very sad burr
Mar. 23rd, 2016 08:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iniquiticityvery sad burr, feat eliza hamilton and angelica hamilton.
Mrs. Hamilton - a visibly pregnant Eliza - comes to the door herself when he knocks.
“Alexan–oh. Hello, Mr. Burr,” she says, and her face is battle of emotions that he waits, patiently, to resolve. “I suppose your charming presence indicates that my husband will not be home for dinner.”
“That seems unlikely, unless he has followed me here, having forgotten some side-note,” he smiles, managing comfort, and offers her the unsealed letter; more than once, Alexander has run out of his office having forgotten a side note, and once got half-way to his own house and was persuaded to himself visit his poor wife.
She takes the letter, but it hangs in her fingertips, half-ignored, “Well,” she says, and perfectly understandable (yet unwifely) irritation slips through her voice, “Would you like to come to dinner instead? He has a place set for him, for he promised quite heartily he would be home, and I was the fool, again, to think such a thing could be managed. What sort of husband keeps a promise to his wife to attend dinner?”
Perhaps it is not so weighty a request to her, but something in his stomach twists, slides around his insides and squeezes. A real family to have dinner with, even if it may be his friend’s (even, if he thinks, if they are also always on the verge of arguing about something) – and in some ways Eliza has always reminded him of Theodosia, his beautiful wife, the same incredible core of love and beauty. And Alexander does have a family, even if eldest has gone.
“My apologies, Mr. Burr, I did not mean to—” she starts, perhaps only now understanding something, or perhaps not, because how could she know the numb cold he prefers to the harsh sense of isolation that being a widower can be, and how easily and senselessly she has breathed life into it? She could not know he stares into the ocean and wonders if his daughter’s ship will ever arrive.
“No,” he says, holding a hand up in apology, “You have hardly disturbed me, Mrs. Hamilton. It would be an incredible honor to join you for dinner. I admit I am no orator, as your husband, but I like to believe I am decent company nonetheless.”
“Perhaps other things in your day are more interesting than the unborn government floating in my husband’s head,” she says, and he walks in, and their home is so terribly alive with sounds of children and family that his chest aches. He settles his emotions in his throat, so they do not appear on his face. They sit for dinner. There are five children at the table, which seems a strange amount, for Alexander should have one more, even after the death of his son. This is not a gentlemanly topic, so Burr talks about legal casework, and their office, and his recent days; Eliza discusses local politics, and the construction of their much larger house that is in-progress, and her sister, and New York.
About halfway through dinner, a sad piano tune begins to echo through the house. It is about loss, and misery, and abandonment, and a chest-choking kind of waiting, and Burr has never heard something that has made him feel like he has a compatriot somewhere. Eliza’s face falters.
“I hope –,” she starts, flickering with something like terror, “If you do not mind–I can–”
“Please, I would prefer it to continue,” he says, and her relief is palatable.
“It is only Angelica, my oldest now, she—”
He offers her a tender sort of smile, and she drops the subject, returning to something lighter. Gossip. Right, he had forgotten. Alexander had not spoken about it for some time.
(”She keeps thinking Phillip is to return from school, Aaron, and how am I to express otherwise to someone so happy, that thinks there is an end to this miserable existence without the person for who she is most dear?” - and Burr had not said, of course, that it would be a marvelous thing to think Theodosia was still coming home.)
He arrives back at the office much later, and Alexander has hardly moved, only to refresh his pen and acquire a new candle.
“Have you managed to get lost on the way to my house?” Alexander says, finally looking up. “Did my Betsey have a response, is that the cause of your delay?”
“I had dinner with your family,” Burr says.
“What sort of man has dinner with another man’s w—-” And there’s the dawn of comprehension, only now, sneaking across his face. “—oh, my Betsey will be furious with me,” he says, miserably, and he’s gone in an instant, blowing past Burr and leaving the man only with the subtle memory of having the painful, wonderful shadow of the tenderest affections a person can be permitted.
Mrs. Hamilton - a visibly pregnant Eliza - comes to the door herself when he knocks.
“Alexan–oh. Hello, Mr. Burr,” she says, and her face is battle of emotions that he waits, patiently, to resolve. “I suppose your charming presence indicates that my husband will not be home for dinner.”
“That seems unlikely, unless he has followed me here, having forgotten some side-note,” he smiles, managing comfort, and offers her the unsealed letter; more than once, Alexander has run out of his office having forgotten a side note, and once got half-way to his own house and was persuaded to himself visit his poor wife.
She takes the letter, but it hangs in her fingertips, half-ignored, “Well,” she says, and perfectly understandable (yet unwifely) irritation slips through her voice, “Would you like to come to dinner instead? He has a place set for him, for he promised quite heartily he would be home, and I was the fool, again, to think such a thing could be managed. What sort of husband keeps a promise to his wife to attend dinner?”
Perhaps it is not so weighty a request to her, but something in his stomach twists, slides around his insides and squeezes. A real family to have dinner with, even if it may be his friend’s (even, if he thinks, if they are also always on the verge of arguing about something) – and in some ways Eliza has always reminded him of Theodosia, his beautiful wife, the same incredible core of love and beauty. And Alexander does have a family, even if eldest has gone.
“My apologies, Mr. Burr, I did not mean to—” she starts, perhaps only now understanding something, or perhaps not, because how could she know the numb cold he prefers to the harsh sense of isolation that being a widower can be, and how easily and senselessly she has breathed life into it? She could not know he stares into the ocean and wonders if his daughter’s ship will ever arrive.
“No,” he says, holding a hand up in apology, “You have hardly disturbed me, Mrs. Hamilton. It would be an incredible honor to join you for dinner. I admit I am no orator, as your husband, but I like to believe I am decent company nonetheless.”
“Perhaps other things in your day are more interesting than the unborn government floating in my husband’s head,” she says, and he walks in, and their home is so terribly alive with sounds of children and family that his chest aches. He settles his emotions in his throat, so they do not appear on his face. They sit for dinner. There are five children at the table, which seems a strange amount, for Alexander should have one more, even after the death of his son. This is not a gentlemanly topic, so Burr talks about legal casework, and their office, and his recent days; Eliza discusses local politics, and the construction of their much larger house that is in-progress, and her sister, and New York.
About halfway through dinner, a sad piano tune begins to echo through the house. It is about loss, and misery, and abandonment, and a chest-choking kind of waiting, and Burr has never heard something that has made him feel like he has a compatriot somewhere. Eliza’s face falters.
“I hope –,” she starts, flickering with something like terror, “If you do not mind–I can–”
“Please, I would prefer it to continue,” he says, and her relief is palatable.
“It is only Angelica, my oldest now, she—”
He offers her a tender sort of smile, and she drops the subject, returning to something lighter. Gossip. Right, he had forgotten. Alexander had not spoken about it for some time.
(”She keeps thinking Phillip is to return from school, Aaron, and how am I to express otherwise to someone so happy, that thinks there is an end to this miserable existence without the person for who she is most dear?” - and Burr had not said, of course, that it would be a marvelous thing to think Theodosia was still coming home.)
He arrives back at the office much later, and Alexander has hardly moved, only to refresh his pen and acquire a new candle.
“Have you managed to get lost on the way to my house?” Alexander says, finally looking up. “Did my Betsey have a response, is that the cause of your delay?”
“I had dinner with your family,” Burr says.
“What sort of man has dinner with another man’s w—-” And there’s the dawn of comprehension, only now, sneaking across his face. “—oh, my Betsey will be furious with me,” he says, miserably, and he’s gone in an instant, blowing past Burr and leaving the man only with the subtle memory of having the painful, wonderful shadow of the tenderest affections a person can be permitted.