Hello again!
Wow, it's really too late to be publishing. But I promised a new chapter before I left, so here it is, albeit a bit shorter than has become typical. Please forgive me.

Many thank-yous to ShippudenFlower, petaltailify97, WeAllFlyHigh, and for your lovely reviews!
Thanks as well to Herald Mistylenna, Oniongrass, Jillo96, December Camie, DeadGirlWalking-chan, Hikari Kaiya, and again to for your favorites and alerts!

Also, I added an image. I found it on the wondrous internet, and have no idea from whence it came. If it's yours, and you want credit or wish it remove, please say so.

Please enjoy this (slightly shorter) chapter!
I disclaim, and own nothing.

1817

Alfred opened up his morning paper and found yet another blazing headline.

He sighed, not even bothering to read it as he tossed the newsprint down onto the kitchen table. Over the years, he had come to associate newspaper headlines with nothing good. In the cases in which they were, he usually had already heard about them.

He had returned to the bookshop, which, thanks to the British's resistance to burning any private residences, had been spared from the fire. Mr. Rudolph had resumed business as usual, saying that, "No matter what, people will always want their books. Especially the Library of Congress. Such a shame, all those books lost…"

Thomas Jefferson had sold his private collection to replace some of the books that had burned in the Library, but it was still devastation on a personal level for both him and Mr. Rudolph, extreme lovers of literature that they were.

"Whatever are you sighing about so early in the morning?"

Turning, Alfred caught sight of Mr. Rudolph himself, entering the kitchen with a cup of tea in his hand. Before Alfred could wonder how he'd gotten it without his noticing, Mr. Rudolph asked, "Have you seen the papers? There's another treaty gone through."

Alfred shook his head, and picked up the newspaper again. Quickly scanning the main article, he frowned slightly.

"The Rush-Bagot Treaty? Why on Earth do they need another?"

"Apparently, they feel the need to demilitarize the Great Lakes."

"Why couldn't they have done it sooner? The war was over three years ago already."

"You know fully how slow these politicians are in getting their treaties signed and passed by all necessary dignitaries. If they hurried up, they might prevent unnecessary battles."

Alfred snorted, not needing the reminder of the Treaty of Ghent, which hadn't even been heard of in the States until two weeks after its signing in 1814, ending the war. "The Battle of New Orleans was our greatest victory, and you know it."

Mr. Rudolph gave Alfred one of those faintly condescending looks Alfred had come to know well. "And it was fought after the treaty was signed in Europe."

"But Jackson was brilliant, you must admit. And he saved all of that Louisiana Territory from invasion!"

Mr. Rudolph waved a hand, going back to his tea, and picking up the newspaper Alfred had once again discarded. "It was a British tactical victory for holding their position. And they were caught unawares. In a fair fight, the Americans surely would have lost."

"No, they definitely would win with Jackson leading them," Alfred said firmly, Mr. Rudolph's lack of respect for the Major General irritating him.

"You Americans and your patriotism. So certain that you will always win. You see, back in the homeland, we had a long history of wars. Some we won, but just as many we lost. Just because this young country has a history of winning wars in what, the last fifty years, does not mean it always will."

Alfred glared at the side of Mr. Rudolph's head. The man wasn't even looking at him, yet he had the nerve to absently blaspheme the country Alfred loved more than anything over his morning tea. "America will be better than that. And someday, our history will be just as long as yours."

"A physical impossibility," Mr. Rudolph replied. "When America has been around for another several hundred years, perhaps then you will learn to admit defeat with grace."

"Sometimes," Alfred all but growled, "I don't know how I can stand to work here."

"I could always fire you. Then maybe you could find someone who will listen to your idealistic chatter."

Having nothing appropriate to counter the threat of unemployment, Alfred settled for glaring daggers at the older-looking man's head and stalking (proudly, of course, never sulkily) out of the room.

_V~-~-~V_

Alfred was not normally the brooding type, but during the dull days of 1817, he couldn't help himself. More often than not, he found himself distracted from shelving, or dusting, or eating, or whatever it was he was engaging himself in at the moment in favor of staring pensively at nothing.

Dolley Madison, who had become a good friend of his after the fire, still visited sometimes. James Madison had finished his term in office the previous year, succeeded by James Monroe, but that didn't stop Dolley from wandering Washington DC. In fact, Alfred mused, it wasn't likely that anybody or anything could stop Dolley if she wanted to do something.

It was during one of Dolley's visits that she brought up all this uncertainty that was beginning to plague Alfred.

v~v

"You're quite brilliant, you know."

Alfred nearly spat out his coffee. "Excuse me?"

Dolley Madison merely smiled serenely. "You're quite brilliant, in your own way. Not all bookish, but certainly more intelligent than the common man."

"Thanks… I suppose."

"It was a complement." She looked mildly miffed that he would interpret it otherwise. "More to the point now, what do you intend to do with your life?"

Alfred was tempted to raise an eyebrow, but decided that that might be rude to the former First Lady and settled for a polite, "What do you mean?"

"You can't honestly want to remain a bookkeeper's assistant for the rest of your life. You're a young man yet, with much potential." Glancing scornfully at the door separating the pair of them from the main shop, she continued, "Not that that irritating Hungarian employer of yours seems to notice."

Alfred frowned. "But I like the work here. And the pay's fairly reasonable." He didn't add that he'd have to move away soon enough anyway, before Mr. Rudolph noticed his continuing youth.

"Do you not want something more?"

"I worked for the Jefferson administration," Alfred said, attempting to plead his case.

"With what qualifications did you come by that job?"

That was a good question. Certainly he couldn't tell Dolley about working for Ben during the time of the Revolution, or about meeting Jefferson there when he'd been a much younger man. Beyond that… "Nothing really, ma'am. I just knew Jefferson already."

Dolley looked skeptical, but didn't comment. "A degree in law might suit you."

"Law?"

"Yes, law. You certainly have the capacity to learn, and unprecedented previous political and legal experience. How old are you again?"

Alfred's stomach lurched in the way it always did when someone asked that question. "Twenty-seven, ma'am."

"Well, you certainly don't look it," Dolley replied. "Any woman would be envious to appear so young at twenty-seven." Alfred flushed lightly. "But that's beside the point. Have you heard of that new school opening up? Harvard, I believe it's called?"

Alfred nodded. "It's supposed to be very prestigious, though, the best law school in America. You can't really expect me to go there!"

"Ah, but I do! And if I remember correctly, you once mentioned a Paul Wetherby, an acquaintance of yours who happened to be a lawyer?"

"Actually, he's the father of an acquaintance," Alfred said, deciding not to mention that he'd known Paul's younger brother decades before he'd met Peter.

"Would he be willing to recommend you? With no family standing, because trust me, there are far to many Joneses in the world for you to claim relation to one, you'll need a recommendation to get in."

"I can try," Alfred said doubtfully, "but I don't think he'd do that for me. He certainly has no obligation to."

"Have some faith, Alfred!" Dolley said cheerfully, having gotten her way at last. "I'm sure this Mr. Wetherby will be open to the idea."

v~v

And now Alfred found himself brooding again, a letter penned to a Mr. Paul Wetherby, Esq., before him, an envelope with his address at his Boston home beneath it. He still didn't know if he had it in him to send it. It was one thing to finally acquire a decent formal education, something he'd found himself lacking in while in the world of politics, and another entirely to risk revealing his biggest secret to the Wetherby family. That was, if Emeline hadn't already told them. But he trusted her far more than that.

But that brought up even more brooding thoughts. He'd already lived around a hundred years, by his best guess, and had yet to do anything like what Dolley had described, nothing meaningful. The knowledge that he likely had a hundred years or more to live was something that, while vaguely unsettling, he knew that most would give their right arm for such an opportunity. And now Dolley had sent him on a guilt trip, and made him feel like he was wasting his indefinite time.

With a sigh, he signed the letter with a final flourish, and slipped it into the envelope. He supposed he could always lie, or transfer schools if he really disliked Harvard. Sealing the envelope, he grabbed his coat and gloves, and made for the nearest post office.

_V~-~-~V_

Four weeks had passed since Alfred had sent his letter off to Paul, and a reply still hadn't come. Jefferson had requested to meet with him, for reasons he wouldn't explain, so Alfred was making the now-familiar carriage ride to the former President's home at Monticello.

He'd designed the building himself, something Alfred admired him for, though in his opinion it was ridiculously ostentatious for a private home, with its columns, dome, and pristine exterior. Then again, Jefferson had enough pull in politics to get just about anything done, if even building himself a mansion in the hills of the countryside just beyond the city limits was possible.

Pulling up at the gates, Alfred ignored the carriage driver's attempts at assistance and opened the door himself, smiling briefly at the man as he made for the door, and leaving behind a rather generous tip. He'd looked surprised for a moment, but pocketed the money without more than a moment's hesitation.

Rapping the door knocker, Alfred waited, shivering slightly in the early spring air. It had been a cold winter in Washington, with more snow than most could remember happening, and it left him with an internal feeling of cold that he hadn't yet been able to shake.

A butler opened the door moment later. "Mr. Jones?" he asked, almost hesitantly, as if he couldn't expect the young man before him to have anything to do with a former President.

Alfred gave the man his best smile. "That would be me!"

The butler nodded, his harsh expression softening. "If you would please follow me, Mr. Jones. Mr. Jefferson awaits you in the parlor."

Alfred dutifully trailed the other man, peering around him at the interior of Jefferson's house all the way. It was filled with foreign imports, everything from furniture to art, but there were a few American things as well, most notably the American flag hanging from the far wall of one of the side rooms.

The butler stepped aside, holding the door to the parlor open as Alfred entered. He excused himself immediately afterward, closing the door behind him.

Turning to face Jefferson, Alfred grinned at the man he now considered an old friend. "He could do to smile more. It does wonders for his attitude."

The former President looked mildly shocked. "I've never gotten McAllister to smile before." Then he too smiled at Alfred, the maddening twinkle that had always been present in Ben's eyes now in his. "It's good to see you again, Alfred."

"You too, sir," Alfred replied, reaching out to shake Jefferson's hand. The other motioned for Alfred to sit, and he did, leaning back into the red velvet parlor chairs. But he couldn't help but notice how much more the veins in Jefferson's hands stood out than they had before, how many more creases and calluses were present, the definite increase of lines on his face.

Almost as if he read his study, Jefferson said, "You haven't changed a bit. Quite literally, I might add. Are you still falling asleep on the job?"

Alfred pulled a face. "No, that stopped after the latest war." That damn knowing twinkle reappeared again, and it was getting freakishly similar.

"I thought it might. Ben didn't tell me much, but he did hint that your well-being was somehow linked to the country's."

"How so?" Alfred asked, intrigued.

"I haven't the faintest idea. I have yet to meet anyone similar," Jefferson responded. Alfred glanced away and scowled, taking a moment to curse Ben thrice-over in his grave for his purposeful vagueness.

"Does that mean I'm going to get tired whenever there's a war?"

Jefferson shrugged. "As I said, that was all he told me. But I would assume that he meant that when you're sick, the country too is ailing, or more likely the other way around. He did love his riddles, that man. I'm inclined not to believe a word of it, given the utter lack of substantial proof or reason, but since this is Benjamin Franklin we're discussing, there's a definite possibility that he's telling the truth."

"That doesn't really help," Alfred muttered. "Why are you bringing this up now?"

"Well, I heard of your choice to enroll in a college from Mr. Wetherby, and it does bring up some problems. For one, your lack of a birth certificate or proper familial ties."

"Mrs. Madison said that a recommendation from a lawyer would fix that."

"Not fix it," Jefferson said, "merely mask it, and lend a better impression than someone with no one to vouch for them. It's old political families who will attend Harvard, not common folk such as yourself." He laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Though you are far from common, I assure you."

"Thank you, for your unending fountain of moral support," Alfred muttered sarcastically. Jefferson laughed sharply again, trailing off into a silence that lasted.

Alfred stared out the window, choosing to avoid Jefferson's gaze, which he could feel (rather uncomfortably) on the side of his face as the quiet stretched between them in Jefferson's parlor.

Suddenly, he spoke again. "Have you heard of the Erie Canal they're planning to build in New York?" Alfred shook his head, so Jefferson continued. "It's a marvelous venture, really, much like the Cumberland Road, only on the water. They've devised quite the ingenious lock system to get over the escarpment to Buffalo, and it's supposed to go all the way to Albany. And now that the Great Lakes needn't worry about military, it opens up all sorts of trading opportunities for us, and Canada, and allows for quick transport of goods to the interior…"

He continued, but Alfred stopped listening. He was fully aware it was rude to ignore one's host, but he couldn't help but be more concerned about what Jefferson had said earlier, about him being connected somehow to the country. Were there others like that? There must be, unless Ben had come up with the idea all on his own, but it was so preposterous that Alfred wasn't sure he could have.

"Now, more to the point…"

Alfred looked at Jefferson quizzically, snapping out of his reverie. "I thought that was the point?"

"No, not yet. You weren't paying attention anyway." Alfred glanced away, feeling a familiar warmth on his cheeks. He could practically hear Jefferson smile as he went on. "Mr. Wetherby couldn't find a return address, other than the atrociously written one in the corner… really, you must work on your penmanship… so he sent his reply to me."

"Why didn't you say so?" Alfred asked.

"I knew you'd stop listening to me once I mentioned it, so I chose to withhold that information."

"You're a real manipulative jerk, you know?" Damn twinkling.

Reaching beside him, Jefferson pulled an envelope from a drawer in the chair's side table, so obviously prepared that Alfred had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "Here you are."

Slipping his finger under the flap, Alfred noticed the seal was already broken. He pulled out the first sheaf of papers. They were clearly official documents, with a shield emblem at the top of every page, emblazoned with Harvard Law School. He stared at the papers in shock.

"I… They accepted me. To law school."

Jefferson raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

Alfred shot him a look. "Yes, really. Surely you already knew. The letter was open, after all."

"I don't read others' mail," Jefferson sniffed, looking mildly insulted, "even if it is delivered to my house. It's impolite, you know."

Alfred looked back at the papers, reading them over again, his astonishment growing the more he read. "I can't believe it… why on Earth…?"

"You're certainly qualified."

"That's what Mrs. Madison said."

"She's right, you know." Jefferson paused. "Will you accept the invitation?"

Alfred looked up again, meeting the other's gaze. "I don't know. I think I will. I honestly hadn't thought that far ahead yet."

Jefferson just hm'd, as another paper in the envelope caught Alfred's eye. Pulling it out, he immediately noticed a difference. This one was thinner, less official, with no grand seal at the top. And it was handwritten, in shaky penmanship that Alfred didn't recognize. It held merely a few sentences.

Alfred,

I hope this reaches you in time. Congratulations on your acceptance to Harvard, but I'm afraid I have some tragic news. My wife, Emeline, died a few days ago, of natural causes. Since she knew you in life, I wish to extend to you an invitation to her funeral, held this May 18th. I know our entire family would like to meet you as well. I only wish it could be under happier circumstances.

Sincerely yours,

Paul Wetherby

Alfred felt the other papers slide from his hands, his fingers remaining clenched on only the one handwritten note as images of a little girl with sky-blue eyes flashed through his brain. Playing with a rabbit, eating maple candy, reading bedtime fables with Franklin…

The perfect dream he'd preserved his memories as shattered as he remembered that that little girl, his adorable baby sister, had grown up without him, lived a life full of happiness and a marriage and children. A woman who had buried both her parents without her brother, finding him only years later, yet blaming him for nothing. She was the one who'd believed in him unconditionally, even with his sporadic communication and unfulfilled promises.

And now she was gone.

Alfred couldn't hear Jefferson's anxious voice over the sudden roar of realization. The letter he kept, clenched in his hand, as he felt the first tears break free and slide down his cheeks.

Done. My eyes are tired.
I know, I know, no Matthew this chapter, but he'll be back soon, don't worry!

Historical stuff time! I actually had a lot of difficulty finding interesting things about this time period. Really, nothing much at all happens between the War of 1812 and the Civil War.
Firstly- The Rush-Bagot Treaty demilitarized the Great Lakes as well as Lake Champlain, essentially removing all American and British navy vessels (they each got to keep one ship and one cannon) as well as laying the groundwork for the Treaty of 1818, which created a buffer zone between American and British military forces.
The War of 1812 was ended by the Treaty of Ghent (signed in Ghent, in modern-day Belgium), but due to the slow communication of the time, the fighting forces didn't hear about it until a few weeks later, and even then, some refused to credit it as anything more than a rumor. The Battle of New Orleans, the most successful land battle (and the last major battle) of the war for the Americans, which basically prevented the British from advancing into the Louisiana Territory due to an ambush led by Major General Andrew Jackson (better known as the future President Andrew Jackson).
Harvard School of Law was founded in 1817, though it was many years before it actually became successful. Alfred, by enrolling now, becomes part of its first graduating class.
The Erie Canal, between Albany and Buffalo in New York State, connected the Great Lakes to the interior of New York. It began construction in 1817, and completed in 1825.
The Cumberland Road was the first real improved highway in America, beginning construction in 1811 and officially opening in 1818. Also known as the National Road, it goes from Cumberland, Maryland west to Vandalia, Illinois.

Of those of you who read these notes, for the Civil War, how many want just a conflicted Alfred, and how many want two personifications, Alfred for the North and a new one for the South?

As you know, I'll be gone for two-and-then-some weeks in China, so don't expect an update for a while. I'm actually leaving twelve hours from know (it's currently midnight), so be glad I have such devotion!

Thank you for reading, and as always, if you have comments or reviews, don't hesitate to write me something! They really keep me going, and are endless sources of inspiration!