Good morning and Happy Hump Day! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.
This week, I'm stepping away from my usual flash. But don't worry, In Pieces will return promptly next week, never fear! Today, however, is a special day, so I wanted to commemorate it in a special way. Today is the birthday of my favorite founding Father - Aaron Burr. Born Feb 6, 1756, he is 263 today. Happy Birthday to Aaron. I hope you enjoy this little tale. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!
Waiting for Theodosia
Spring in New York City was iffy at best. Surprisingly
lamblike at times, more often it revealed the face of the lion in its chilly ferocity.
Tonight was a night of infinite leonine grace. Aaron Burr pulled his cloak
tighter about himself, fending off a stiff breeze. The cold in and of itself
was not worrisome to him. He’d endured far worse as a soldier during the
ill-fated march to Quebec. His concern was entirely for his daughter,
Theodosia. She would be arriving soon, and he did not wish her to catch cold.
The docks of New York were quiet at night, silent ships
riding gentle lapping waves. A stark contrast to a time when British ships held
sway. So many ships they’d resembled a veritable forest. Thirty-two thousand troops under the joint
command of the Howe brothers. But that was long ago now.
He’d expected to sight Theodosia’s ship earlier in the day,
but so far there had been no sign of the Patriot.
Delays at sea were not uncommon, so Burr was not overly concerned. She would be
with him soon, and that was all that mattered.
“Burr!”
Lost in thought, Burr had failed to hear anyone approach. He
made a graceful pirouette to face the speaker. Being recognized was a common
occurrence for Burr, especially here in New York where he had spent so much of
his political career. And of course his stint as vice-president of the United
States carried its own infamy.
This was one face he hadn’t expected to see, however.
“Hamilton!” Burr exclaimed. The two men shook hands.
“Damn cold out here,” Hamilton complained. “Just when you
think winter is over and done with, it comes creeping back like a thief in the
night.”
Burr repressed a smile at Hamilton’s outrage. He knew the
other man was more bluster than anger, although he could be hotheaded and one
would do well to be wary of him at those times.
“I’m surprised to see you down here at this hour,” Hamilton
continued. “Taking the air? Sea air, that is?” He smirked, as if he’d said
something very humorous.
“I’m awaiting my daughter,” Burr replied, not bothering to
address the witticism. “The Patriot is
expected today, but she must be running a little late.”
“Ah, Theodosia,” Hamilton said. “So much like her dear
mother, isn’t she? And yet very much her father’s child.”
“I like to think so,” Burr murmured. Theodosia, named for his
late wife, was indeed the apple of his eye, his reason for living. He had
missed her sorely since her marriage and removal to the wilds of South
Carolina. The only blessing which had been bestowed was his one and only
grandchild, Aaron Burr Alston, whom he nicknamed Gampy. The child had taken to
calling Burr Gampy as well, which was sometimes confusing to everyone but the
two of them. “As much as her son is like his mother.”
“Indeed,” Hamilton said. A brief silence ensued. Burr eyed
Hamilton curiously. No wonder the man complained of the cold. He was dressed as
though he’d just come from the theater, bright colors and jewels, but not so
much as a warm coat. What had he been thinking? Come to think of it, where had he been? With his latest mistress,
perhaps? Maybe his sister-in-law, Angelica Church?
“What brings you here at this time of night, Alexander?” he
asked.
Hamilton seemed momentarily taken aback, as if he’d not
expected to be questioned in return. He fidgeted slightly. Burr, feeling sorry
for the man, deftly changed the subject.
“How are you succeeding with your notion of starting a
bank?” he asked solicitously.
Hamilton relaxed slightly, as if on more solid ground. In
the wan moonlight which struggled to pierce the clouds which shrouded it, he still
seemed more than a little furtive. What did this portend?
“I have gained my support,” he said cagily. “All is well.”
That was interesting news. Burr made a mental note to see
what he could find out about the matter. If it was true, it might pave the way
for others to do the same. After all, what sense was there in committing all of
one’s eggs into one basket?
“You haven’t seen my son, Phillip, have you, Burr?”
Hamilton’s next question seemed odd, being asked without any sort of context.
Burr was momentarily confused.
“Seen your son?” he echoed. “No, that I have not.”
A frown marred Hamilton’s otherwise smooth forehead, his
eyes uneasy. A heartbeat passed between them before Hamilton’s expression
became peaceful once more. “Ah, young men. I’m sure he’s out and about, doing
the sorts of things we did at his age.”
“Still do.” Now it was Burr’s turn to smirk. “Do you
remember the time we were both seeing the same young lady, but neither was aware
of the fact?”
“How could I forget? She played us both like a rare violin,
did she not? Whatever became of her?”
“Last I heard, she married well and moved west. Maybe as far
as Ohio.”
“That far?” Hamilton whistled softly.
Or was that the whinny of a horse? The sharp clop-clop of hooves. A wandering
traveler, perhaps? Or someone else waiting for the Patriot?
Burr turned back toward the sea. Where was that ship? A
feeling of unease rose in his chest, a feeling of panic mingled with sorrow
that he could not explain. A deep sense of dread.
Anxious for no reason he could name, he turned toward
Hamilton. But no one was there. Realization flowed through Burr like a chill.
How could he be? Burr had shot him in a duel, back in ‘04.
His son dead two years before that, defending his father’s honor. Poor little
Gampy dead of malaria at the age of nine. And his darling daughter Theodosia
lost at sea. No matter how often he roamed the docks in search of her.
Gone, all gone.
Feeling incredibly alone, Aaron Burr fell to his knees and
began to sob.
Happy Birthday, Aaron!
