My humblest apologies for taking so long to write this, but it was surprisingly difficult. Add final exams to that, and my time is very limited.
Thank you to ShippudenFlower, Oniongrass, Athena's-Dragon-138, anonomas russia fan, Georgia pride, petaltailify97, and Amelia Mills for your wonderful reviews!
Thanks as well to Huntress9894, MonseHunter05, goldchild2, Kris Phantom, Krystie T, and again to Athena's-Dragon-138 and petaltailify97 for your favorites and alerts!
Please enjoy!
I disclaim, and own nothing.
Alfred had gotten quite comfortable in the small wooden space that was Mr. Rudolph's bookshop during the two-and-then-some years he'd been working there, yet it boggled his mind that the man had managed to fit so damn many in such a small space, and manage to remember precisely where all of them were.
Pulling a rather thick tome off the middle shelf, Alfred was unprepared for the sudden amount of dust that billowed up around him.
Alfred sneezed, sending up a larger puff of dust from the little-used back corner of the bookshop. He cursed mentally, knowing he already wasn't doing well. He didn't need to add allergies to the growing list of maladies he'd accumulated since June.
The war that Jefferson had worked so hard to prevent had happened anyway, and Alfred found himself fully supporting it. The British hadn't listened to the American government's many attempts to get them to stop commandeering American ships, and in an even more extreme affront, had begun taking American sailors for their own.
To make matters worse, both Massachusetts and Connecticut refused to fight, both their state governments condemning the war, successfully splitting popular sentiment. Then came Hull's cowardice at Detroit, where he had surrendered 2200 men to the British without firing a shot and Van Rennselaer's ill-fated attempt at convincing his New York militiamen to invade Canada, in which the men had flat-out refused to cross the border, an occurrence which repeated itself no less than three months later with another group of men.
And since the war's commencement, Alfred had yet to feel well enough to help the cause.
"Are you quite all right, Jones?"
Glancing up through tearing eyes, Alfred caught sight of the bespectacled Hungarian store owner, peering at him from around the corner of the shelf, a safe distance from the dust. He waved him off, something that served to disperse the dust even further and send him into another sneezing fit.
Mr. Rudolph shrugged, as unconcerned as ever about the various doings of his one employee, and moved off into the backroom, presumably for another cup of coffee. "Please don't sneeze all over the merchandise. And check if we have another copy of The Coquette, it should be on the front shelf."
Alfred nodded, though the other man had no way of seeing him, and replaced the book in his hand on the shelf, making a mental note to clean the area later. Making his way to the front of the shop, he began his search for The Coquette, hoping that Mr. Rudolph had actually put it where he promised he would.
But as he crouched on the floor before the shelf, he couldn't help but remember the day that his long-lost sister had come sweeping through the door. He'd had barely a few days with her before she left again, returning to Boston.
He was still surprised that she'd managed to convince him to go with her.
Alfred stood before the bookshop, the trunk at his feet filled with everything he called his own, waiting for Emeline's arrival.
She and Peter were returning to Boston. He'd told Emeline, at her own insistence, everything that had happened to him since leaving New Haven all those years before.
"You clearly need some time to relax!" was her immediate reaction. "You're going to be the death of yourself running about as you have been, meddling in politics and taking extraordinary trips! It's about time you come home!"
Peter had also liked the idea, having been told that Alfred's parents were old family friends of Emeline's, and that the two had met once before years ago. For Alfred, it was more than just a respite: it was the chance to have a home again, with people he knew he loved, a luxury he knew he'd depraved himself of after running away.
The carriage pulled up in a cloud of dust and crunching gravel. Mr. Rudolph hadn't bothered to come out, merely nodding in response to Alfred's quick goodbye and returning to his book. The driver leapt out, snatching up Alfred's trunk and ushering him into the cabin, where Emeline and Peter were already seated, dressed in their traveling clothes.
The road out of the capital was a blur, Emeline's small talk fading into the background as Alfred watched the now-familiar buildings pass by. He was still looking forward to returning home (if not the long journey it would take to get there) when they passed the city limit.
The instant the city changed to countryside, Alfred was seized with a sudden panic. Breathing quickly, he peered out the back window, his heart rate increasing with the distance between him and the capital.
"I have to go back."
Emeline, still talking, was silenced immediately. As if unsure of what she heard, her eyes widened. "You must what?"
"I have to go back, to Washington."
"Why?" Peter asked. "We've only just left!"
Alfred chose to ignore him in favor of speaking only to Emeline. "Em, remember when I told you about the reasons I go places?"
Her eyes widened a fraction, and she gave a slight nod, the feather on her hat bobbing as she did so.
"Well, those… reasons say I have to go back. Something's going to happen there, in Washington, something important. I need to be there."
"You'll miss seeing Mother."
Alfred winced. Emeline had told him, during one of their many discussions about him, that Franklin had died several years ago. Sarah was still holding on, but she was very near her deathbed. Words hadn't been needed to say that she was one of the main reasons Alfred was returning.
But by now, Alfred was certain he was hyperventilating as the buildings of Washington began to fade into the distance. The pull to Boston was strong, but that was merely his own emotional reasons.
Washington, he knew, was something far greater.
Taking a deep breath, Alfred yelled for the driver to stop.
_V~-~-~V_
His workday at the bookshop complete, Alfred finished the process of locking up, his only real responsibility. Shrugging on his favorite brown jacket and a pair of gloves, he closed the bookshop's heavy front door and began making his way toward a particular coffee shop. He had someone to meet.
Shivering as the December chill attacked his face with a vengeance, Alfred moved as quickly as he could. With any luck, he'd be out and back before the evening's promised snowstorm could have a change to start in force. Alfred would swear he'd never covered those four blocks in a shorter time since.
The familiar ring of a bell announced his entrance. Brushing the white dusting of ice he'd received off his shoulders, Alfred glanced around the dim room. A collection of square tabled covered the main room, with a high table resembling a bar in the back. Squat chairs with ratty mahogany-colored cushions were mostly full of patrons, but it was a corner booth that drew Alfred's attention. As he approached, the man seated there rose, smiling, and extended a friendly hand.
"How have you been, Alfred?"
Alfred grinned broadly as he reciprocated the gesture. "Not bad, Mr. Clark."
William Clark, giving Alfred a quick once-over, raised a skeptical eyebrow at that, but accepted Alfred's answer. "Won't you have a seat? I told the proprietress to stop by once I'd been joined by another customer… here she comes now."
She turned out to be a fairly young lady, with light brown hair tied back in a loose knot, and a friendly southern accent.
"What can I get y'all?"
"A cheese danish, if you please."
"Just coffee for me," Alfred said, flashing a smile. The pair sat in silence as she left the table, Alfred leaving Clark to tell him why he'd set up this meeting.
Alfred was aware that the older-looking man had been in and out of Washington since the expedition's return. Having been named America's Indian agent for the west and the brigadier general of the new territory's militia, he'd been a busy man, but Alfred had no idea what he was doing with all those new titles.
Clark finally sighed, breaking the silence. "My wife and I would like your thoughts on something."
"Sure, anything—" Alfred began, but paused as the rest of the sentence sank in. "Wait, your wife?"
Clark flushed faintly. "Yes, I proposed to Judith as soon as I could when the expedition returned."
Remembering a certain river out west that now bore that name, Alfred nodded in recognition. "So, you got married and I wasn't invited?"
"It was a small affair, just for family. And I couldn't find you at the time, anyway."
Alfred snorted, shaking his head in mock reproach. "That's no excuse, old man, no excuse. But what was it that you wanted?"
"Ah, yes, that…" Clark muttered, but the proprietress returned at that moment with his danish and Alfred's coffee. He broke off a piece of his pastry and chewed thoughtfully for a moment before saying, "We're thinking of taking custody of little Jean Baptiste, and Lisette as well."
"Sacagawea's children?" Alfred asked, surprised, "Why?"
"I recently received word that she died at Fort Manuel. I haven't the faintest idea of what Charbonneau is doing, or even if he's still alive, but her children are in need of a more stable home than they could have wandering the country with a trapper."
Alfred was silent, staring into his coffee, thinking of a young girl who resembled Nek so strongly and a story about bears. Quashing the mixed sadness and dread that threatened to make itself known, he muttered, "The Eternal Hunting-grounds, huh…"
"Pardon?"
Alfred shook his head. "It's nothing. So, why do you need my advice? If you think they can have a good home with you, your decision should already be made."
"Yes, but that's just the problem. Judith and I still have Meriwether to think of—"
"Lewis? Why do you have to worry about him?"
The lines on Clark's face became more pronounced, weariness seeming to radiate from his abruptly still form. "Not Lewis," he said quietly. "Our son, Meriwether. Lewis died three years ago."
Alfred let out a choked laugh, running a hand through his hair. "My God, Clark, must you take your time telling me all this? Is there anybody else dead whom I should know about? Any other children you've been keeping secret?" Clark just shook his head, and Alfred watched his gray hairs catch the dim light of the coffee shop.
In a more subdued tone, Alfred continued, "If taking in two more children wouldn't be problematic for your family, I would. After all, you're offering them a chance not many get."
Clark nodded, relaxing a bit at Alfred's words. "I know that. I suppose I just needed someone other than Judith to confirm it for me."
The two continued, chatting idly about anything they could think of, until nearly all of the patrons had slowly dispersed and the proprietress began cleaning the tables. Clark stood first.
"It's been a pleasure seeing you again, Alfred."
"Likewise," Alfred agreed, nodding as he too stood.
Suddenly appearing struck by a thought, Clark asked, "Would you like to meet my wife and son? They'll be visiting the capital soon."
"Of course I would! Just say when."
Clark smiled softly, bidding Alfred goodbye, and taking his leave first. Alfred took his time donning his jacket and gloves, dreading the minutes he would have to spend walking back to the bookshop in the frozen night air. When the proprietress began shooting him pointed glances, he finally took a bracing breath and stepped outside.
_V~-~-~V_
A few weeks passed, Christmas coming and going without much celebration on Alfred's part. Mr. Rudolph had gone to church for nearly the entire day, but Alfred had decided to stay home, wondering if Emeline made Peter attend as Sarah had wanted them to.
A letter was received from Clark, telling him to meet outside his workplace in a few days time, and to dress nicely because Judith was easily impressed by finery.
Unfortunately, Alfred had none of that, so he settled for one of Mr. Rudolph's suit jackets that probably wouldn't have fit him a few years ago, but would suit his purposes thanks to his recent loss of weight.
As Alfred made his way to Clark's workplace, he stopped briefly to buy a newspaper. Shaking open the front page, he scowled as once again, Madison's name graced the headlines, along with a litany of other month-old stories of British warships and failed American offensives. Really, their Navy was quite awful in comparison to England's. Alfred could almost see Arthur's smirk if he'd ever had the chance to mention that to the obviously proud once-sailor.
His mind lingering for a few more moments on the Englishman, Alfred wondered what he would look like now. Certainly rather old, if he was still alive. Shaking off the mental image of a sixty-year-old Arthur with a quiet shudder, Alfred focused instead on paying attention to where he was walking. He wouldn't want the embarrassment of passing the building or getting run over by a carriage or something.
Arriving at Clark's building, Alfred found the man already waiting outside, talking to a pretty blond lady who held the hand of an equally blond little boy. Tucking his newspaper under his arm, Alfred waved to catch his attention, and quickened his speed to a jog.
"Sorry if I'm late. Have you been waiting long?" he asked, directing his question to the lady, presumably Judith. He had to admit, she was quite pretty. How she fell for Clark was a mystery to him, until he recalled the small national hero detail.
She smiled demurely. "Not long at all, Mr. Jones. My husband has told me much about you."
"All good, of course?" Alfred laughed, grinning broadly.
"Of course."
It soon became clear that Clark was content to let his wife do all the talking, but Alfred found her conversation, while well-spoken, dreadfully boring. They'd covered life in Washington, Alfred's job, steered clear of any real war politics, and were just finishing up remarking on the weather when Judith was abruptly distracted by someone else emerging from the building.
"Mr. Williams!" she called, daintily raising a gloved hand to catch this someone's attention. "Mr. Williams, over here!"
A figure at the top of the steps turned to look at their small group. Quickly disengaging himself from whomever he was walking beside, he trotted down the steps toward Judith.
From a distance, he appeared nothing special. But the nearer he got, the clearer it became that Alfred was looking at what could be his own reflection.
The stranger seemed to notice this too, stopping a good ten feet away to stare. But his momentary incredulity gave way to something closer to wondering suspicion, his eyes narrowing as they met Alfred's.
"Mr. Clark," he said, speaking in an extraordinarily quiet voice, "who is he?"
"Ah, this is Alfred Jones. He traveled with my expedition some years ago," Clark replied, introducing himself into the conversation for the first time since their brief greeting. The other man seemed to relax a fraction at that, his shoulders easing ever so slightly, but his gaze was still wary.
"Alfred, this is Matthew Williams, a Canadian delegate. Though we don't work directly together, we're previously acquainted, and Judith is quite taken with him." The man, Matthew, seemed to blush slightly at that.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Jones," he said softly. There was a strange lilt to his voice that Alfred couldn't quite place, perfect English yet faintly French-sounding all the same.
"Please call me Alfred," he replied, turning his grin on the Canadian, "Mr. Jones is so stuffy." Matthew nodded politely and turned to Clark, engaging him in light conversation instead, simultaneously giving Alfred an excuse to study his face.
The two of them definitely looked similar at first glance, but there were a few minute details that Alfred noticed right away (possibly, he thought, because he was the party being compared, and he was quite familiar with his own face). The other's hair was longer, and slightly curly, with a single curl dangling in front of his face that looked equally as untamed as Alfred's cowlick. His eyes, though as similar in shape and size as their two faces were, were a darker, almost purplish blue. He was also about the same height and age, appearance-wise. Alfred thought they could have passed for twins.
Matthew had noticed his study and was doing the same, if the slight pink creeping up his cheeks was any indication. Struck by a sudden sense of familiarity he couldn't quite figure out, Alfred asked, "Can I call you Mattie?"
The other looked rather surprised at the request. "Eh? I guess not…"
"Great! I'm sure we'll get along fantastically!" Alfred exclaimed, suddenly recognizing the familiar sensation from another chance acquaintance on a Boston pier. He shook Matthew's hand vigorously, and was surprised at the quick response he got and the small smile he earned. Despite his shy exterior, the Canadian had a strong grip.
"I'm sure we will," he replied, his deep blue eyes losing their final traces of suspicion as the pair started talking.
_V~-~-~V_
In the following months, Alfred began to spend as much time as possible with Matthew, showing him around the city. No matter that he was supposed to be the enemy; he couldn't keep that train of thought alive for long when standing beside his almost-twin. He visited the bookshop even more frequently than Alfred visited his and Clark's office building (though Clark was at his home in Virginia half the time anyway).
Alfred was taking a break from shelving in the bookshop one day when Mr. Rudolph stuck his head in the door.
"There's a man here to see you. He says he's the President."
"The President?" Alfred was out of his chair in an instant, brushing past Mr. Rudolph in his hurry to the front room. Sure enough, there was the curly powder wig and the rather pinched face of the fourth president. War had definitely taken its toll on the young man who'd been elected nearly six years before.
"Are you Alfred Jones?" he asked, drawing on the authoritative voice that Alfred had grown used to hearing in all of his presidents.
"That'd be me, sir. What can I do for you?"
"I'm here to offer you a position on my staff."
Alfred blinked. "With all due respect sir, you didn't want me six years ago."
Madison frowned slightly. "At the time, I had assumed you were merely a lackey of Jefferson. However, the remaining staff assures me that you played a key role in the success of his administration."
Alfred felt the need to discuss a few things with this staff. "I'm afraid I'm being overestimated, sir. I was an average aide who fell asleep at his desk more often than was helpful."
Madison's skepticism was returning slowly. "Yes, but during your waking hours, I have heard you were incredibly good. And with Napoleon falling from power, the war is coming to a close in Europe. Talks of peace beginning soon, and I found that those were your specialty."
"With natives, not uppity British pigs in wigs," Alfred replied, a bit harsher than was strictly necessary. "I'm also very happy with my job here. I left politics for a reason, and have no desire to go back."
"As long as you're certain. Such an opportunity won't be presented again."
"If you really need me, you'll ask," Alfred said, abandoning all verbal politeness. "Have a nice day, Mr. President."
_V~-~-~V_
Alfred remembered the date as well as he remembered his own birthday, but it came to mean something much closer to his death.
On August 24, 1814, Matthew was over for coffee at the bookshop while Mr. Rudolph was out somewhere, probably on one of his book errands. The pair of them were chatting in the back room when Alfred felt a sudden brief stab of pain in his chest. It was gone in an instant, but Matthew looked concerned.
"It's nothing," Alfred said, waving him off, but the pain returned, fiercer this time, doubling him over. Matthew was beside him in an instant, holding his shoulders.
"That is not nothing, Alfred! What's wrong?"
Alfred opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, an acrid smell welled up, filling his nose and mouth with its bitter unpleasantness, causing him to gag.
"Smoke. I smell smoke," he managed.
"Smoke? But I can't smell anything—" Matthew paused, an odd expression flitting across his features as he turned his face to the air. Then he gasped. "Damn it, they can't have, not already—!"
Recovering his breath, Alfred asked, "What can't they do already?" But Matthew was running for the door. Throwing it wide, he rushed outside, then reappeared back by Alfred. The smell of smoke intensified, and Matthew's voice grew urgent.
"We have to get you out of here, they're burning the city!"
"Wha—? Burning?"
"Yes, the smoke is from the fires, they've already started— but how would you know before I did…?"
"I didn't!"
"You smelled the smoke first…"
Suddenly, what Matthew had already said sank in. Alfred pulled himself upright, fixing Matthew with an abruptly harsh look. "Matt—what do you mean by 'already'?"
Matthew was lifting Alfred off the ground, moving them towards the door. "The British, they have plans to burn Washington, but I had no idea they were moving so soon—"
Alfred wrenched himself free. "So soon? You knew they were going to burn Washington?"
But Matthew's face showed little remorse. "It's a war, Alfred, you do what you can to destroy the enemy. Canada is British-owned, and I'm a government officer—"
"Is that was this is about? Did you just make friends with me so you could observe the city from the inside?" Matthew looked stricken.
"No, Alfred, it's not like that, but we have to get out of here—" But the other blond wouldn't listen. Backing away, betrayal welling up and nearly overpowering the bitter taste of smoke, Alfred spun around, ignoring Matthew's startled cries and shouted regrets. He didn't know how he knew what was burning, but as he started to run, he found his feet carrying him steadily towards the White House. Ignoring the sickening fear that clenched at his stomach, he began to sprint, not remembering anymore if he was running to something or away as the first black cloud appeared in the sky.
V/~-~-~\V
Uwaa, suspense! Maybe. It seemed suspenseful to me, anyway.
Ok, historical stuff!
-The War of 1812 began on June 18th, 1812. On June 26, Massachusetts's House of Representative condemned the war, and by July 2nd, Connecticut had done the same thing. Neither agreed to lend their militias to the effort.
-The first major land battle of the war became known as the Surrender of Detroit, when veteran General William Hull surrendered his entire army of 2200 men to British forces without firing a shot. He was courtmartialed for cowardice and sentence to death, but President Madison pardoned him.
-On October 13, 1812, American forces are led across the Niagara River to Queenston Heights, Ontario, but the New York militia refuses to follow General Stephen Van Rennsselaer across the border, claiming they only are required to fight on New York soil. The Americans were defeated, with 900 men captured.
-The Americans almost invade Canada again in an attempt to capture Montreal, but again the militia under General Henry Dearborn refuses to cross the border, and they're forced to retreat.
-Madison was reelected on December 2nd, 1812.
-Sacagawea dies at Fort Manuel on December 20th, 1812, and Clark assumes custody of Jean Baptiste and Lisette Charbonneau.
-Meriwether Lewis committed suicide at Grinder's Strand, an inn south of Nashville, on October 11th, 1809.
-Napoleon was crushed at the Battle of Leipzig on October 16, 1813, and retreats to France. He abdicates on May 30th, 1814, ending the Napoleonic Wars in Europe.
-The peace talks Madison mentions begin on August 8th, 1814. They culminate in the Treaty of Ghent nearly six months later.
-The White House (and many other government buildings) were burned on August 24th, 1814, by an army of Canadian soldiers. American Secretary of War John Armstrong is forced to resign after being blamed for the event, due to poor planning and intelligence that left Washington, DC badly defended.
So... Canada finally appears, because his people burned the capital. Yay, Canada! He's also suspicious, but who knows if he'll act on it?
I felt like I was copping out a bit with the Emeline scene, but she'll be back one more time, I think.
On to the next chapter! Please continue to support this story, and if you have time, don't hesitate to leave a comment or review!