that her husband looked to be dying in an old icehouse having appeared to have been beaten exceptionally severely, and that she ought to come quick for neither Jack nor I had any idea what on earth we were supposed to do to resolve this situation.

“Hamilton.” Hannah’s steely eyes met my own, as she said my name as if it were an accusation of some sort of wrong doing. Of what wrong doing she considered me guilty, I did not know.

“Mrs. Hale, your husband is…not well.” I informed her, slightly out of breath from the run over there. “Ja—Laurens and I have gained admittance to see him and we think you ought to come right this moment.”

 “Took long enough.” Thrusting the soaked sheet back into the washing bucket, sleeves damp and apron covered with god knows what, Hannah smoothed her dress, and promptly began to march along at my side to the ice house. It seemed as though she was aware of the location of her husband’s imprisonment. As our march turned into a jog and then into a run, I attempted to explain just what condition Dr. Hale was in to Hannah. While I did so, her face darkened and I could have sworn that a murderous glint appeared in her eye. When we reached the icehouse, she stormed right past the two guards, leaving me to shoot them the sort of look that said there would be consequences if she was not admitted.

Within a moment, Hannah was crouching at her husband’s side, feeling his forehead and pulse all at the same time, whispering something to herself. Was it a prayer? A sort of frantic terror and resolve appeared to have come over her, and when she turned to Jack and I, we dared not deny her her demand. “Get a doctor, a proper one. He has been poisoned.”

Notes:

Happy Halloween, everyone!

There's not really a historic precedent for either Martha Washington being here, or jailing people in ice houses, but PLOT! Also Hannah is about ready to kill a man, and Alexander seems to be the only one actually aware of how dangerous she is

Chapter 52: Substantiation

Summary:

substantiate
səb-ˈstan(t)-shē-ˌāt
verb
to establish by proof or competent evidence

Before any of us could truly understand what was occurring, Jack was shouting to the guards outside of the ice house to get a doctor, for God’s sake get a doctor right this instant! I was not sure exactly what to do, as I was not exactly experienced in the field of dealing with poisonings. With Jack gone, and Hannah attempting to do…something to her husband, all I could really go was stand there and put the exact events that had led to this occurrence together. First, Jack and I had been assigned to investigate the infiltration of our camp by a British spy ring; the spy who Tallmadge had discovered and subsequently arrested was Private Rainsford. Following our interrogation of Rainsford, during which he confessed to us that he had allegedly been threatened into kidnapping Frances Laurens, the fellow turned up brutally murdered only a few hours later. When Jack and I had attempted to investigate the murder of the man who had kidnapped his daughter and tried to discern who the killer might have been, Gibbs and Williams blocked us every step of the way. The combination of how reluctant they had been to even inform us that Oliver Hale had been arrested in the first place, and the all out refusal to let either of us glimpse at the evidence until I forged an order from General Washington was curious. So curious indeed that it was suspicious. It was impossible for me to not form the opinion that either Gibbs or William knew far more about the situation than they were letting on, and I would get to the bottom of it.

Within a moment, I heard the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching the icehouse, and Jack and a man whom I did not recognize quickly appeared in the doorway. As he hurried to Dr. Hale’s side, the unknown man introduced himself as Dr. Brown. Jack had somehow managed to obtain a stretcher, and soon Dr. Hale was laid out on it. The other doctor, the actually conscious one, instructed the two of us to grab either end of it, while he comforted Hannah, an action that probably was not actually required as Hannah appeared far more likely to kill a man than to faint. Dr. Hale was oddly light, and my arms only half felt like they were going to fall off by the time that we had transported him. When we had reached the hospital tent, the poor fellow looked even worse than he had when Jack and I had discovered him, with his skin gone clammy and face covered in a cold sweat. The two of us stood by as Dr. Brown examined him and Hannah held onto her husband’s hand. I could only thank God that Mrs. Washington was watching over Mercy, for the little girl did not need to be subjected to this. Following several anxious minutes, Dr. Brown finally turned to all of us, expression somber.

“I believe that he has been poisoned, however, it does not seem as though enough was given, as the symptoms Dr. Hale exhibits are far less severe than one ought to be exerting. God willing, he ought to live.”

“He better.” Hannah muttered under her breath as she ever so gently moved a piece of hair out of her husband’s eyes. It was probably best not to question her response to this whole affair, as I wished to continue to possess all of my limbs.

Jack and I looked at each other before he ever so subtly gestured for Dr. Brown and I to follow him outside of the tent where Dr. Hale lay. Outside, the August sun still shone as brightly as ever, the grass was as brown and trodden as ever, and the sky was just as endless and blue as it always was. Sounds from men being drilled by the Baron, poor Walker having to translate some exceptionally creative German curses, drifted over to us. However, in the midst of all of this chaos, the world seemed exceptionally quiet as the reality of what had occurred just sunk in. A man had just been poisoned while imprisoned for the murder of a British agent, or at the very least the murder of a man who was being manipulated into working for a British agent. The whole spy ring implanted in our forces by the British went far deeper and was far more prepared to keep themselves hidden than I ever could have imagined. Would attempting to root them out lead to the same fate as Rainsford and Dr. Hale befalling me and Jack? I could only hope not.

“Are you sure that Dr. Hale was poisoned?” Jack pressed the doctor.

“Yes, I am certain.” Dr. Brown agreed. “It was done deliberately as well, perhaps through food. Some poisons can be affected by heat, so if so, it would explain why he has less severe symptoms.”

“We shall look into it.” I assured him.

As we both felt that it was best to not crowd Hannah at Dr. Hale’s bedside, and also because she was exceptionally terrifying when furious, Jack and I ended up at Tallmadge’s tent, for this whole investigation had snowballed into something that required another player on our side. He was there, thank god, and within ten minutes or so, I had managed to explain everything that had occurred hence, beginning at our initial interrogation of Rainsford, and ending with what we had just witnessed with Dr. Hale. I might have omitted the whole part of forging a general order, forgoing it in favor of merely crediting the general order to Washington himself. Given that he had willingly engaged in rather illegal acts with the former General Hale, I was fairly certain that Tallmadge would not be exceptionally bothered by the whole forging documents affair, however it was probably for the best that as few people as possible knew.

“That, well God, that was far beyond what I had expected to hear of. Dear Lord.” The Major looked genuinely concerned as I rounded out my tale.

“It has been exceptionally eventual.” Jack admitted. We were seated shoulder to shoulder on Tallmadge’s cot, the owner of said cot leaning back in his chair across from us, and he not so secretly slipped one hand behind my back so that it rested around my hip. I did not mind, and it was fairly obvious that the other man present also did not, as he partook in the same sins we did, so I said nothing.

“Gibbs refused to allow you to see the evidence Hale was arrested on?” 

“Correct.” I told him. “He initially did so, and we were about to go see it right after visiting Hale, and quite obviously we were obstructed from doing so by the minor occurrence of your former lover’s brother getting poisoned."

At this remark, Tallmadge’s ears turned rather pink, something that I took satisfaction in, but did not let on to a certain South Carolinian next to me as he began to speak. “We all probably ought to go down and view said evidence, for something tells me that it all might be rather minor in the first place, and assuming so, we ought to be able to get him released so long as literally anyone could place him somewhere else at the time of Rainsford demise, or as long as the guards can simply verify that Dr. Hale did not enter Rainsford’s cell during the duration of time between when we had last interviewed the fellow and when we found him dead.”

“Is there way we could speak to the two guards before we view the evidence?” Tallmadge asked rather slowly. “That way, assuming of course that we receive confirmation that Dr. Hale was not permitted entry and thus could not have murdered Rainsford in the…way that you described, it will be far easier to understand what part of the evidence Williams claims he has is simply bullshit.”

“Yes.” I agreed. “I believe we ought to do that. Without alerting Gibbs or Williams of course, for should they have a personal motive for covering up the true killer, then they might be able to threaten the men into assenting that Dr. Hale did in fact enter Rainsford’s cell during the time frame we spoke of.”

“I quite agree.” Jack nodded. “If you wish, I can go retrieve the two men. I am fairly certain I remember who they were.”

With Jack rising to go locate the guards who had been outside of the smoke house when we had first gone to interrogate Rainsford, Tallmadge and I soon lapsed into conversation. We spoke at length of our shared time in Albany, and what on earth was wrong with that city, for it was assuredly something, along with just how much of an affinity the Hale family possessed for getting themselves into legal trouble with shaky accusations and even shakier evidence. Seriously, it was quite the problem for a family that consisted of three brothers, one of whom I had never met and could only assume was a somewhat useful member of society, Hannah, and Mercy. I mean, I had defended Nathan Hale in the first trial I had observed, and gotten him off for murder, which he had definitely committed, and I had been forced to watch as he had been court martialed for a crime that he somehow did not commit and was forced out of the army due to what can only be described as Henry Laurens’s sheer legal fuckery. And now, the youngest Hale brother, Oliver, had somehow managed to find himself both accused of a grisly murder that he did not commit, and had also been poisoned. When this whole war was over, I hoped that someone would execute some sort of scientific study on the Hale family, with their affinity to both find themselves in dangerous situations, and to emerge unscathed.

Following half an hour, Jack returned, the same two men who I remembered seeing when we first went to investigate Rainsford trailing behind him. As I rose to inspect the two men, he whispered to me that they had seemed quite nervous when he had approached, and Williams or Gibbs might have gotten to them before us. I gave him a small nod to indicate that I understood. Those bastards ought to be court martialed for their actions when this was all over! But that was of minimal concern at the moment, for the foremost concert right now was first clearing Dr. Oliver Hale’s name, and then figuring out who on earth had killed Rainsford, as it was without a doubt in my mind that whomever had killed him, had done so in order to shut up the man after he had confessed that he had essentially been forced to kidnap Frances Laurens by a man who remained unnamed. But back to the present, and the matter at hand. Having the two guards sit down, Tallmadge and Jack lorded over them, poised to ask some very specific questions, while I took a seat at the desk, retrieving the book in which I had been transcribing the facts of our investigation thus far. The reason for this arrangement was twofold: Jack and Tallmadge were both rather tall and intimidating, and I was capable of writing both neatly and quickly that the two of them combined. Dipping my quill in the ink pot, I nodded to my two compatriots for them to begin.

“Names and ranks?” Jack asked the two men before him, more for my benefit than his own I supposed.

“Corporal Daniel Arnold.” The man on the left answered quickly. He sounded terrified. As I penned his name and rank, to cross reference against the Life Guard's enlistment forms to guarantee that it was not an alias, I also added a quick description of the fellow, in order to better reconcile my memories and notes at a later date. Arnold was maybe five foot seven, with a round face, and rather unremarkable features; he was the exact type of man who tended to fade into the background. Except of course, when something like this occurred.

“Corporal James Hains.” The fellow on the right replied only a few seconds after his companion had. Hains was slight and had white blonde hair that was chopped unusually short. He also seemed substantially more confident than Arnold did, a fact that did not escape me. Something told me that I would be writing quite a few of his comments. It was curious though, that Hains had an accent that I could not quite place; he sounded as though he came from the north though.

Tallmadge was the next to press them with a question, saying: “Both of you were guarding the entrance to the smokehouse that contained Private Rainsford when he was murdered, correct?”

They both assented, although Arnold sounded hesitant at first. The questions continued, facts we were already aware of in order to warm them up for some more…pressing matters. When had they first been assigned to the post? They had been assigned only the day prior. How long had Rainsford been imprisoned? Only so long as the two of them had been tasked with guarding the fellow. Who had authorized Rainsford’s arrest? It was not Gibbs, nor Williams as they were both annoyed as to the fact that they had to follow the orders of Major Tallmadge. Was there any mistreatment of Rainsford prior to his murder? No, not any that they knew of, however he only received half rations. Following that last answer, which I wrote down in shorthand, it was time to finally start giving the two fellows the real questions, the ones that we truly required answers to.

“Did anyone enter the smokehouse containing Private Rainsford in between Colonel Hamilton and Colonel Laurens departing?” Tallmadge posed the pinnacle of all our questions, for it would be the only thing that could either confirm or deny my entire theory.

They looked to each other for a moment, a silent debate raging across their expressions. I primed my quill. After an awkward pause, Hains finally spoke a single word: “Yes.”

That was it, one word and the entirety of Oliver Hale’s future lay in the balance, along with my future as well. For it was known that I was close to the Hale family, and if Dr. Hale had murdered Rainsford, I had no doubt in my mind that my removal would be called for. Tension overtook Tallmadge’s tent, thick enough to cut with a knife. The Major and Jack looked at each other, before Tallmadge gave a slight nod, and Jack asked the final question: “Who entered?”

“Captain Williams.” Arnold answered. Williams. Williams had been the man who had murdered Rainsford! But it made no sense, he was a high ranking officer and second in command of the Life Guard. He had Gibbs’s ear. There was no reason for him to risk it all by killing a mere Private. Unless, oh God. Was he the mysterious figure that Rainsford had said was forcing him to kidnap Frances? It made sense. It made far too much sense. Williams was so involved in the investigation because he wished to cover his tracks. He had arrested Dr. Hale to cover his own tracks, placing the blame for Rainsford’s murder on the younger brother of a disgraced former general. That meant that he was a British spy. There was currently a British spy close to General Washington. Fuck, oh god fuck.

“No one else entered other than him?” I demanded, rising from my place at Tallmadge’s desk, notes abandoned.

“Yes, sir.” Hains agreed, answering my next question before I could even ask it. “We were on duty the entire time, and the door was the only way any man could have entered.

“You are both dismissed.” Tallmadge informed the two soldiers, both of whom scurried out of there as fast as they could. After we were all left alone, we merely stood there, and I watched as both of my companions put together the same facts that I had. That Williams had been the man who had murdered Rainsford, his motive had been to cover up the fact that he had pressed Rainsford into kidnapping Frances in order to aid the Crown, and he had pinned the whole affair on the shoulders of Dr. Oliver Hale. It was a wretched thing to do. A terrible thing to do. The man had risen to the rank of Captain. Captain! He had served our cause since the beginning. When did the treachery start? Had it been there since the beginning, had those seeds been sown at Valley Forge? How many of our men were to fall prey to it before the war was over? How many patriots were truly among our ranks?

Chapter 53: Divulgence

Summary:

divulgence
/dəˈvəljən(t)s,dīˈvəljən(t)s/
noun
the action of revealing private or sensitive information.

Within a few moments we had all blurted out our suspicions, I recounting my entire assumption and finding that it was eerily similar to the conclusions that Jack and Tallmadge had come to. We all agreed that we needed to deal with Williams as quickly as possible, for he was in close proximity to the highest men in the army, and really the whole movement if you thought about it, and any sort of assassination would stop the revolution in its tracks. It had begun to drizzle as we all rushed out of Tallmadge’s tent, the sky grey and everything seeming just a bit duller. The gloominess of the landscape matched that of our situation. The camp passed by in a blur, tents blending into each other and men’s faces scarcely distinguishable from each other. My lungs burned by the time we reached the edge of the Life Guard's part of our encampment. But, during that run, I realized something: we could not simply ambush Williams in his tent, for then he could just call out for assistance and goodness knows how many of the men he recruited to the British cause would come running. No, we needed to isolate him. Thus, before either he or Tallmadge could go barreling into Williams’s tent, I grabbed onto Jack’s arm, bringing him to a halt.

“We can not do this here.” I informed him in between wheezing, for if my body was built for anything, it was not for dashes the length of camp.

“What on earth do you mean?” He asked me, annoyingly unfazed by our run. Tallmadge had noticed that neither of us were following him now, and had wheeled around, doubling back to see what on earth the matter was. I waited for him to join Jack and I before I answered the posed question.

“If we ambush Williams in his tent, interrogate him in his own territory, then we shall surely be overrun by his soldiers the moment that we attempt to lay a hand on him, or even ask him a single question. They are loyal to him, even if they are not under his influence as a British agent, and I do not exactly think that the three of us are capable of escaping the entirety of the Life Guard, along with Gibbs’s ire.” I may or may not have forgotten to mention that if we provoked Gibbs’s anger, then General Washington’s was sure to follow, and I did not exactly desire to be chastised again by a man who had a rather unfortunate habit of assuming I was his child.

“I agree with Alexander.” Jack backed me up. It probably was not proper for him to refer to me by my first name out in the open, however, given that he had used to refer to me as “his dear boy,” I supposed that it could not have been that terrible of an offence. Speaking of that term of endearment, I silently wished that he would use it again, for I missed it desperately. We probably needed to speak about the future of our relationship, or whatever on earth this could be considered, at a later time; however, at this moment, there were some more pressing concerns.

“That does make sense.” Tallmadge conceded, before he glanced around, and lowered his voice to continue: “We ought to force him to go out into the woods with us, for that ought to ensure we will not be disturbed. Perhaps around where you found Frances, Hamilton.”

“Yes.” I agreed. “Yes, that sounds like quite the good plan.”

We continued our little procession to Williams’s tent, Tallmadge and Jack flanking me. This was rather dangerous, that I was perfectly aware of, for walking into the tent of the man who we all believed to be the leader of a British spy ring, was the closest equivalent I could think of to walking into a den of lions. There was no saying what would occur when we pressed Williams, as he would surely lash out like any animal would upon realizing that they were trapped by forces greater than themselves. Given that I was not aware of whether or not our object of pursuit possessed any of the sorts of specialized training that the British might see fit to provide to a man operating deep within enemy territory, I could only hope that the pistols that both of my companions had concealed on their persons would be enough to subdue the man, since I carried nothing other than my pen and casebook. My words had never failed me yet, however even I was not fool hearty enough to believe that they would be ample protection against a knife or a gun. In intellectual discourse, the pen was undoubtedly stronger than the sword, but those roles were reversed in close quarters combat.

From the outside, Williams’s tent looked like that which belonged to every other man enlisted in the army who possessed the rank of captain. However, after we announced our presence, and he beckoned all three of us in, I realized that outside looks could be quite deceiving. Now, I did not have very much experience with what officers other than myself, Jack, and Tallmadge, chose to keep in their tents, but I was fairly certain that what Williams possessed was far from typical. Most obviously, his cot was of an exceptionally nice make, obviously one that he had specially ordered, although the real question was of how he had afforded it. The enlisted men were barely paid, so the idea that a captain would have enough disposable income to order a specialty cot was rather curious. Either, Williams was a member of an exceptionally wealthy family, or he had used money that had been obtained in an illegal manner. The rest of his furniture was equally fine, definitely not the quality typical of what Tallmadge and I had been issued. Jack of course was the exception, however his father was so ridiculously wealthy that I was fairly certain he spent exuberant amounts of money on frivolous things for the sole purpose of annoying him.

“Colonel Hamilton, Colonel Laurens, Major Tallmadge, what may I do to assist you gentleman?” Williams was doing a rather horrendous job hiding the fact that he had just been writing something he was assuredly not supposed to be writing, as he had a half finished letter resting on his desk along with a quill that had obviously never seen a speck of ink in its life. As the self proclaimed authority on quills at headquarters, I was sure of that fact. What correspondence did he see fit to hide?

“We were hoping that you might be able to assist us in investigating the kidnapping of Frances Laurens, as Rainsford had admitted to doing such. Colonel Laurens thinks it best that we attempt to trace her route, and four men are superior to three at doing such an activity.” While I had not exactly prepared such an excuse, Jack nodded along when I mentioned his name. I thought it a rather good reason, although Williams did not entirely appear to be convinced.

“Why, I do not believe that I possess enough knowledge regarding the case to provide much assistance, so, respectfully, I must decline.” The man was looking which way and that. Nervous, far too nervous. He had been doing something before we had arrived, something exceptionally suspicious indeed.

Tallmadge butted in: “Oh, but Captain Williams, you have been such a help when it came to investigating both Rainsford’s murder, and you took such initiative by arresting Dr. Hale, so we see fit no better man to help up in doing so. I mean, you must have had such an eye for clues to arrest Dr. Hale so quickly following Rainsford’s death.” His flattery was intelligent, as it both stroked Williams’s ego, and also put him in a situation where, if he were to refuse again, then he would have to explain why on earth he had arrested Dr. Hale so quickly, for, as it had been established that Oliver Hale had never entered the smokehouse, and thus could never have killed Rainsford, and no amount of halfrate evidence could dispel such a concrete fact.

“Well, I suppose I can.” Williams relented.

“Wonderful!” I grinned, as we all but forced him out of his tent, and began our march to the woods surrounding our camp.

I supposed that it must have been a rather odd sight for those poor men who we passed, the second in command of Washington’s life guard being all but forcefully marched into the woods by two Lieutenant Colonels and a Major. As we passed into the woods, the leafy trees obscured the ominous grey sky, their branches protecting us from the light rain as well. The further and further away camp became, the fainter and fainter the sounds of it grew, replaced by the methodical drip of water droplets onto green leaves, and the crunch of sticks and soil underfoot. We reached a point when camp felt so far away, that I could almost imagine that the war was not happening, that the sole reason I was out in the woods was to enjoy the company of my friends. But then Williams asked how much further we planned to investigate, and that entire facade crumpled as quickly as it had sprung up. I assured him that the place where I had found Frances was not too much further, a lie since I had absolutely no idea where we were in relation to where I had accidentally stumbled across Jack’s daughter. As the minutes faded by, further and further we trudged, until I somehow spotted it, a large stump that had caved in in the middle slightly, the perfect place to force a man to sit as he was interrogated. Catching their eyes, I nodded to both Jack and Tallmadge, and, within a moment, the spymaster had retrieved his pistol, cocked it, and had the barrel of it pressed up directly against William’s temple.

“What in God’s name?” The captain cried out. Little did he know what was to proceed.

“Captain Williams,” Tallmadge addressed him in a low, even voice. “You are going to sit down on that stump, and answer our questions truthfully, otherwise I shall shoot your brains out, and we will all blame it on the British. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes.” He stammered, all but falling onto the stump. The fellow was either a wonderful actor, or a complete and utter fool, and over the course of this interrogation, I supposed that we would learn which. As Williams made a fool of himself, I proceeded to a rather odd outcropping of rocks, where, retrieving them from my pockets, I placed my ledger, along with a small vial of ink and a quill. While this was not a typical questioning, it would be useful to record it as if it were one, and besides, I wished to reference William’s answers with the ones provided by Arnold and Hains. Having seen that I was ready to record, Jack promptly asked the first of many questions that we had for the quivering man before us.

“Captain Williams, how long have you been the second in command of the Life guard?” It was a simple question, merely one meant to warm him up and one that could easily be checked later.

“A year or so, I suppose. It was a few months after we departed Valley Forge.”

With that answer being satisfactory enough, for none of us could remember seeing Williams function in his current capacity during the entire affair that led to me and Hale being court-martialed, Jack continued. “Thank you. Prior to his arrest, did you even interact with the deceased Private Rainsford in any way?”

“No.” Williams answered automatically, far too quickly for me to believe him. There was some small flicker of something akin to panic that had passed over his face when Rainsford had been mentioned, something far more substantial than merely the mention of a man who had been murdered would typically merit. “I never spoke to the man.”

“You mean, that for the entirety of your men guarding the fellow, you never once even heard his voice?” Jack pressed him, harder this time.

“I said that I never once conversed with the damned yankee!” He all but roared, reaction in no way appropriate for the situation. And that was it, the sole piece of evidence that proved that he was lying. I knew it, Jack knew it, Tallmadge perhaps did not know it, but he would soon. For a British henchman, Williams was terrible under pressure.

“Oh, but you did.” I interceded. “You called the man a yankee. Private Rainsford was enlisted in a Georgina regiment, however any man that had actually ever spoken to him would be aware that he was not from South Carolina, but instead a northern state.”

“I misspoke.” Williams bristled.

“Oh did you really?” Jack looked down on him. “Or are you merely attempting to hide your lie?”

“I have never met the man.” 

“Turely?” He continued, producing something rather small from his pocket. For the life of me, I could not determine what it was. However, Jack still showed it to Williams, and to Tallmadge, who appeared to recognize it. “This was on your desk when we retrieved you. Do you recognize it?” Williams refused to speak, shaking his head vigorously. Setting down my pen, I crept closer to see what on earth was resting in the palm of my former and possibly current depending on how things progressed, lover’s hand. It was a small, golden earring. I could have sworn that I recognized it. The metal was stained with some odd brown substance that just looked wrong. I wracked my mind attempting to place it. But, before I could, Jack started once again. “This was the earring Private Rainsford wore. Now, why on earth would it be on your desk?”

“It was evidence I was examining.” Williams snapped. He was far too defensive. “We found it on Dr. Hale.”

Now, that was a rather damning statement. For, there was absolutely no way to prove that the earring had been taken from Dr. Hale, no matter the fact that we all knew it to be a dreadful lie. In a court of law, the earring could have just as much been damning evidence, as it could have killed our case. Unfortunately there was no way to prove the chain of custody. Silence over took all of us. I had a feeling that Jack had assumed that Williams would have simply admitted to the killing, and subsequently also the blackmailing of Rainsford, upon being presented with the earring. The Laurens family fortune could buy many things, including men’s souls, but evidently, it could not purchase legal skill. I still cared for Jack all the same though. Just as I was about to return to my ledger, something spurred me to glance down at Williams’s hands. There was blood caked under his nails. Blood. Why on earth would a Captain have blood caked under his nails? Unless, of course, he had just committed a murder. When I looked further, I saw even more signs. There was a very faint spattering of brown dots on his cravat, along with a small stain on the sleeve of his shirt.

“No.” I spoke up, putting the pieces together. “You took that earring from the sight of Rainsford’s murder yourself. A murder that you perpetrated. I mean, look at you. There is blood caked under your nails, there is blood on your cravat and coat, it is unbelievably obvious that you were covered in blood quite recently.”

“I was inspecting the scene of Rainsford’s murder!” He objected once again.

“No, no you were not.” I once again countered, all thoughts of recording this exchange in the moment long forgotten. “You were not there, Ja—Colonel Laurens and I were both there, and neither of us saw you near Gibbs. With how much you hang onto the man, if you had been there, you would have been at his side. Your very own men said that you were the only person who entered the smoke house in between Laurens and I exiting, and Rainsford’s body being discovered. Before you killed him, Rainsford spoke of a man blackmailing him to kidnap Frances Laurens, a man who worked for the crown and had infiltrated our camp. That was you too, was it not? You are both a murder and a spy!”

And with that final accusation, the mask completely slipped off of Williams. He was no longer quivering, no longer stammering out his answers. Now, his face twisted into a sneer as he began to speak. “Perhaps you are right. I killed Rainsford, the little rat. I had to after he snitched to you two about my existence and my ordering him to kidnap little Frances. It was not personal, really Colonel Laurnes. But it was not my fault, for I am the Rainsford to another man, and I suppose he is a Rainsford to yet another man, all the way back to the King himself. After I killed Rainsford, I framed Oliver Hale for it. Dirty seek he is. They should have expelled the entire family from camp, not just General Hale. So now you have your confession, now you can have me hanged for murder, espionage, and all those other terrible actions your lot defames. But tell me, Colonel, what if you found yourself in my shoes? What would you do, you molly?”

It would be a lie to say that I did not recoil slightly at the insult, a lie to say that my heart did not begin to race with that familiar fear. Did he know truely, or was he simply attempting to insult me? It was a question that I prayed the latter was the answer to. Tallmadge recoiled slightly as well, his face souring, no doubt from the combination of insults hurled at the family of the man he had held so dear, and the accusation. For just a split moment, the barrel of his pistol was not pressed up against Williams’s temple, and the dirty rat took that opportunity to bolt as quickly as he could. Oh shit.

Notes:

I'm posting this right before my high school play's opening night, for which I have the misfortune to do costume crew for, so please forgive me for not citing sources. Also, thanks for reading! Comments and kudos give me my will to live

Chapter 54: Pursuit

Summary:

pursuit
/pərˈso͞ot/
noun
the action of following or pursuing someone or something.

By the time that we had all managed to realize Williams’s flight, he was already a good hundred yards or so ahead of us. Springing up, Tallmadge was the first in pursuit, followed by me, and finally by Jack, who for some reason had decided to ensure that he possessed both the damning earring and the ledger before he followed. Due to his annoyingly long legs, it was not long before he managed to catch up to me. Small twigs and dead leaves crunched below foot as we raced after our target. Of course, right after he had given us his confession, the bastard had decided to bolt, probably hoping that he could get out of the woods and into the New York countryside. We had taken such a roundabout route, and were so deep into the woods, that I was not sure if that was even possible, hell I was not sure if Williams even knew if it were possible! He was running exceptionally erratically, constantly darting this way and that, almost as if he was attempting to find something, anything that he recognized.

The trees flew by, their rough trunks all blending together as they became one blur of bark and branches. Through said trees, I caught glimpses of William’s dark blue coat. The three of us ambled over a fallen stone wall, the remnants of some farm that had occupied this land long ago, continuing to chase after him. What had previously been a soft rain had grown to a storm now, and the pistols that we carried were rendered useless. This rain worked to Williams’s advantage, as the sound of his footsteps was obscured by the beating of the raindrops. It was harder to run through the mud, my feet sliding in it as it rapidly formed, and my boots sticking where they were not sliding. This was going terribly.

I tried to shout something to Jack, but my words were drowned out by the deafening crack of thunder ringing through the woods. We needed to get out of there, with or without Williams. The rain had matted my hair to my face, and as I ran, I was forced to pry it away from my face in order to prevent myself from tripping over a wayward branch. It was impossible to see more than a few yards in front of me; the furthest thing visible was the back of Tallmadge's uniform coat—or perhaps it was Jack’s, I could not tell. All that I did know was that someone, whoever’s back I was not staring at, grabbed onto my arm, no doubt in an attempt to not get separated in the downpour. No, downpour was far too lenient of a title to give to a storm of this proportion, for it was far more akin to the hurricane that had hit Nevis when I was a teenager. The hurricane. Oh no, oh god no. I pushed the memories to the back of my mind, instead pouring all of my focus into the objective in front of me: capturing Williams and getting out of the forest alive.

The wind was screaming now, throwing branches back and forth. I had no idea where we were, besides that we were still in the woods. There was a crack that I just barely registered before a large tree limb fell down in the place I was standing only a few seconds prior. Whomever was hanging onto me grabbed me even tighter. Jack? I was fairly certain that it was Jack, for the hand on me had moved from my arm to wrap around my waist, and to the best of my knowledge, Tallmadge probably would not grasp me in such a manner. Through the endless sheets of precipitation, I could just make out a figure darting to and fro, perhaps only a hundred feet to my right. Pulling who I presumed was Jack along with me, and attempting to alert who I was fairly certain was Tallmadge to the location of Williams, I staggered through the forest, stumbling through the undergrowth and fallen branches. As the rain had let up, only a little bit though, I was able to confirm that the person I saw was, in fact, the man we were pursuing. Good. What was not good was that whoever had been clinging to me had at some point let go, and I was facing off against the traitor alone. Yet, no fear raced through me, for the chill of the rain had turned my veins into ice and all I felt was a cold, calculating rage. 

“Williams!” I screamed over the sound of the downpour, saying his name like it was an accusation.

“Hamilton?” He half sneered and half questioned. Williams mannerisms were like that of a wolf, as he began to stalk me, looking around in lazy circles to see if we were truly alone, an action that I was forced to mimic. Damnit! I saw neither Tallmadge nor my Jack anywhere. It seemed as though we were to face off alone.

“Traitor, you goddamn traitor!” My words were nearly drowned out by yet another rumble of thunder, the loud sound rolling over the entirety of the woods.

“No!” He countered. “I am no traitor!”

I could not help myself but to laugh. Had he lost his damn mind? “Are you insane? You, not a traitor! You spied for the enemy, what on earth would you call that?”

“Oh, you do not understand!” Williams sneered, slowly taking his pistol out of its holster. Due to the rain, I was not entirely sure that the weapon would even fire, but nevertheless, I backed away from him, for I did not have a death wish. As my boots slid in the mud as I inched as far away as I could, the man opposite me continued: “You, you could never understand. You sit at the right hand of the father while the rest of us are merely rats! Have you ever really suffered during this war, ever truly been disillusioned with the cause, ever been forced to march miles in the cold for a man who does not give a damn if you live or die so long as your death leads to victory? I think not! I am not a traitor, I merely wish for no more men to die, and all of my actions are in accordance with such.”

The barrel of the gun was pointing directly at the middle of my chest now, William’s hand steady. For a man who wished for no more to die, it certainly seemed like he was perfectly fine with murder. As I retreated, my boot slipped on a slick plant, sending me falling backwards into a large oak tree. I grasped at the wet bark in an attempt to keep myself upright. I needed to somehow get that gun off of me. I needed to run, to flee, to not die in the woods in the middle of a thunderstorm! Lightning struck once again, a bright flash before the deafening rumble of close thunder. For a moment, just a mere moment, Williams jumped. I took the opportunity to bolt, scrambling off of the tree and racing back into the woods. Tallmadge and Jack. I needed to find Tallmadge and Jack. Where on earth were they? I had been hoping that they had been close by, but it seemed as though we had been completely and utterly separated. Camp. I needed to get back to camp.

Through the trees and pouring rain, I could just barely make out what appeared to be a tent. Oh thank god. That was where I ran to, the sound of foliage being pushed aside and sticks cracking behind me indicating that Williams was following me. Goddamnit. Within a few moments, I was standing on the edge of camp, rain no longer assaulting the trees but instead the endless rows of tents. But where to go from here? I did not know where I was heading exactly, but when I heard Williams holler my name, I simply bolted. Here in camp, the mud was even worse than it had been in the woods, sucking my feet and preventing me from making as much progress as I wished to. The only good thing was that it inhibited Williams in much the same manner. Rounding my first corner and heading down a row of tents, one thought popped into my mind: people. I needed to find other soldiers who could help me subdue the raving madman who was chasing me. Another loud crack echoed through the air. At first I thought it was thunder, but then I felt the hot sensation of a bullet passing far too close to me for comfort. He was shooting now, and I had no gun on me.

We played a deadly game of cat and mouse, in which Williams was the armed cat, and I was the fleeing mouse. To and fro I ran through the camp, merely attempting to find someone who could help me, but, alas, it seemed as though all of the men were holed up in their tents, waiting out the storm, and I did not have the luxury of the time it would take to slow down and scream to them that they needed to help me. My legs were burning from how much running I was doing of late, yet I pressed on. I tried to stay low, to weave through the rows of tents in order to not find myself alone out in the open. At least three more bullets were fired during this exercise, and none of them found their mark, a small consolation for the fact that a gun wielding maniac was hot on my trail. However, I eventually ran out of tents to gain cover from, and I was forced to choose where I would take our little game next. The armory, I decided, there had to be men at the armory, or at the very least an opportunity for me to gain a weapon as well. As I advanced towards my next destination, I spotted my salvation, two soldiers both returning to their tents.

“He is trying to kill me!” I screamed at them, although I was certain that was fairly obvious. “Get help!” 

Neither man replied, or at the very least if they did, the pouring rain drowned out their words. That was alright though, for they both immediately ran off, hopefully to get support. For the next five minutes or so, I stalled, trying to not get shot as Williams attempted to kill me. But this strategy would not work for long, as I eventually ran into a dead end. No, oh god no. This could not be how I died, running from a man trying to kill me with a gun, not even on the battlefield! Jack, oh poor Jack, he would be so miserable, probably even blame himself for my death. Even through the storm, I could see the sadistic smile that lit up William’s face as he, at long last, aimed the gun directly at my heart. I braced for the pain, braced to meet death face on, but neither of those things occurred. For, all around us, men in blue coats advanced, rifles trained directly on Williams. I could just spot Jack and Tallmadge among them, the man I loved looking unbelievably frantic and the spymaster eerily calm.

“Arnold.” Williams spat out into the wind as he removed the gun from my chest. “Benedict Arnold. To him, I am Rainsford.”

I wished to ask him more, press him for the exact specifications of what on earth he meant, and how General Benedict Arnold was involved in this affair, but I could not. For, retrieving the pistol from its holster, Williams placed it to his temple and pulled the trigger. It was almost impossible to hear the shot over the crack of thunder that occurred at the exact same moment, but the sound seemed to bring the entire world to a halt. The man who we had been chasing for so long, who was the key to understanding just how much our enemy knew of our exact operations, had chosen to kill himself. I would not be able to force him to answer the numerous questions I had over his exact operations, would not be able to ever see him properly executed for the crime of espionage, for he was a coward, who would rather take his own life than face the appropriate punishment like a man. Williams looked like a crumpled doll laying there in the mud, blood pooling from the wound in his head. I was frozen, staring at the sight. Someone put an arm around my shoulders and led me away. I think it must have been Jack, as he was the face who appeared when we arrived back at our tent, was the man who retrieved my clean uniform and watched with a dutiful eye as I changed into it, was the man who held my hand as I merely stared at the floor, was the man who allowed me to put my head on his shoulder and silently cry.

Notes:

What? I totally didn't write all of this today in study hall....totally

Chapter 55: Calamitous

Summary:

calamitous
/kəˈlamədəs/
adjective
involving calamity; catastrophic or disastrous

The day following the whole Williams affair, was a rather unusual one. I awoke far later than my typical hour, not to the call of the drummer boy, but instead to Frances poking me in the side with a stick. As one can only assume, such an action from the man you have not quite managed to determine whether or not he is your lover yet’s daughter, is not an exceptionally pleasant sensation. Upon opening my eyes and being assaulted by the morning sunlight, I discovered that the little girl was holding onto a stick in one chubby hand, and gripping the edge of my blanket with the other. She was looking up at me with those brilliant blue eyes that Jack had given her, with a fierce look on her little face that told me I would be arriving at my work even later than I was already going to be. Now, I soon came to learn that the babblings of young children are almost impossible to understand by anyone who was not one of their parents, so after a good five minutes, I had somewhat managed to narrow down what the little girl was attempting to convey to being that she desired either “Dada,” presumably Jack, or “Gam-gam,” a person that I could not identify and quite frankly had no idea how to even deduce the actual identity of. I was able to ward off Frances for long enough to put on my uniform, and to silently curse the fact that Jack had not seen fit to take his child with him.

Now, it was not exceptionally hard for me to deduce where exactly Jack was, for we both occupied the same position, and I also had a vague memory of being shaken awake to be informed of the fact that he was going to headquarters, before immediately turning over and falling asleep. Thus, after recalling such and pulling on my boots, I was faced with a far more difficult challenge: wrangling Frances so that I might dump her on Jack. As had been established when I had found her in the woods, she was not very fond of my carrying her, a fact which proved rather annoying given that she absolutely refused to walk whatsoever. I greatly envied anyone who had ever not been unfortunate enough to try and persuade a small child to move independently. However, despite my generally accepted skill at convincing adults to do as I wished, it seemed my talents were not effective against little girls whose fathers I was in an exceptionally complicated relationship with. In the end, I had to carry her, kicking and assaulting me only slightly less than the last time I had done so. When we at long last arrived at Headquarters, I was fairly certain that my entire ribcage was thoroughly bruised.

Upon reaching headquarters, I entered, and quickly located Jack, for he was much where he always was: in the office all of us aides shared, although, at the moment, he was the only man present, the others no doubt sent off to complete various tasks for Washington. He was sitting at the desk we shared, pouring over a document with the sort of look on his face that indicated that he could be doing nothing but translating French. I would feel bad for him, but after what his child had done to my sternum, I was finding it rather difficult to do so.

“Jack?”

“My dea—” He looked up at me and began, before quickly catching himself. “Alexander.”

“I have your child. She decided that the best course of action to wake me was to poke me in the side with a stick.” I informed him, holding said child out in front of me. He took her, and Frances gave me what could only be described as a victorious grin. For someone who could not be older than two years of age, she was incredibly adept at bending people to her will.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” I nodded, before dripping my voice and adding: “You may call me that if you so wish.”

We kissed quickly, for it was nearly impossible to not take advantage of the lack of people around us. Frances squirmed in Jack's arms as we did so, however after all she had inflicted upon me, I did not particularly pity her, as it was entirely her fault that several specific spots on my stomach that she had chosen to kick ferociously now ached nearly as much as my legs did following the exceptional amount of running that I had done yesterday. I slipped into my seat, picking up a quill and resuming a letter that I had intended to pen a few days prior. If Harrison wished for me to switch my attention to something more productive, he was free to pester me himself. We worked in silence for a decent period, the comfortable quiet interrupted only occasionally by Frances demanding her father’s attention. Jack offered to allow me to hold her for a moment, to which I quickly declined. What I did accept was his outstretched hand, taking it in my own.

After a glorious fifteen or so minutes of pure peace, Harrison entered, dissolving said peace when he informed the two of us that General Washington wished to speak with us. Naturally, Jack inquired as to whether or not he would have time to determine what exactly he was to do with his daughter, to which Harrison replied that Mrs. Washington was more than happy to watch the girl again. At the mention of Mrs. Washington, Frances exclaimed: “Gam-gam,” which laid to rest the question of the mysterious figure’s identity. Upon leaving Jack to deposit his daughter with Mrs. Washington and entering General Washington’s office, I found that Tallmadge was present. I gave him an acknowledging nod, which he reciprocated, and turned my attention to the various documents spread across the general’s desk. I could just pick out the book I had been taking down notes regarding our investigation in, along with the general order I may or may not have forged, and several scraps of what I recognized as Williams’s handwriting. So long as I was not chastised for committing an act that probably would have warranted a normal man being court-martialed, it seemed that this ought to be a rather interesting conversation.

Once Jack joined us and sat down in between Tallmadge and me, Washington gazed upon the three of us and began to speak. “First off gentlemen, I must applaud you all for how quickly the three of you have managed to root out Williams as the center of British infiltration of our camp. I was not expecting this whole endeavor to have been accomplished in such a short amount of time, for I was expecting to have to wait a duration of at least several months. It is also exceptionally commendable how you also managed to solve a murder and a kidnapping while you were at it. Tallmadge passed off all of the information that you gathered referring to said case yesterday, and I have taken the liberty of looking it over for myself. Hamilton, dear Lord, son. Did you really need to write down a three page inventory of all of the possessions on Rainsford’s person at the time of his death, and also follow that up by another five pages detailing why you do not believe he was from Georgia, in which you compared his exact pronunciation of several words to Colonel Laurens’s?

Ah yes, I had forgotten that I had done that. “Yes, sir. At the time I believed it to be integral to the investigation. Also, to elaborate on Rainsford’s very much not being from Georgia—”

“You do realize he could have moved there, right Hamilton?” Tallmadge cut me off, looking at me as if I were slightly insane. Before I could move to defend myself, Washington continued.

“Thank you Major Tallmadge. Now, due to the fact that Williams is dead, we obviously are unable to prosecute him for the numerous crimes that he committed, which Hamilton described as being at the very least murder, espionage, false imprisonment of an officer, falsifying criminal evidence, conspiracy to kidnap a child, and treason. I believe that attempted murder probably also ought to be added to that list, however I digress. Due to the fact that Willams confessed to the murder of Private Rainsford, all charges against Dr. Hale for such have been dropped, and Mrs. Hale has wished for you all to be informed for her great appreciation for all you have done. It seems as though Dr. Hale ought to be alright, and should make a full recovery.”

“That is exceptionally good.” Jack noted. It was, along with being especially good for my chances of never having to carry his daughter ever again if Hannah were to be able to watch her again.

“Quite.” Washington agreed, giving a slight nod and picking up a piece of paper to glance down at it before he kept going. “Now, though, to discuss the main topic I called you all here for: what we are to do next. It has come to my attention that before he took his own life, Williams declared that he is the Rainsford to Benedict Arnold. I must ask, do any of you three have any idea what that refers to?”

“Williams was blackmailing Rainsford into doing his bidding," Tallmadge informed the general, beating me to doing so. “So, his comment seems to imply that

“Curoius. Quite curious. General Arnold.” The general mused, brow furrowing. Evidently, he had not gotten that far into my notes, for I had expanded greatly on Arnold’s possible connection to the whole affair. Somewhere around page 147 or so if I recalled correctly. “Out of all of the officers in the continental army, Arnold, a traitor.”

“General Hale might have something to do with it.” I offered, remembering one of the points that I had written in my case notes. “When Arnold was injured at Saratoga, the lionshare of the glory went to Hale and his division. While I do not doubt that Hale was a competent general, the victory there most assuredly could not have simply been due to him, and such an action combined with Arnold’s leg wound might have begun to test his loyalties.”

“That would explain why Williams pinned Rainsford’s murder on Dr. Hale.” Jack piped up. “For, I was not aware of any quarrel between Williams and the Hales, however it would make far more sense if he was ordered to do so by 

“Were any of you aware of any sort of quarrel between the Hale family and General Arnold?” Washington inquired. Immediately, all of our eyes turned to Tallmadge, for he was the person in the room with the closest connections to whatever you could categorize the Hale family as.

He thought for a moment, before proceeding to answer. “No, I was not aware of such, but that does not mean that there was no animosity on Arnold’s part, merely that the Hales despised other people far more than him.”

Leaning back in his chair, Washington seemed to consider this for a moment, leading all of us to sit in silence as he did so. I merely attempted to recall who the Hales may have hated so much that Arnold was neglected. No less than fifty seven people popped into my mind. After a moment, Washington cleared his throat. “Well, if Arnold is truly a traitor, then I am of course of the opinion that he must be expelled from this army. I was thinking of offering him a field command come next campaign, however it would be prudent to hold off on doing such. Now, the accusation of a cornered man can not be simply taken as fact, no matter how damning it might be, so, we shall not be making any drastic decisions on Arnold until more evidence of his treachery can be produced. Tallmadge, I shall task you with doing so. However, for the time being, Arnold shall be under close supervision, and I want it to be ensured that no sensitive information is shared with him, or anyone close to him. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!” All three of us replied in tandem. Good. We were doing something. I would have much rather gone after Arnold immediately in order to reduce the amount of harm he could do to our cause, but I supposed that it was better than merely assuming that Williams was desperately attempting to deflect blame away from him and that Arnold was innocent.

“Good. You are all dismissed.”

We saluted, rose, and I was halfway out the door by the time that Washington called out after me.“Oh, and Hamilton?”

“Yes, sir?” I turned around to face him, noting that there was a small smile on his lips. Well that was rather odd, the general almost never smiled.

“In the future, please refrain from forging my signature on official documents.”

“Yes, sir.” I sighed, not having been granted the privilege of my minor crime going unacknowledged. Well, at least I would not have to suffer through another court martial for doing so. Besides, I never actually used the forged order, so was it really even a crime in the first place?

Harrison soon pulled Jack away to consult on a letter to South Carolina, and apparently some odd phrases that the man writing from there had used that he was not exactly aware of the meaning of, yet left me alone, probably feeling bad that I had been chased all throughout camp and the woods by a gun wielding maniac. Thus, I decided that there was no better use of my time than to follow Tallmadge back to his tent and come up with various strategies on how to trap Arnold for his treason. The walk over there was a rather pleasant one, for a day was rather cool due to the previous day’s rains, of course, except for the quagmire of mud that had taken over camp and not yet seen fit to dry. This ought to be fun to deal with for the next week or so. Just as we reached Tallmadge’s tent, I heard a breathy voice from behind us.

“Major Tallmadge, Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton?” A nervous faced drummer boy approached the two of us, no doubt being used as a messenger for some force far greater than himself. Many of the generals around camp were fond of using the younger soldiers as messengers when they were unable to locate a man who had actually been given that exact job. But that was not of concern at the moment.

“Proceed” I replied, ready to get this whole affair over with so that I might think up ways to trap a guilty man as soon as possible. It was probably simply an invitation from Martha Washington to supper anyways, not of course that that was an unpleasant occurrence.

Drawing in a breath, the boy continued, in a rather high and reedy voice: “The man formerly known as Brigadier General Nathan Hale of the Continental army, is dead. He was captured in Philadelphia by Major John Andre of his majesty’s royal army. General Washington wished to give you this note with the details of it personally, however he has found himself occupied with other matters at the moment.”

“No. No!” Tallmadge went white, voice barely above a whisper as he limply held the still sealed letter.

I quickly dismissed the messenger boy before he could witness the man who controlled the entire army’s intelligence operations dissolved into a sobbing mess. Nathan Hale was dead. I had not thought that act was even capable of occurring. The man had survived being imprisoned for a murder that he certainly committed, he had survived the battle of Saratoga and defended Albany well, he had made it through the frigid winter at Valley Forge, he had survived the court martial—although not without losing his rank, and he had survived up to this point. But now he was dead. Dead and gone. I entered his tent and crouched down next to Tallmadge, who had all but curled up into a ball. He was sobbing harder now, and I tried to awkwardly pat his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. I supposed that I was moving in some sort of haze. We were soldiers in a war where a man died every day—hell a man had killed himself in front of me just yesterday—yet this somehow felt so, so much closer.

“I never said farewell to him.” He hiccupped in between sobs, or at least that was what I was fairly certain the man next to me was saying, for Tallmadge was nearly incomprehensible. We stayed there for twenty minutes or so, him miserable beginning to mourn the man he cared for so dearly, and me merely attempting to comprehend it. Hale was dead. I mean, I supposed that such a thing was inevitable, for no man was immortal, but I would not have thought that a man who had not even been in the army for the better part of two years would not have died at the enemy’s hand. It simply felt as though we were in some sort of sick nightmare that it was impossible to wake from. I mean, I was not even entirely sure why I was experiencing such emotions, for I had not been all that particularly close to Hale. Yet, grief still overwhelmed me. God, it was so pathetically illogical.

Through something nothing sort of a miracle, I managed to manhandle Tallmadge up onto his cot, where he proceeded to cry into my shoulder for the better part of half an hour. At some point, I managed to get hold of the letter that the boy had given to the sobbing Major, reading it in a desperate attempt to figure out how on earth one of the most skilled criminals I had ever met had gotten captured by the British buffoons. According to the letter, Hale had been captured in New York city while attempting to spy on the British forces there. He had been taken before a judge, hastily sentenced to hang, and executed the very next day by being hung by the neck until he was dead. According to the account before me, Hale’s last words were: “I regret that I have but one life to give for my country.” It was a lie. Anyone who had ever met the man knew that his words would not be such patriotic nonsense. And Cato no less! I mean, I was not entirely certain that Hale was even literate, much less a reader of such lofty works. This whole affair reeked of Washington’s meddling, for he was fond of Cato, and also knew how desperately we needed a martyr. General Washington knew the truth, he knew the truth about everything. But he was the keeper of a thousand secrets, and the secrets pertaining to this were nothing more than a handful of grains of sand in an hourglass.

Notes:

Hey everyone! Well, wasn't that something that I just wrote?

Notes/sources, cause I actually did minor research!:

-There's debate over the exact wording of Nathan Hale's final words, but I'm going with what the Fraunces Tavern gives them as, so here's the link to that page: https://www.frauncestavernmuseum.org/nathan-hale-letter-to-his-brother

-On the topic of Nathan Hale's final words, it's highly likely that he didn't ever actually say them! If you're familiar with Turn, or at the very least coming from that fandom, you've probably seen the scene where Washington tells Tallmadge that they made up Hale's final words for propaganda purposes, and after going down a rabbit hole over the summer, that's what I'm fairly inclined to believe happened. There's not a lot of documentation of Hale's execution, and the most famous account of his last words came from the autobiography of William Hull, who heard them from the man the British sent over to inform the Americans of Hale's execution. It should be noted that he published his memoirs in 1824, so the validity of this can be doubted. Enoch Hale, Nathan Hale's brother, wrote in his diary about his brother's last words, and said essentially that he gave a long speech about patriotism and that if he had 10,000 lives, he would lay them all down in the service of his country. So, where did Hale's last words actually originate from? Well, they were almost directly paraphrasing from the play Cato. Who really liked Cato? George Washington. Am I saying that Washington made up Hale's last words to turn him into a martyr? Maybe. There's not all that much evidence for it happening historically. Am I saying that that's what's happening in this fic? Yes. Yes, I am.

Chapter 56

Summary:

premonition
/ˌprēməˈniSHən,ˌpreməˈniSHən/
noun
a strong feeling that something is about to happen, especially something unpleasant.

The following months passed by in an absolute and utter blur. Work overwhelmed all of my senses, and some days, from dawn to dusk, I was writing nonstop, to the point where my wrist had stopped cramped after a few hours due to the sheer frequency with which I wrote. Jack considered me insane, although he did sit next to me, talking to me and occasionally holding my hand when no one else was around. During those months, I scarcely ever caught a glimpse of Tallmadge. The poor fellow had been devastated, and to be quite frank, I was not entirely sure that he was even all there when I did occasionally come across him. In fact, in the weeks following the announcement of Hale’s death, a general sense of melancholy appeared to have overcome all of camp. While the generals might have abhorred the man, the vast majority of the enlisted men, especially those from New York, had adored him. After this melancholy had passed, Washington’s goal had been achieved, the country thought that Hale was a great martyr, based solely on his false final words. I thought it was probably best to refrain from commenting on the matter, as to not stir up trouble, for I had heavy enough of a work load to deal with without men coming at me for disrespecting a former general.

Much of military importance had occurred since that dreadful encounter with Williams in August: Major Lee had confronted the British in New Jersey at the battle of Paulus Hook; the Sullivan expedition had finally managed to accomplish something at the battle of Newton, although with us having nearly five fold the soldiers as the opposing force, I would have expected nothing less than victory; the Spanish had attacked our enemy down in Florida at Fort Bute; Savannah had been under siege for nearly a month from September to October, an event that Jack watched with much anxiety until our forces finally gave in; the Spanish fought the British forces down in Louisiana this time, emerging victories once again; and John Paul Jones had harassed the Royal Navy off of their own coast. Following these events, the whole army had settled into winter quarters at Morristown in December, which was where I now found myself. Washington had headquartered himself in Ford Mansion, a rather impressive house that he rented from the widowed Mrs. Ford. Mrs. Ford and her children still resided there, although they occupied far separate quarters from Mrs. Washington, General Washington, and the small assortment of us aides that resided with them. Harrison, Tilghman, Meade, McHenry, Jack, and I had all been deemed vital enough to not be forced to freeze to death with the enlisted men.

Speaking of us aides, as I looked up from my work, I saw that the sky outside had grown nearly as dark as the ink on my paper. The candle beside me was burning low as well; its flickering flame was just enough to indicate to me that I was alone in the office. As far as offices allocated to us aides de camp went, it was a fairly large one, and actually had enough space for an entire table to be allocated to the stacks of correspondence addressed to General Washington. Given that said table was almost completely empty, and I was growing rather tired, I set down my quill and rose from my chair, attempting to stretch as I did so. Perhaps sitting in one position without rising for many hours on end was not the most intelligent decision I could have made, for as soon as I did rise, I felt the sensation of pins and needles explode throughout my right foot. Goddamnit! By some miracle, I ended up making it upstairs, probably more in part due to the sturdy railing than to any feat of my own. Upon reaching the upstairs hallway, I attempted to make my way down the corridor as quietly as I could. There were four bedrooms adjoining said hallway, one occupied by Mrs. and General Washington, another housing Harrison and Meade, the third one filled by Tilghman and McHenry, and Jack, Frances, and I in the fourth and final one. It was a rather nice arrangement as far as all things were concerned, for the two of us had found ourselves in the unfortunate position of our room possessing only one decently sized bed and a trundle.

When I reached the final door, I knocked lightly on the wooden door, as not to wake either of the occupants inside, although I was far more concerned about waking Frances than Jack, for he had made a habit of waiting up for me. Thus, he was probably awake. I had not checked the time, but I did not think it was an outrageous hour. However, there was no reply to my knock, so I supposed that he must have fallen asleep early, or it was simply far later than I had judged it to be. As quietly as possible, I turned the door knob and let myself in. To all who saw it, it was exceptionally obvious that the room we occupied had once been the guest room of a rather wealthy family, for the wallpaper was a rich green color and extravagantly patterned, and the furniture we had been allocated was all well made. In fact, Jack’s and my beaten up trunks looked wholly out of place in the room. But never mind all of that. The only focus in my mind was sleep. Perhaps I had misjudged exactly how tired I was. Hastily, I changed into the nightshirt that someone had all but forced upon me last winter, shoving my uniform haphazardly into my trunk. I would be putting it back on in a matter of hours anyhow, no need to fold it.

“Papa?” A little voice ran through the quiet room like a gunshot. It was Frances, for she had somehow picked up the habit of referencing me as such; the only reason I did not tell her to stop was that she called Mrs. Washington “Grandmother” and it was merely assumed that it was another childish indicator of closeness instead of the fact that I was sleeping with her father.

“Fanny, are you still awake?” I asked her gently, mentally cursing myself. If Frances was awake, that meant that I had been too loud, and would pay the price by having to convince her to go back to bed. The only good thing was that she no longer objected to me holding her, as she had grown quite accustomed to me following one of Jack’s…fits of melancholy.

She did not reply verbally, merely nodded and stretched out her arms for me to pick her up. Relenting, I did so, allowing the small child to cling to the back of my nightshirt. In lieu of walking her back and forth in an attempt to rock her to sleep, an action that I certainly did not possess the energy to accomplish, I instead asked Frances if she wished to sleep with me and Jack. Upon receiving another nod from her, I lay down in bed, the little girl curling up on one side of me, and on the other, her father waking only long enough to bury his head in my shoulder and resume softly snoring. Several months prior, I suppose that I might have been rather annoyed by the fact that both members of the Laurens family whom I was on speaking terms with were clinging tightly to me and one of them had chosen to breathe almost directly into my ear; however, now, I merely closed my eyes, attempted to gather the energy to ponder whether or not I could reach the blanket in order to pull it up to cover myself, and went to sleep.

The next morning, I awoke to sunlight blinding me. It seemed that the previous night, either Jack or I must have neglected to draw the curtains. Oh, would it really be that great of a sin to turn over and sleep for another few hours? Unfortunately, it probably was. Upon finally managing to summon the strength to open my eyes and be assaulted by the sun’s rays once again, I was rather surprised to see that there was an empty space to my left where Jack had been only a few hours prior. The mystery of where exactly he had gone was quickly solved when I propped myself up on an elbow, taking great care not to disturb Frances sleeping next to me. From my vantage point, I could see Jack was gazing at himself in the small looking glass we had been afforded, preening like he typically did in the morning. For a soldier, he could, at times, become rather preoccupied with his appearance; not that I minded of course, he was rather handsome after all. Untangling myself from the little girl next to me’s iron grip, I rose—as unfortunate of an occasion as any—and regretfully began to prepare for the day. My uniform was much where I had discarded it the previous night, half shoved into my trunk, half slayed out on the floor. After I shook out the coat and pants, I found it to be in good enough condition to warrant being worn yet again, and dressed as quietly as possible, for at the moment, Frances was still asleep, and it was very much in my best interests to keep her in such a state.

“Sleep well?” Jack asked me, voice scarcely audible. I supposed that to anyone looking in, it would have seemed rather ridiculous for us both to be whispering to each other, but a certain young lady could be quite a pain to deal with in the morning, so we typically both attempted to keep her asleep as long as possible, as to allow one of Mrs. Washington’s maid servants to help Frances get ready—for neither Jack nor I were exceptionally adept at dressing a small child, much less a girl.

“As well as I could with someone snoring in my ear.” I retaliated, whispering as well. He laughed, or at least a sort of grin encompassed his lips that indicated he would have laughed if it were not for our goal of staying as silent as possible. Instead, I merely received a kiss to the top of my head as I attempted to wrangle my curls into a queue. Brighter men probably would have hurried along as quickly as possible in order to arrive at breakfast first, yet we both lingered, preferring to stay in the one place where we could simply soak up each other’s presence.

But of course, all human bodies do require sustenance, and soon we found ourselves in the kitchen, retrieving our share of a meal consisting of porridge and coffee. The coffee was far more important than the porridge, which was essentially paste that someone had added a handful of oats to, and thus I preferred to simply sip my coffee, sitting besides Jack and gazing out onto the snow covered landscape. We were a good few miles from where the majority of the army was camped, meaning that there were no bloody footprints or wayward drummer boys in sight. It was certaining making out to be a far more pleasant winter than Valley Forge had been, not in no small part due to the fact that this go round, I had two functional ankles. I remarked upon this to Jack, who laughed and agreed, adding on that it was also looking as though this winter would possess significantly less legal trouble for me. At that, I swatted playfully at his head, for, once again, we were alone and could act as such. Yet, even with all that was, for once seemingly going right, I still could not prevent the nagging sensation from forming in the back of my mind that there was, once again, a dark cloud looming over camp, and that, sooner or later, Jack and I would be forced to confront it. I merely hoped that this time around, that cloud could not possess the form of Henry Laurnes, otherwise I would certainly be getting myself court martialed again.

Notes:

I hope you all thought that was cute, cause I totally didn't write 2k of history and fluff during my study halls today.

Oh my god the research has returned! Isn't it crazy? Sources and Notes:

-Philip Schuyler: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philip_Schuyler#American_Revolution

-So, I pushed him leaving for the Dutch Republic back a little, but I thought you'd all want to know that Henry Laurens is no longer on the same continent as any of our protagonists. Source on Henry Laurens: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Laurens#Political_career

-How I figured out where the hell the continental congress was: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Second_Continental_Congress#List_of_sessions

-Fun fact, the winter of 1779-1780 is actually the second time the continental army stayed at Morristown. You'd think that that would make it the place everyone thinks of when they think of continental winter encampments, but nope! That honor goes to Valley Forge. Morristown article:https://www.mountvernon.org/library/digitalhistory/digital-encyclopedia/article/morristown-nj

How I figured out what was going on:https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timeline_of_the_American_Revolution#1779

So, I don't actually know where John Laurens was in the winter of 1779. It doesn't seem like he was an aide de camp anymore, but his wikipedia page just skips from the siege of savannah to him being captured by the British in 1780. It's likely he was spending the winter down South, but because I can't be arsed to research any further, just please assume I'm being historically accurate and he was at Morristown....please.

Where Washington and all the aides were staying: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ford_Mansion

Chapter 57: Catalyst

Summary:

catalyst
/ˈkadləst/
noun
a person or thing that precipitates an event.

Following breakfast, Jack returned upstairs to ensure that his daughter had not decided to jump out of the window or eat paste, while I settle myself at the desk we shared, retrieving the letter than I had not finished the previous evening, pulling out my quill as well, dipping it in the ink pot, and beginning to write. Harrison and McHenry were the only other men present, because, as the latter had informed me, Tilghman and Meade had both been sent to the enlisted men’s camp in order to report back to the general later that day on the living conditions of the soldiers. Thus, it was far more quiet in the office than it had been previously, although I still was forced to defend my stash of quills against several bandits. It was not long until I was joined by my lover, Jack whispering to me that Frances was still deep asleep as he sat down. I nodded, and merely passed him a stack of Washington’s correspondence that needed to be answered. He had not quite yet picked up on the necessary art of forging the general’s signature, meaning that I had to sign all of the replies, although I was fairly certain that he ought to gain the skill soon enough.

We worked in relative quiet as snowflakes danced at the windows, far more cheerful than the work we were completing would suggest. Placing the letter to Schuyler in the stack of correspondence headed to the continental congress in Philadelphia, I turned to the next, breaking open the wax seal and scanning the contents. The author of the message was none other than Henry Laurens. Why, I was going to have fun with this one. The elder and inferior Laurens had written to inform Washington of the fact that he would be heading off to the Dutch Republic to act as a representative of the United States over there. It would be a lie to say that a large smile did not cover my face. I so dearly hoped that his ship would sink, he would drown, or better yet, get marooned on a small island and suffer a long, drawn out, death.

“Jack!” I whispered to him, shoving the letter in his face. “Look at this!”

He took the letter, reading quickly as his eyes flitted back and forth. “I hope my father’s ship is caught in a storm, he is stupid enough to go up on the deck to view it, and he is washed overboard and drowns.”

“As do I.” I agreed. That would be a wonderful occasion! Henry Laurens would be dead, unable to torment anyone ever again, and Jack and I would be free to simply exist in each other’s presence until the end of time.

However, as I turned back to write a curt response to the miserable bastard, not even attempting to disguise my handwriting, my mind began to swim with thoughts of the future. Following the conclusion of this miserable war, which I believed it impossible for us not to emerge victorious in, I wished to put my studies of the law and economics to good use. Politics had been calling me by name ever since I had first set foot in New York, and I intended to embrace them the moment that my military service ceased. Perhaps, if someone ever saw fit to give me a command, I would be able to use the glory I had gained on the battlefield to propel myself to a high position in our new country. Or, better yet, form it to my will. The articles of confederation, written during that miserable winter at Valley Forge, had little chance of sustaining our country in peace time, something that I had repeatedly told anyone who would listen over the past year or so. Jack had borne witness to a good dozen or so of my rants regarding their inefficiency, the majority of which had to be whispered for he was attempting to rock Frances back to sleep. Jack and Frances. Jack and Frances. For all that I had thought of the future, and for all I had promised Jack that I would stay by his side so long as he wished me to, it was only now that I realized that their mere presence did not fit into the post war life that I wished to have. I was going to be a politican—a member of congress at least, perhaps a governor if the states contend to retain so much power—and governors and congressmen did not get elected in the first place in the entire country knew that they were sodamites. If they saw me living with another man, relying on his fortune to fund my life, and heard his daughter calling me “papa” they would all condemn me as one. But I was not a sodamite. I had been with numerous women before, far more so than men; it just so happened that I was currently with Jack and cared for him deeply and wished to love him and kiss him and engage in certain acts that would have us both hung.

“My dear boy?” The sound of Jack's voice jolted me out of my thoughts. It seemed that I had been working mindlessly all morning, for now it appeared that it was noon.

“Yes?” I replied, exerting far more effort than I probably ought to have been to banish all signs of concern from my face.

“Would you mind getting Fanny? Harrison wants me to help him look over a map of North Carolina, and I promised her that she could eat the noontime meal with us.”

“Of course.”

I supposed that it was probably for the best that I be implored to rise from my seat, and thus I did so, stretching before I trudged over to Mrs. Washington’s quarters in order to retrieve Frances. Such an action was, if anything, actively working against my best interests for not being thought to be a sodamite; however, I had grown to care for the little girl as if she were my own daughter, despite her early attempts to break one or all of my ribs, and thus I did not have the heart to say no. General and Mrs. Washington’s quarters were on the opposite side of the mansion from where Jack, the rest of our fellow aides, and I resided. Upon reaching their apartments, I knocked on the door, and was instructed to enter by a cheery voice that I recognized immediately as belonging to Mrs. Washington. Thus, I did so, entering the warm and rather extravagant room. When she had arrived in camp, Mrs. Washington had brought with her a small army of servants and two wagons full of luggage, and anyone who set foot in her quarters would quickly realize that such luxuries had not been brought in order to better the lives of the soldiers. Now, I was of the opinion that Mrs. Washington was one of the most lovely women that I had ever had the pleasure of meeting, and that she cared deeply for our cause; however, even I would not deny that she was slightly out of touch with the reality that all of the men and women devoting their lives to our cause inhibited. To sum the entire affair up in one incident, let me just say that I was not even aware that a lady could have a servant dedicated solely to mending.

Naturally, I made sure to banish all of those thoughts from my mind the moment that I laid eyes upon said lady, who was knitting a pair of stockings while Frances, who was perched on her lap, was doing something with one member of the plethora of rag dolls that nearly every officer in camp had seen fit to give her. I was of the opinion that the total mass of all of the dolls was at least equivalent to Jack, or to me if I was holding Frances. Mrs. Washington looked up from her knitting, giving me a warm smile. “Colonel Hamilton, I suppose I know what you are here for.”

“If what you supposed was Frances, then yes.” I swept into the sort of bow that all gentlemen were expected to give ladies, although with my jest still hanging in the air, I felt slightly more akin to a court jester than to any sort of gentleman.

“Of course,” She replied, leaning down to the little girl I had been sent to retrieve and saying: “Fanny, Colonel Hamilton is here for you.”

Frances looked up at me, blue eyes filled with confusion for a moment. It was exceedingly rare that I was referred to by my title in her presence, for I was “Papa” to her, and “Alexander” to Jack. Her little brow furrowed in concentration for a moment, before her features lit up with understanding and she exclaimed: “Papa!” Thankfully for my sanity, Mrs. Washington made no comment on the manner in which another man’s daughter referred to me, instead merely chuckling and biding Frances stop her play.

“Thank you so much for watching her.” I thanked her. “I appreciate it, and I am certain that Ja—Colonel Laurens does as well.”

“She reminds me of my daughter.” Mrs. Washington smiled rather sadly. “She passed away when she was four.”

“I am sorry for your loss.” I replied, taking Frances from her arms. The little girl nuzzled her face into my shoulder, much in the same manner as Jack did upon occasion. No matter how much I attempted to deny that I was engaged in any sort of improper conduct with John Laurens, it seemed that his daughter was the singular piece that would consistently disprove my argument. It was a rather bitter thought, yet it still echoed in my mind as I made my way down the central staircase, adjusting Frances to be on my hip. She probably ought to have been old enough to walk the distance by herself, yet something told me that such a thing would not be occurring exceptionally soon. Jack was sitting in the kitchen, our midday meal spread out before him, and I traded him his daughter for the book I had been reading, The Sorrows of Young Werther, by Goethe. He busied himself with attempting to feed a small child, while I resumed my reading. I supposed that it might have been seen as exceptionally ironic to some that the imaginary world I was attempting to escape into was one framed through the eyes of a man who was just as torn between society’s expectations and love as I was; however, such a thought did not ever cross my mind.

I was forced to look up from my book on numerous occasions, the most substantial of which was probably McHenry entering the kitchen and loudly lamenting about how much Harrison despised him. This resulted in the remainder of Jack and I’s meal being spent attempting to convince the fellow otherwise, for I dreaded the thought of him transferring to another general’s staff and abandoning us to deal with his replacement, who might have been a dreadful idiot for all that we knew. I for one counted myself lucky that Jack had not been replaced by a complete nimrod during his absence. Following the conclusion of this riveting conversation, and me finishing far less of my book than I would have wished to, my lover escorted his daughter back up to Mrs. Washington’s quarters, and I returned to the office with McHenry, who at long last saw fit to shut up when his “tormentor” entered. Personally, I thought Harrison to be a fine man, slightly too lenient on people for stealing my quills, but overall fine enough. Although, now that I thought about it, he had forced me to share a desk with Jack while I was still cross with him regarding the whole being married and not telling me affair, so perhaps McHenry’s annoyance was called for.

The afternoon progressed as it typically did, with Jack whispering questions regarding translation work to me while I copied down general orders. Nothing of particular note had occurred recently, so the majority of the orders were merely regarding how camp was supposed to be set up…although I could not help but to feel that, based on the faces of the men I had seen marching into camp, they really ought to be regarding the idea that the fire of our great cause was beginning to burn out in the souls of many of the men. Outside, the light flurry that had been falling since the previous morning had grown to a steady snowfall, the flakes whipped every which way and that by the wind. I so dearly hoped that the men had had the foresight to build their cabins to be slightly more structurally integral this time around, for I was fairly certain that none of the generals here would be anywhere as generous as Hale had been at Valley Forge. I was just attempting to banish the thought of Hale from my mind so that I might be able to focus on my work, when I heard it: a commotion occurring in the hallway outside. Given that the most interesting thing that had occurred in the last week was Jack’s cat finally abandoning Hannah in order to torment my ankles once again, I rose and walked out into the hallway, to see what on earth was occurring.

“I need to speak to General Washington at this very moment!” Tallmadge demanded, speaking so quickly that I could scarcely make out what he was saying. The man was covered in snow, and he looked as if he had been riding through the storm. I decided it was probably best not to ask.

“What on earth is the matter?” I pressed him, while I attempted to recall whether or not Washington was supposed to be meeting with anyone at the moment. I did not think so, however I was not always informed of such things in a timely manner.

“I found it.” That was all he said for way of an explanation. What on earth was it?

Thus, I had no choice but to question him as we both hurried towards the general's office: “What do you mean by it?”

Tallmadge’s eyes filled with a look reminiscent of a man possessed as he uttered eight words I had not realized I had wished to hear since August: “The proof. Proof that Arnold is a traitor.”

Notes:

Shit's heating up

Notes:

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Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of The Poisoned Youth Archives
• Part 1 of Natus de Morte