and she's off again...
Some completely unnecessary "historical" fiction involving Theodosia Burr and Meriwether Lewis. Written in math a while ago and kind of unfinished... I could take it a lot further, but its unnecessariness discourages me. I wanted to see what would happen if they met, so I sent her and her husband to St. Louis (which doesn't make sense at all, because he was a planter and really had no interest in the fur trade), right after the Burr Conspiracy, when people were apparently accusing Governor Lewis of being a mini-Burr because of his interest in the West. Aww, Lewis, I love you! <3
They are complete soulmates, though, disregarding the fact that she's slightly smarter than him. :P Poor Alston. And... I forget what else needs explanation, besides my state of mind, which is EXCELLENT, I tell you, EXCELLENT!
The woman had been eyeing him all night. Not in the way that would have practically made Lewis jump for joy after these many months of romantic desolation, but in a sharp, puzzled way that made him ill at ease. She was dark-haired, dark-eyed and pale, chin held high, back ramrod-straight, looking more poised than was entirely necessary at a St. Louis affair, speaking rapidly and distractedly. Too dignified. A bit intimidating. And she just kept staring.
Lewis sipped his wine and wished, heartily, achingly, that Clark were there, not for the first time that night. Julia Hancock - Hancock Clark - had insisted he be at home with Meriwether Lewis Clark, the baby with the name that, Lewis often thought with a very detached amusement, would be Lewis’s own if he married his co-captain. If that were possible, which, of course, it was not. And Clark wasn’t his co-captain anymore, he reminded himself, he was a general, and Lewis was the governor of St. Louis, God help him. They weren’t “the captains” anymore; they led separate lives. As was natural, of course.
He hadn’t noticed the woman approaching him, and was startled when she said abruptly, “I’ve seen you somewhere, I know it.” She paused, furrowing her brow. Her accent was Northern; Lewis’s knowledge did not extend far enough to determine from which state. “Somewhere a long time ago... aha!” Her eyes lit up and she practically pounced on him with her words. “You were the secretary! Jefferson’s secretary. You’re Lewis! Governor Lewis, formerly Captain Lewis, formerly Jefferson’s Secretary Lewis, formerly... lacking in titles, I suppose.”
He stiffened a little, wondering if she was here to deride him, maybe recite a doggerel at him, like John Quincy Adams’s. “You’re correct, madam, I -”
“Speak, my good sir! Tell me everything!”
“Wha...” Lewis was sure he was not inebriated enough for the alcohol to be entirely responsible for his confusion. “Your pardon, madam, but - who might you -”
“No, no, pardon me, I should not attack you so,” she said, trying to appear restrained, but not managing to hide the hungry glint in her eye. “But tell me - forgive me - what is there in the West? I want to know everything about the Territory, and its -” She broke off and coughed briefly.
“Well,” said Lewis, deciding to follow his practiced routine of grizzly stories, “My expedition faced many grave dangers, not the least of which being, as you may have heard elsewhere, the large bears -”
“No, no, I mean to ask, what are the characteristics of the the land? The adventure stories are all well and good, but if you will grant me my forwardness, I’d like facts and figures.” The lady was swirling her wine glass eagerly in her hand. Lewis watched the liquid slosh and spiral. She’d hardly touched it. “I’ve barely had any information, any political discourse, since my move to South Carolina. Please. Enlighten me.”
Her smile was charming, uninhibited and full of teeth, like Clark’s, but sharper somehow, and more conscious. She was a lady of high society, to be sure. Lewis was intrigued, and gave a barely-apparent smile. Clark had always told him he should smile more often, and more enthusiastically, but it took something very dramatic to provoke even a small smile from him without effort on his part.
“A woman of the Enlightenment,” he said, half joking.
“Yes,” said the lady seriously, “I am. I fancy myself so, at least.”
Lewis’s smile grew. “In that case,” he said, deciding to test what the lady knew, “most of the Purchase is very fertile land -”
“Excellent! Conducive to settlement, farming, et cetera... very good.”
“Farming!” exclaimed Lewis, in his indignation forgetting that it was a woman to whom he spoke. “No, madam, trade!”
“Oh, really,” said the lady with a smirk, just a very subtle twist of the lips, which, Lewis noticed with a considerable deal of surprise, were very attractive. “Why?”
“Because the States could be extremely successful in that enterprise. I’ve written several propositions on the subject,” said Lewis enthusiastically.
“The subject is why I am in Saint Louis,” the lady commented. “My... we wish to inquire into the possibilities of the fur trade. But as of yet I am not convinced. Convince me.”
Lewis was very much willing to accept the challenge. “Do you know how arduous a job it is for Britain to get her furs to market? We could destroy her monopoly. We could create an empire in the west.”
“Coincidental, sir, that you should use that word,” she cut in rather bitterly. “In the current... climate.”
Lewis reddened. She had rubbed salt in a raw wound. He responded sharply, too sharply: “Do not presume to compare me to that despicable character, I will not stand for it, these accusations, such as others have made, such condemnation of my character -”
“Ne t’inquiète pas,” said the lady, frowning, taken aback. Lewis was silenced by the phrase, transported back to the mountains, back to long nights of Pomp’s crying, that phrase whispered over and over. “Ne t’inquiète pas, Governor, keep your calm. I meant nothing by it.”
“You speak French,” he observed unnecessarily, noticing that suddenly she looked miserable.
“Fluently, sir,” she said, not meeting his eyes. She paused, then said harshly, “Is he so infamous that I need not even mention his name? Truly?”
“Of course, madam,” said Lewis, trying to be gentle, but only managing a sort of awkward martial quietness. “Traitors are infamous automatically, by the will of the country they’ve betrayed, it is simply the way of nations - why should you concern yourself with the man?”
This time she was the one to swig from her wine. “It’s regrettable,” she said lightly, visibly brushing some hurt aside, her eyes still turned away, “but I seem to have forgotten your first name.”
“It’s - Meriwether,” said Lewis, with an embarrassed shrug. He had never been particularly fond of his first name. It was not even a first name, it had been his mother’s last, before she married. He could never say it quite right; it always ended up sounding pompous. “After my mother.”
“Do not be ashamed of it,” said the lady, and then she laughed confidentially. “You’ve not heard the worst. Mine is Theodosia. Also after my mother.”
Surprising even himself, he laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed. “Theodosia is not so horrible. It might be pleasant, if pronounced in the right way.” He met her eyes, coal-black, trying to think where he’d heard the name before. “What is your surname? If I may.”
Theodosia hesitated a moment. “Alston.”
“Theodosia Alston,” Lewis repeated. This gave him no help in remembering the origin of the name, so he decided he must have been mistaken. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Very pleased.” She offered her hand, and he shook it, then, in an impetuous moment, raised it to his lips and kissed the smooth skin, so uncalloused and feminine, the kind of hand he had never expected to admire.
There was a long pause after he let go. “We are alike,” was what he finally thought of to say, but by then she had already excused herself and went off to find someone else to talk to, tapping her little finger on the stem of her wine glass to the rhythm of the violins.
They are complete soulmates, though, disregarding the fact that she's slightly smarter than him. :P Poor Alston. And... I forget what else needs explanation, besides my state of mind, which is EXCELLENT, I tell you, EXCELLENT!
The woman had been eyeing him all night. Not in the way that would have practically made Lewis jump for joy after these many months of romantic desolation, but in a sharp, puzzled way that made him ill at ease. She was dark-haired, dark-eyed and pale, chin held high, back ramrod-straight, looking more poised than was entirely necessary at a St. Louis affair, speaking rapidly and distractedly. Too dignified. A bit intimidating. And she just kept staring.
Lewis sipped his wine and wished, heartily, achingly, that Clark were there, not for the first time that night. Julia Hancock - Hancock Clark - had insisted he be at home with Meriwether Lewis Clark, the baby with the name that, Lewis often thought with a very detached amusement, would be Lewis’s own if he married his co-captain. If that were possible, which, of course, it was not. And Clark wasn’t his co-captain anymore, he reminded himself, he was a general, and Lewis was the governor of St. Louis, God help him. They weren’t “the captains” anymore; they led separate lives. As was natural, of course.
He hadn’t noticed the woman approaching him, and was startled when she said abruptly, “I’ve seen you somewhere, I know it.” She paused, furrowing her brow. Her accent was Northern; Lewis’s knowledge did not extend far enough to determine from which state. “Somewhere a long time ago... aha!” Her eyes lit up and she practically pounced on him with her words. “You were the secretary! Jefferson’s secretary. You’re Lewis! Governor Lewis, formerly Captain Lewis, formerly Jefferson’s Secretary Lewis, formerly... lacking in titles, I suppose.”
He stiffened a little, wondering if she was here to deride him, maybe recite a doggerel at him, like John Quincy Adams’s. “You’re correct, madam, I -”
“Speak, my good sir! Tell me everything!”
“Wha...” Lewis was sure he was not inebriated enough for the alcohol to be entirely responsible for his confusion. “Your pardon, madam, but - who might you -”
“No, no, pardon me, I should not attack you so,” she said, trying to appear restrained, but not managing to hide the hungry glint in her eye. “But tell me - forgive me - what is there in the West? I want to know everything about the Territory, and its -” She broke off and coughed briefly.
“Well,” said Lewis, deciding to follow his practiced routine of grizzly stories, “My expedition faced many grave dangers, not the least of which being, as you may have heard elsewhere, the large bears -”
“No, no, I mean to ask, what are the characteristics of the the land? The adventure stories are all well and good, but if you will grant me my forwardness, I’d like facts and figures.” The lady was swirling her wine glass eagerly in her hand. Lewis watched the liquid slosh and spiral. She’d hardly touched it. “I’ve barely had any information, any political discourse, since my move to South Carolina. Please. Enlighten me.”
Her smile was charming, uninhibited and full of teeth, like Clark’s, but sharper somehow, and more conscious. She was a lady of high society, to be sure. Lewis was intrigued, and gave a barely-apparent smile. Clark had always told him he should smile more often, and more enthusiastically, but it took something very dramatic to provoke even a small smile from him without effort on his part.
“A woman of the Enlightenment,” he said, half joking.
“Yes,” said the lady seriously, “I am. I fancy myself so, at least.”
Lewis’s smile grew. “In that case,” he said, deciding to test what the lady knew, “most of the Purchase is very fertile land -”
“Excellent! Conducive to settlement, farming, et cetera... very good.”
“Farming!” exclaimed Lewis, in his indignation forgetting that it was a woman to whom he spoke. “No, madam, trade!”
“Oh, really,” said the lady with a smirk, just a very subtle twist of the lips, which, Lewis noticed with a considerable deal of surprise, were very attractive. “Why?”
“Because the States could be extremely successful in that enterprise. I’ve written several propositions on the subject,” said Lewis enthusiastically.
“The subject is why I am in Saint Louis,” the lady commented. “My... we wish to inquire into the possibilities of the fur trade. But as of yet I am not convinced. Convince me.”
Lewis was very much willing to accept the challenge. “Do you know how arduous a job it is for Britain to get her furs to market? We could destroy her monopoly. We could create an empire in the west.”
“Coincidental, sir, that you should use that word,” she cut in rather bitterly. “In the current... climate.”
Lewis reddened. She had rubbed salt in a raw wound. He responded sharply, too sharply: “Do not presume to compare me to that despicable character, I will not stand for it, these accusations, such as others have made, such condemnation of my character -”
“Ne t’inquiète pas,” said the lady, frowning, taken aback. Lewis was silenced by the phrase, transported back to the mountains, back to long nights of Pomp’s crying, that phrase whispered over and over. “Ne t’inquiète pas, Governor, keep your calm. I meant nothing by it.”
“You speak French,” he observed unnecessarily, noticing that suddenly she looked miserable.
“Fluently, sir,” she said, not meeting his eyes. She paused, then said harshly, “Is he so infamous that I need not even mention his name? Truly?”
“Of course, madam,” said Lewis, trying to be gentle, but only managing a sort of awkward martial quietness. “Traitors are infamous automatically, by the will of the country they’ve betrayed, it is simply the way of nations - why should you concern yourself with the man?”
This time she was the one to swig from her wine. “It’s regrettable,” she said lightly, visibly brushing some hurt aside, her eyes still turned away, “but I seem to have forgotten your first name.”
“It’s - Meriwether,” said Lewis, with an embarrassed shrug. He had never been particularly fond of his first name. It was not even a first name, it had been his mother’s last, before she married. He could never say it quite right; it always ended up sounding pompous. “After my mother.”
“Do not be ashamed of it,” said the lady, and then she laughed confidentially. “You’ve not heard the worst. Mine is Theodosia. Also after my mother.”
Surprising even himself, he laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed. “Theodosia is not so horrible. It might be pleasant, if pronounced in the right way.” He met her eyes, coal-black, trying to think where he’d heard the name before. “What is your surname? If I may.”
Theodosia hesitated a moment. “Alston.”
“Theodosia Alston,” Lewis repeated. This gave him no help in remembering the origin of the name, so he decided he must have been mistaken. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Very pleased.” She offered her hand, and he shook it, then, in an impetuous moment, raised it to his lips and kissed the smooth skin, so uncalloused and feminine, the kind of hand he had never expected to admire.
There was a long pause after he let go. “We are alike,” was what he finally thought of to say, but by then she had already excused herself and went off to find someone else to talk to, tapping her little finger on the stem of her wine glass to the rhythm of the violins.