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

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[rememberthelady]

It is so easy as to seem nearly effortless, and so effortless as to seem unbelievable, at first. Abigail is not certain she has managed the task in the moments immediately after opening her eyes. Has her wish been granted? Is this vivid green lawn upon which her gaze has come to rest the place where she is to meet her friend?

She thinks, finally, to turn, and is greeted not only with the sight of a magnificent house rising behind her, but also that of a figure so familiar to her heart as to make it swell for a moment, in affection as much as recognition.

"Mr. Jefferson," she calls, and there is no mistaking the delight in the turn of her lips.

[rememberthelady]

Abigail notes her friend's silence but cannot deduce its reason; she allows it to pass without comment, remaining at Jefferson's side as they stride along the path together.

"This world, however we have come to be here, will, at the very least, afford me the opportunity to see what I could not when both we lived in our old one--I will be able to see your home. I bid you, Mr. Jefferson, to show me what you have created, what you labored over all those many years."

[monticello_tj]

"I would be honored," says Jefferson, directing her towards the house. A subtle smile crosses his features, with the wry hint that charmed so much during his life. Monticello, real or illusionary, is a great pride of is.

They enter through the entrance hall, an open room with a second-floor balcony stretching all across the back and the sides of the upper floor.

[rememberthelady]

Abigail looks up as they enter, her eyes taking in every detail of their surroundings. "Oh, but this is magnificent," she says, her admiration as clear in the tone of her voice as it is in her rapt attention to the fruits of his work. "The lines of the architecture, to be sure, suggest what is most classic... and at the same time, my dear Mr. Jefferson, are so very undeniably a conveyance of everything that is you."

[monticello_tj]

He leads her back, to the parlor, his eyes glinting with pride.

The parlor itself is quite beautiful; he has led them straight through to the back of the house, and it has many windows, all leading out to the back grounds.

"I insisted on the windows," he says. "The view was always important to me."

[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

[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."