Becoming A Founding "Father"- Historical Hamilton

Chapter Seventeen: Oui, oui, Mon Ami

Laurens is a great guy, despite how much Alexander tried to deny it. For the few weeks that he's been here, he's been nothing but helpful, resourceful and friendly. Despite him being inexperienced in his work, he was a really fast learner with really good work ethic.

I thought that he was reclusive and secretive, but he turned out to be one of the most sociable men I've met in a while. He was well-versed in a range of topics, and he seemed to have a strong opinion on everything. He wasn't afraid to discuss and debate.

He was so similar to Alexander, and yet they didn't really get along. Laurens tries, he really does, but Alexander ignores him completely, not bothering to engage with him. That's very unusual, considering that Alex loves a good debate.

Laurens doesn't talk to me much, I've noticed. It's probably because of how I talk. 

That's fair.

"That doesn't sound that fair," Margaret says. We're both having our break together, and, as always, I couldn't get Alexander to come, so I'm spending it with her. I chew on stale bread as I think of how to reply to that.

"What I mean is that I get it. I understand," I say. "Well, enough about my colleagues, how are you doing?"

"Oh, everyone has been joyful, despite the whole morbidity surrounding this kind of medicine," she answers. "I've already been tasked to help a few soldiers- nothing serious, I assure you, a few illnesses is all- and everyone has been incredibly kind to me."

"Did anything interesting happen during your shift?" I try to keep the conversation going. 

"Well... One of my patients had somehow gotten a gash across their whole arm. 'Twas nothing serious, but I found it humorous that he had acquired it during a bet."

"Heh," I huffed. "How in the world did that happen?"

"Honestly? I have no idea." Silence makes itself clear then.

"Well, my work is as dull as ever. I'm just writing numbers on papers and send them out somewhere. I'm not even sure where."

"Then how do they get to their recipient?"

"Well, I gracefully hand the letters to Meade and say 'that's your problem now'. It always works." I hear an unladylike snort come from Margaret as she snickers. "And then when he's not there, I just sit by the desk and look depressed until somebody takes them away. That has less of a success rate, if I'm honest."

"Depressed?"

"Sad, worried, pained, melancholy- all of those at once. I should probably follow Ale-Hamilton's example and try to find their designated location, but I mean... I'm not fired yet, so."

"That's a good way of putting it," she says, smiling softly, and looking to the distance. The sun was high up in the sky, and the day was just starting for me. "Well, I believe that fifteen minutes have passed- we should go back to our stations."

I sigh and rise. "Yeah, we should." I hold out a hand for Margaret to stand up, and she takes it. Her hands are soft, fragile, dainty. They definitely don't look like working class hands. Is she from a rich family? But then why is she here?

Eh, that doesn't matter. I'll ask her later.

Surprisingly, I didn't find either Alex or Laurens in the aide tent. When I ask, Reed curtly says, "They're with Washington, Layden. Counting rations, I presume."

That's part of my job, though. I didn't say that, knowing that Reed would either ignore me or snap at me. When I sit down, I notice that there are significantly less documents on my side of the table.