A/N: Read author's note below.

Chapter 22: Correspondence

March 18, 1786

Bennett tore open the letter carefully with a knife, making sure none of the contents were damaged before taking out the long letter. Setting the knife down on the counter, he took out the letter and smiled slightly when he saw it in his sister's writing. Sitting down at the kitchen table, he unfolded the letter slowly and began to read.

Dear Bennett,

You think yourself funny teasing me about my inability to speak French. However, the joke's on you because Gerard, the very friendly butler of Lafayette's is teaching me quite well and I can recall our mother's lessons easily.

So… hah.

Anyway, the children are doing fine, surprisingly, and my husband isn't in too much stress. The politics of this world is different than America. Stiffer, more etiquette is needed, the people here are slightly outrageous…

I could go on and on but for now, we're enjoying a life together despite the prices that are nearing the top of the sky and the poverty-reeked streets. Did you know that Emmeline knows how to count in both languages now? Not very high, but up to five is still enough. She's very proud of it, reciting it into the night. And Georges, I've never seen a little boy more steady on his feet. Dare I say it, he'll make a wonderful soldier should the career call to him.

I hope it doesn't. Despite what I say, Ben, blood will be shed. The people are angry and the monarchy isn't doing anything to help. I know you're older now but I can't stop thinking you as my little brother. So please, don't ask if you can help. Don't try and come here. You still aren't a soldier, you never were one. You are our father's son. Ettie is our father's daughter.

I'm not.

A domestic life was never an answer I'd settle for. For some reason, I still search for danger unconsciously and sometimes, truthfully, it's terrible. But sometimes, it's amazing. It's how I found Lafayette; how you have a niece and nephew as well as an older brother.

So I'm waiting for the danger because I never want that on anyone else.

I'm not saying I'm better than you because I'm not. You're talented and kind and capable in your own way because you took Joan in* when she had nowhere else to go. You help our father when I can't. You ran a busy tavern by yourself at fifteen. What I'm saying is we're built differently.

I'm not saying I'm selfless like you are or kind like you are but I try to be pretty damn close. I'm not saying that I can be as care-free as Ettie or that I can just see the light in everything like she does but I attempt to be as optimistic as I can - I fail quite often.

What I'm saying is that I'm not our father's child. Perhaps I'm our mother's.

You didn't get to know her, but I did, and even though I forget a tiny fraction of her every day, I feel like this is something she would've done. I'd like to think our mother is glad that although I married the man I've fallen in love with, I haven't put my whole life on hold just to cater his needs. In heaven, I hope she's happy that I chose someone who respects me and loves me and asks for my opinion like it's the most important thing in the world. I think she'd be happy that I'm doing what I want and with the motives she taught me.

And as a secret between you and me, I bet she would've encouraged my act to join the army. Just a thought. As you can guess, she was a woman of virtues and did not tolerate nonsense. She wanted to fight for what's right.

In the beginning, there was a reason I sat down to write this letter. I was just going to tell you that I'm fine and that you don't need to worry. But as I sit at the plantation my husband bought and watch the men and women out there happily working for him because he is paying them handsomely and their families are well-cared for, it somehow spiralled into this.**

And I just think… despite everything, look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now.

From where we started, under the British rule, to where we are, though split apart by an ocean; we're happy. I hope you are, at least.

Ben, there are so many things I have to say that I wish I could in person. But God has directed my path to France and it is where I will stay until the danger has passed. Because my career as a soldier hasn't quite ended yet nor do I have the intention of just letting my husband do the work. So I chose what I wanted to say and wrote it down in this letter because we don't have time anymore. It's slightly bittersweet because I've always been by your side and now, I'm not. I haven't been for a long time and I'll always regret that.

I knew what I was giving up on ten years ago and yet it still affects me today. I miss you so much. Give my regards to Papa, Ettie, Joan, Ollie - everyone at the tavern.

Your sister,

Genevieve; January 29, 1786

April 29, 1786

She would've been proud of Ettie and I, but she would've been proudest of you, my dearest sister. God built you differently because you were destined to help so many more people than I could ever dream of. I love you so much, stay safe because I never want to lose you. If… if I lose you, I don't think any of us will ever be the same. Because we could've stopped you and you would be alive.

So please, as one last favor to your little brother, stay alive.

Ben; March 18, 1786

Genevieve set down the short letter and closed her eyes, rubbing them tiredly as Georges waddled in. He was wearing one of Lafayette's shirts, a one he had somehow gotten into and it was hanging so loosely on his frame he almost tripped over the fabric that dragged across the floor. Picking up her son, she hugged him close.

Watching her husband in the study across the hall, she frowned slightly at the half-closed door before bringing her son to the drawing room. Emmeline was with Gerard, tapping one finger against the piano keys, and sending the older man a smile, she set down her son next to his older sister and sat down on the couch.

"Did your brother respond, madame?" Gerard inquired courteously and she nodded. "I presume all is well."

"He didn't say. Just said that he wants me alive by the end of the day." She said bluntly and he let out a chuckle. "What is Lafayette doing in the study?" At this, the manservant's smile dimmed.

"Le marquis is reading more of Rousseau and Montesquieu. Monsieur Jefferson is coming to visit tomorrow morning."

"Oh, don't remind me," she sighed, rolling her shoulders. "That man… I wonder where on Earth he gained his sense of fashion or," she scrunched up her nose, "if he gained it at all." Laughing, Gerard stood near her, watching the children carefully as did she.

"Monsieur et madame Adams are also arriving for dinner."

"And Madame de Staël?" Genevieve prompted. "I like that woman." Gerard nodded, a slight smile reappearing once more.

"And she returns the amity. Along with comte de Clermont-Tonnerre,"

"Good. A few friendly faces is what I need." Glancing at the time, she stood and turned to the staircase, glancing over her shoulder. "Do you think there's time before supper for a snack?" He cocked his head in amusement, "I believe my husband's been in there since luncheon. A little sunlight and time with his family will do him some good."

"Then a late supper will be of no trouble. Where do you wish to go, madame la marquise?" He asked and she began to climb up the stairs, intent to go to her room.

"Just to the backyard. Prepare a basket of a few fruits and sweets for the children. I'm just going to go change. Then we can basically drag my husband out of that dark, dreary room." With a wink, she reached the top before running into their room and peeling the dress off. Slipping on a pair of trousers and a loose shirt, she pulled her hair out from under the neckline and tied it up.

Whisking down the stairs, she entered her husband's study after a warning knock, scrunching up her nose when the smell of dusty books and paper reached her nose. "Take a break, Lafayette," she chastised softly. Standing behind him, she wrapped her arms around his neck as he leaned into her.

"What time is it?" He mumbled, reaching up to scratch his eye before blinking blearily at his hand. Ink was splattered across his skin. Putting down his writing utensil, Lafayette yawned.

"Nearly a quarter to six. It's the twenty-ninth, in case you don't remember the date in this dark room. You've been in here for hours," was the quiet answer and he pulled away from her grasp and stood. The chair rocked back but Genevieve kept it upright as he stretching. Trying to catch his gaze, she looked up at him as he barely spared her a glance. "Lafayette, is everything alright?"

"Oui," he replied shortly and tiredly. "Where are the children?" Frowning, she watched as he closed a book and turned to her. He pecked his wife on the forehead with a slight, heavy smile.

"In the drawing room." Her hand reached up to touch him but he brushed past her instead. "Gerard is preparing a picnic basket!" She called after his retreating figure but he gave no sign of hearing her, running a hand through his hair in a jerky, frustrated motion. "Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine." She mumbled sardonically before turning to his desk. Papers full of half-comprehensible notes met her eyes. Raking her gaze over the other contents, she saw the day's newspaper, some writings from the philosophes and letters.

Among them all was a sketch of a beautiful woman. In her likeness Genevieve saw Lafayette's own features and therefore features reflected in her own children. Picking up the sketch, she brushed a hand over the old, yellowing paper. Underneath was a caption that read:

Marie Louise Jolie de La Rivière, la marquise de Lafayette

Now understanding who she was, Genevieve smiled at the picture. Thank you for giving the world an incredible man and an even more magnificent husband. She thanked internally before settling the sketch back down. In the process, her hand brushed against a paper trapped in between a thick, heavy book.

Tugging at it out of curiosity, she unfolded it carefully and started when her green eyes landed on the elegant script of her husband's in French. Deciphering what she could, she felt her heart drop into her gut.

… I'm sorry, Mother but I've been so busy… France is on the verge of war… you always said I was destined for something great and now I wish I wasn't… I have a beautiful wife and children…

I wish you were here to see it. I'll visit soon enough, Mother because I've been shoving you and Father and Uncle aside… I love you… I miss you… time has slipped through my fingers like sand and I want your guidance, yet I know I cannot have it.

… I hope, that at least, I have made you proud...

Your son,

Lafayette

Settling the letter back on the desk, she stared at the sketch again with renewed admiration. You should be proud of him, madame Lafayette, she turned, exiting the study and closing the door before finding that her children were no longer in the drawing room. Laughter signified that they were now in the backyard but as she went to the room where they previously were to clean up after them, she found him sitting down on the piano bench, half-tapping the keys.

"Lafayette…" the tone in her voice; he could always read her like an open book so when she sat beside him, hands resting on the white keys as well, he just sighed. "It's not your fault. You've been busy." He was quiet for a long time and she waited patiently.

"April third," he said and she nodded, pressing her fingers down to fill the silence. Looking at the shadows casted over the pearl white, she interested herself in the deep sound of the instrument as he added, "August first,"*** He laughed - a bitter laugh that did not suit him. It made her look at him with a tint of sympathy despite her not wanting to. "It's stupid. I only knew my father for two years yet I miss him all the same." Taking his hand to stop the tapping of keys, she cupped his jaw with the other.

"It isn't," she told him firmly. "I only knew my mother for nine years. My brother only knew her for two and he barely remembers her. My sister never even met her. Does that mean we don't miss her because of all the time loss? Of course not, because others keep her memory alive. You know," a quirk of the lip and he mimicked it. Relieved to see a glimmer of his usual self, she stroked his cheek, "those who have left are never truly gone."

Lafayette had now regained at least a bit of his usual happiness because he quipped, "When did you get so wise?" Kissing his cheek and bopping his nose, she sprung up and tugged him along. Laughing, she stopped at the door to the backyard as he crashed into her. Leaning against the frame of the door, she just smiled up at him.

"Aren't you always saying how clever I am?" A chuckle rumbled in his chest and she sobered. "You can talk to me about anything, alright? Even if… even if you think I won't care. I will because it's about you." He nodded and when she leaned up for a kiss, he gladly gave it to her.

June 9, 1786

Dearest John,

How is your newest plan to abolish slavery? Since Alexander has too much free time on his hands, I'm assuming that he's helping you in your endeavor? I hope so, and if he isn't, a stern word from me is directed his way.

But how is Peggy? She is not one to stand down easily yet I haven't heard from her recently nor have I heard of her. Is she alright?

To answer your questions: No, France is not some territorial war zone where the people wield torches constantly. They don't poke others with pitchforks either. Think of it as… as Valley Forge but instead of it being physical, it is mental. You can see how hostile the environment is and the politics are messily enough as it is.

It's not fun - I can hear you snickering from across the ocean.

However, France is beautiful. In the spring, the flowers are blooming, and Emmeline and Georges are growing with every passing day. Soon we will have to hire tutors for them - they're becoming quite a handful as if they weren't already and we are afraid that they'll eventually cause Gerard's death one day. They cause too much trouble for their own good. It's fortunate for them that I love them more than most things in this world/

Yours,

Genevieve; May 1, 1786

June 30, 1786

Genevieve,

If anything, Alexander has not enough free time with the amount of children him and Eliza are conceiving. Not to be crass but they already have three children. Three! And now they're planning on demon number four and if I have to take care of them one more time, I will lose my mind.

The worst, yet best part of it all is that Peggy herself is pregnant. Only six months along at the time of this letter. Of course, I'm elated beyond words that we're to have our own child but I have doubts that I'll be a good father. After all, my father doesn't support the fact that I am an abolitionist nor does he like it that I don't do as he says almost all the time. He wasn't the best example of a good father.

I have a stinking suspicion that I'll royally screw up and I am using every prayer I know in hopes that I won't.

Please, if you get a hold of him, ask Lafayette how he does it with two of them? When I had looked towards him, he had always had one of them in his arms and his full attention directed to them. It looks so effortless for him.

Yours,

John; June 12, 1786

P.S. France sounds lovely. Perhaps we should all reunite one day when one of us isn't stuck in a revolution in the making.

Genevieve laughed, setting down the letter again. It had fueled her want to write again as she turned back to her response.

John,

You are joking, right? That's absolutely fantastic news! I know that when I told Lafayette, he nearly jumped to the second story out of happiness. He's going to be an uncle, he said. I had to remind him that Eliza already has three children and that he was already an uncle.

Give Peggy my regards and make sure she gets my letter! It's full of suggestions to help with the baby because, trust me, you will lose many nights over this.

Now, John, we both know that those are the nerves talking. You're already an excellent uncle and you're amazing with children. Those doubts will disappear as soon as you hold your newborn child. You will do fine and if you don't trust me, ask anyone around you. They will say the same thing.

John, you will do anything but screw up. And your child will be blessed to have a huge family who loves them. I envy that - we only have us. But sometimes, that's enough. Some men are born to be fathers, and despite your initial reaction to holding a child for the first time, I know you're going to be one of those men.

Now, go tend to your pregnant, and probably irritated wife as I don't want to be on the receiving end of a harsh letter dictating that I was the one who took away your attention. I miss you all.

Genevieve; June 30, 1786

Putting it to the side to let the ink dry, she turned to Angelica's letter. Like her brother-in-law, it was almost like the woman could never stop herself from writing essays. However, a fond smile found its way to her lips and she slowly took the first page, absorbing the slanted black writing in all its glory before beginning to read.

A/N: HELLO! Sorry I haven't replied to basically any reviews but thank you so much for reviewing anyway! Poll is still up if you want to vote on my next story! I love y'all kids so much. Your support means the world and here's to the return of the asterisks because I haven't added them in a while. Hope you enjoy that extra info! By the way, after 'stranger ways' review reply, there's a very lengthy one that you cannot comment on. None of you can flame or threaten this reviewer and I hope the way I dealt with it is fine with you all. Let's just put it behind us.

REVIEWS:

stranger ways: Dude, your reviews actually give me life. I love them so much and they never fail to brighten up my day. Honestly, thank you so much!

Grammar World: I already had this letter thing idea in place before you reviewed, so naturally, I am now saying thanks for the idea but I already had it. Now, on to your review.

The first portion of your review was fine (it still irritated me but I can live with that - there are definitely going to be side-stories in this universe) but what really got me was the second bit. If you find I have too many grammar errors that, and I quote, "the world of the English language had imploded, and created a black whole (it's hole, by the way) distorting all grammar of every language as we know it." Why did you read all twenty-one of my chapters? And if you find it so annoying and wish for me to correct it, why don't you get off anon and, instead of wanting to roast me, shoot me a PM to offer as a position of a beta, as you clearly imply that you can already see these aforementioned errors. You obviously think that I need one and I'm more than willing to have one. I'm glad that you told me that I need a beta reader but your review comes off as hostile and aggressive, especially the last two sentences.

Honestly, just step up, kid. You don't have perfect grammar yourself and this site is all about helping each other improve. Get the courage to get off anon and offer help if you think it's needed. Constructive criticism could have been written so much better in your review than the way you basically smacked me in the face with your review and said, "Your grammar sucks. It's so bad I want to shove the point down your throat."

I'm sorry if I come off as rude but it happens when people are rude to you in the first place.

* You're talented and kind and capable in your own way because you took Joan in*... There's gonna be a few side-stories in this universe once this fic is done.

** But as I sit at the plantation my husband bought and watch the men and women out there happily working for him because he is paying them handsomely and their families are well-cared for, it somehow spiralled into this.** Lafayette bought land in French Guiana and emancipated slaves at the plantation because he was an abolitionist.

*** "April third… August first," Those are the death dates of Laf's mom and dad respectively.