Chapter 30: Silence

October 2, 1794

Genevieve shot up, sweat drenching her face as she glanced around her. Letting out a relieved sigh, she settled back down besides her husband and staring at the ceiling. Her hands fold in her abdomen and she tried to fall back asleep. Counting the sound of the ticking of the clock in their room, she managed to get to a hundred before sitting up.

"Genevieve? Are you alright?" Lafayette's hand cradled her hip as he pushed himself up on his hand and kissed the spot below her jaw.

"I'm fine," she said and he made a sound in the back of his throat. Turning towards him, she kissed him fully on his lips and he smiled into her touch, "And you? How are the dreams?" His smile faltered and her hand that had touched his cheek fell away.

"Such nightmares will not be cured for a long time, ma chérie." She pulled the covers back and he scrambled to follow after her. "But you help, Gen. You always have."

"And what of me?" Her mind flashed back to Robespierre's chopped head, his crooked, bloody smile. Danton's terrified face, his children's chubby faces. He came behind her and stopped her before she could open the door, body pressing against hers. He was just regaining weight, fed a hearty three meals a day courtesy and at the insistence of Eliza herself. He rubbed her arms, face burrowing in the crook of her neck. His lips brushed across her skin.

"Let me help." She opened the door and turned to him, green eyes meeting dark brown.

"Then come. Let us visit the children." Extending a hand, a ghost smile appeared on her face as his palm fit against hers.

January 1, 1795

Their kisses faded. The distance between them widened to a chasm. The night of the new year was full of tipped champagne and they fell to their sheets like rabid animals.

The morning after, she refused to look at him and he refused to look at her. Words were left unsaid and a silence heavy with regret filled the air.

June 14, 1795

"Happy birthday!" Virginie squealed from the arms of her mother. She wore a lilac dress that reminded Genevieve achingly of her own wedding dress. "Bonne fête! Bonne fête!" Emmeline picked up her little sister as Eliza sat down at the table. Breakfast was always a loud event. Alexander sat at the head, hand curling around his wife's. Lafayette and John shared easy smiles as the latter took his son from his shoulders and safely back into his lap before Peggy could scold him.

Surrounded by a gaggle of children was how Genevieve always imagined. "Hey, sister," a voice whispers and the brunette turns to her younger sister. Ettie aged gracefully, only twenty-seven and single. She wrote now, as an aspiring author - truly a profession Genevieve never imagined for her, "Father writes hello, though he is still bedridden. It seems the pneumonia isn't shaking." Genevieve frowned upon hearing this piece of news and Ettie grabbed her hand with hers as oatmeal was set before them.

"Maybe we should visit."

"This day is for your children." Ettie's eyes wrinkle at the corners when she smiles completely. "Do not waste it when you have already missed so much." Kissing her on the cheek, Ettie turned to her breakfast. Bennett, across from the table, sent her a warm smile, and Genevieve wondered when the last time they dined together was.

The birthday twins plus Virginie were causing a loud ruckus and Lafayette's expression could melt the iciest glaciers. Virginie giggled when Georges poked her stomach as Emmeline helped herself to a serving of fresh fruit.

Lafayette's hand found hers. She jolted from her reverie, of examining their current situation and how stark it was compared to where they were.

"It's over now, mon ange," he said flatly. It was the first thing he had said to her in three days.

She replied, "Not in our dreams." His warm expression fell even when looking at their children. An icy silence fell over them.

June 24, 1795

His coughing was what he said woke him. Genevieve perched on the edge of his bed and read over one of Thomas' letters he had sent from his home to her in Albany. Rubbing the edges between her fingers, she gave him a knowing smile.

"You know that isn't true," she replied, "Father, what did the doctor say?"

"The usual. That my lungs are weak and that I should stay in bed."

"Is Ollie running the tavern?"

"He owns it now." Eyebrows raised, she let the letter drop to her lap. "It has been a long time coming-" He coughed and she rushed to get him some water. Passing him the glass, he tipped the water into his mouth and let out a sigh. "I believe he has earned it."

"He has."

"Have you seen him?" She shook her head and he chuckled raspily. "You should. He was your best friend once."

"He was my only friend once," she corrected, "Are you sure you don't want any chicken soup?"

"Oh, hush. You came here to stress over your old man while all I want to see is my grandchildren. They remind me too much of you." Coughing, he tried to cover his mouth but failed. "I thought I lost you again and you come back from France alive. And as much as I am glad you're back, you are different, sweetheart."

"Remember when I was little and I would crawl into Mom and your's bed after a nightmare? It's kind of like that except Mom isn't here anymore and neither are you. And the nightmare is real. It bleeds into my present and I just see it all the time." Her hand around his, she looked away and tried not to let her throat close up. "Father, if you die, what am I supposed to do?"

"Live on." Lips in a thin line, she allowed a weak smile. "As I have. As your sister and brother have. As everyone else has when they lose someone." Guilt weighing on her mind, she met her father's eyes. "It's not your fault, Genny, but this was not the life I wished for you."

"You wanted me to be happy. And I was." His smile wavered. Hers did as well. The silence had never been so thick with unease as he pulled the covers higher up his chest.

"Does Lafayette make you happy still?"

"Father, we're grateful enough to make out of there alive and to be with our children."

"Does he make you happy?" Her thoughts halted, mind coming to a standstill. The mechanical answer, the one automatic to spring to her tongue was 'Yes.' But for some reason, she couldn't make words, her tongue thick in her mouth.

She loved him, yes, but was there any happiness in looking to a man whom you sacrificed everything you never wished to for? Who reminded you of that country who was chaos, who was just as damaged as she now? The very same man who fathered her children, who promised forever, who gave her reasons upon reasons why she sacrificed everything for. Because she loved him and he loved her and that used to be all that mattered, and all the reason needed.

And Genevieve, who used to be just an Alcott running a tavern and then an Alcott who was in the army, free-falling into love with the immigrant who had duties to other countries, was no longer who she was back then and found she could not remember the freedom and happiness as clearly as she could before. Genevieve, now a marquise, a Lafayette, a revolutionary, a politician who had an ensemble of masks for each outing and a mind never at rest, was wiser, yes, but all knowledge comes with a cost.

Sometimes the cost was too steep. Happily ever afters did not exist for them.

"Why don't we wait a while, Father?" she proposed and, understanding, her father laid a hand atop of hers. "The children are waiting." But she did not move to open the door and he did not tell her to. Instead, they just sat in silence and looked at each other. Both older now, sadder, but at the very core, who they were. A father and a daughter. And Genevieve thought, Sometimes, in the darkest times, that is simply enough.

Then, she asked herself, Why isn't he enough?

June 30, 1795

"Father, just hold on." His hand ran cold in hers and his murky gaze met hers. "The doctor will be here soon." His other hand shakily reached for her face and she could hear Ettie crying. By the door, Bennett turned away and walked outside. Tears streaming down her face, she brought it back down, using the hand she held and pressing it to her cheek.

His cheeks are deep ruts, skin pale and yellow as he coughed violently. Blood spilled over his lips and she wiped it away with a cloth.

"Joanne, my love," he breathed and she let out a choked sob. Closing her eyes, she nodded against his hand, "I… it's been so long. You're alive."

"Yes. Yes, I'm alive." His eyes were misty as he smiled in full force. It was bright, despite his blood stained teeth and his heaving chest as she forced a smile. "I'm here. I'm here."

"So long… the world has been so cold…" An ugly sob built up in her throat and she crumpled, letting go of his hand and pressing her face to the bed sheets. Her hands clutched on his elbow as it bent to pat her head. "Sweetheart… it's okay… let me go."

"I can't. I can't!" Falling into silence, her shoulders quaked as his hand rubbed over her brunette curls.

"Genevieve." Lucid, William Alcott lifted his daughter's chin when she raised her head. "Joanne is waiting for me. I cannot leave this world until I know you will promise me you will try. Try… to let me go. Try-" he got cut off by his own failing lungs and he let it take him over. When the fit ended, he sunk into the pillows and she sniffed.

Shattered, she cupped his face and gave a watery smile. Tears streamed into her mouth and everything was hot and blurry, but somehow her words left her mouth, warped but comprehensible.

"I promise I'll try." And he smiled, eyes closing for the last time.

Two hours later, William Alcott stilled and his three children, surrounding him by his bed, broke.

August 15, 1795

She looked at the tombstone as the summer heat bore down on her. The funeral was only days ago and her children were quiet, at home with her siblings as she crouched before it. Her fingers brushed against the dry, unsettled dirt.

William Jonathan Alcott

Loving father, son, brother, husband, friend

25 September 1730 - 30 June 1795

"The world feels much colder now, Father. Is this how it felt when Mother died?" The grass crunched underfoot as she fell into silence. She did not turn but by the shadow cast, she knew. "Hello, Lafayette."

"I thought you'd be more pleased with a surprise visit," he said and she stood up, turning to him. Smoothing over invisible creases, she brushed past him.

"They buried him three days ago. You were invited."

"I didn't think my presence would be welcomed." His words caught her off guard and she froze, turning around. "Your actions made me feel as if unwanted."

"What? Why does it matter if I don't want you there? You should've been there - he considered you a son!"

"It matters because you are my wife! You're distant, you barely eat, you don't talk to me. I do not know who you are or understand why this is happening. I thought in times of despair, it would have been best to come together but all you do is push me away." He grabbed her wrist, face pleading. "Help me understand why."

"Laf-"

"I do not want to lose you again. We promised for better or for worse." She stopped resisting and stared up at him. He looked more like his old self but the same distance in her eyes lingered in his. "And if you do not love me... I cannot survive that."

"Does it not haunt you?" Her voice trembled. "The horrors we have witnessed..."

"But I do not know what you have witnessed. You would not confide in me. Your husband." Tears sprung to her eyes and a choked feeling around her neck made her want to just drop dead. "I love you. Genevieve, do not shut me out." She ripped her wrist away from him, turning away so he could not see the heartache on her face. He wouldn't understand just as she could not understand his pain.

"It is the only choice I have." Lafayette had words on the tip of his tongue but when he saw her wipe away tears, he did not let them spill, opting to follow her around town in hopes that it would be enough.