RP for rememberthelady.

[monticello_tj]

It is not precisely Monticello, not as Jefferson remembers it. No, the Monticello in Jefferson's memory is ever imperfect, ever in process of improvement and renovation. He could never fully settle on the precise way he wanted it to go, so it was never truly finished

Comments

[rememberthelady]

"It is clear to me why it would be," Abigail replies, her tones hushed, awed. She disengages her arm from her friend's, patting his arm gently to reassure that it is not his company from which she moves away; rather, it is toward the view afforded by the windows he insisted upon.

She steps close, her nose all but pressed to the glass as she gazes out to the fields beyond. In life, she had heard Jefferson talk of Virginia in terms and tones that left no doubt as to the great affection he had for his home. She had seen but little of it herself, and then, only small parts of it just outside the Federal City of Washington, the scant times she was present there.

To see this place, then, to see such an entrancing slice of Mr. Jefferson's home county, through windows he so carefully designed to frame the scene before her, Abigail feels that for the first time, she is seeing Virginia not only as she truly is, but as her dear friend sees it himself.

"I see now why this place inspired such a fierce and abiding affection within your heart," she says softly, turning to glance at him over her shoulder. "A view such as this should charm any soul, no matter from whence they came."

[monticello_tj]

"Virginia stole my heart long ago," says Jefferson, stepping up beside her. "It eases my heart to know that I may still see it, after death." Even if the landscape is subtly different from the strict accuracy of his memory.

[rememberthelady]

"My heart is pleased, then, to know that Providence has granted you this much," Abigail replies. She gazes at her friend a moment, before turning her attention back to the scene before them, through the glass. "And that I have been granted a chance to see it, for myself. I am grateful that I could share in this."

They stand there in a companionable silence for a while; when she speaks again, her voice is soft, and her eyes remain on the view from the window. "If this, Mr. Jefferson, is not Paradise, to what ends think you we two were brought here?"

[monticello_tj]

"I suppose I cannot comprehend the intentions of the unknowable," deflects Jefferson. He looks to her, still gripped in the relief that the sight of her has granted him. "Do you wish to see the rest?"

[rememberthelady]

Abigail notes the deflection, but she makes no move to redirect. She merely allows it to pass. She knows her friend well enough to read when redirection will be effective, and when to allow him the change of subject he wishes.

And, happily, the change of subject is most agreeable to her, as well; the smile turning her lips as she returns her attention to him makes that evident. "I should fairly demand it, were demanding not so unseemly approach between two," she replies, a bit of an amused twinkle in her eyes. "So instead, I must rely upon your indulgence, that you will grant me that wish."

[monticello_tj]

"I am sure I could not refuse such a pleasing demand," says Jefferson, with a smile. "This way, then."

He leads her into the south wing of the house, through his own bedchamber first. It is divided into two parts, with a wall between them; however, inset into the wall, bridging both as though it was a sort of archway, is the bed itself. Writing-desk and fireplace make up the rest; he leads her around the wall dividing the rooms, and to the other half.

"I called this my cabinet," says Jefferson. "I kept all of my instruments here." And, indeed, the instruments are still present; telescope and microscope, copier, the revolving bookstand - his inventions, his scientific materials.

[rememberthelady]

Abigail marvels at the design of the room, bisected; her eyes take in every detail, no matter how small. "How very convenient," she notes, "to have these instruments so close at hand. Tell me, was this so that you might seize every opportunity inspiration presented to you?"

She turns to face him, genuinely interested in his reply. "I am taken to understand, from things I have read in books and in my correspondences with others, that inspiration is frequently of the habit of visiting one at unaccustomed hours, or even when one is fast asleep, touching a dream or leaving behind the spark of an idea. And that too often, such sparks are lost upon waking, for want of the chance to act upon them. I would imagine, however, that having all you required so close at hand would only strengthen your position and your advantage."