#dollmads

In the long run, James would look back and wonder why the hell he jumped in front of a bullet meant for the man that for years, he’d come to loathe. He’d curse himself to heaven, hell and purgatory for getting involved in the childish spat between Burr and Hamilton, for allowing Alexander ‘Can’t-Be-Quiet-For-His-Own-Good’ Hamilton the reprieve of another moment of his slanderous and scandalous life here on this God-given Earth. He’d be angry with himself for intervening with history. For foolishly taking himself away from his wife, and child.

Or at least, he would if he had the glorious fortune to live to see the day that he recovered from this horror show.

When Burr had arrived on his doorstep a month prior, angry tears welling in dark eyes and fury coating the words on his tongue, James had been genuinely surprised. Well, he’d been taken aback at first but once he realized that the rage emanating from the other man was not directed at him, it had turned into surprise. Given how poorly the election had gone for him, and how cruel Thomas had been to the man afterward, Madison hadn’t expected to hear from Aaron Burr ever again in his lifetime. At least not directly. And certainly not so late in the evening.

But he quickly realized that the reason his old friend and now political rival had arrived on the doorstep of his home wasn’t for a social call nor was it for an argument, but for a far more pressing matter—a grave one, in fact. Aaron and Alexander would be having a duel at Weehawken, and Burr wanted James to attend as his second.

First, he’d tried to talk Aaron down from it—”Duel’s are dumb and immature, and Theodosia needs her father, sir.”—but all of that had only fueled the rage that the new Vice President was struggling to contain within himself. It ignited a passion that James had only seen inside Aaron once before—when he’d run for President—, a scary fire that burned behind his eyes and elevated his voice to levels Madison hadn’t thought he was capable of reaching. And honestly, by the time Burr had finished ranting and raving about how Hamilton had been in the way of his every attempt at greatness, about how Hamilton was entitled to this or disrespectful about that… Madison was tired of arguing. It became clear that there was no talking his once-friend down from this.

So, then he’d contemplated saying no the absurd request. After all, bearing witness to a duel was quickly becoming illegal—and even in places where it wasn’t already, it was greatly frowned upon. Not only would attending and being the witness to a man’s potential murder be horrendously stupid in general, but it’d be social suicide—which means it’d be more stupid for Madison, who had plans to one day be the next President of the United States. No one would dare associate with him if they found out he participated, and the last thing he needed was to make life any harder on Dolley.

But it had seemed like Aaron wasn’t one to take no for answer, anymore. And if he was being honest, James had always enjoyed a bit of old-fashioned gossip. There was a good chance that neither of them would shoot, and he could be home before breakfast to tell Dolley all about how over-dramatic the two of them had been.

He’d accepted. Foolishly.

In his defense, he thought that by the time the two men got a look at each other, they’d call the duel off. They’d been friends, afterall—Aaron had been one of the first people Alexander had met when he arrived in America. He’d attended his wedding, they were fellow soldiers. They both had known each other for thirty or more so years, which was why James didn’t believe for a second they had the capability of shooting each other.

He could tell as they rowed across the Hudson, could tell by the anxiety and turmoil in Aaron’s face, that he didn’t want to kill Alexander. They had all joked about it before—especially Thomas, who sometimes was a little obsessive in his comments—but Burr wasn’t a murderer. No matter how much of a nuisance this man was. He was simply too prideful to allow the Hamilton to continue his libel unchecked. And of course, Madison couldn’t really blame him for that—no matter how infantile he thought the two of them were being. Being told that one had no opinions, no morals, no viewpoints… that must’ve stung, especially when it was done so publically. He isn’t sure himself how he would’ve reacted to such a humiliation.

Certainly not with a duel, though, that was for sure.

When they dock at the banks and disembark from the boat, James can see Burr softening a bit. When they approach Hamilton and his crew and Pendleton passes one of the guns to James, he can feel the tension loosen—if only for a second. Hamilton seems distracted, as he looks out over the sunrise and plays with the trigger of the gun.

I’ll be home before Dolley wakes, James thinks to himself blandly, placing the gun in Aaron’s hands before returning to join Pendleton to discuss the matter. He isn’t made nervous about the duel actually happening until this moment—the moment where he presumes the entire affair will be called off.

He and Pendleton meet between where the two opposing men stand, and when Madison asks for a simple apology from Hamilton, he expects Pendleton to agree. He expects the man to concede, admit that this entire affair was overdrawn and foolish and the two of them should return home to their families. I’ll be home before Dolley awakes, he thinks again, a confident air around him.

Instead, Nathaniel nervously fiddles with the sleeves of his coat as he says, “I’m… I’m not sure Mr. Hamilton is willing to agree to that.”

James’ stomach drops. He opens his mouth to protest, to insist to this man that of course, Hamilton should be agreeing to apologize. What, does the man have a death wish? he thinks bitterly, eyeing the grey-haired figure over the shoulder of Pendleton. He knows that Alexander had been challenged to—and had challenged men to—duels before, but he couldn’t possibly have such arrogance about him to think he was bulletproof. This was not a political debate, this was not a cabinet meeting. Someone could—and would—die. No one’s ego was enough to save their life from a bullet shot by vengeance.

Looking over his own shoulder to Burr, he finds that his gaze has hardened. He’s glaring daggers into Alexander, slowly loading the bullet into his gun. This is no longer, to James, a matter of childish ego between frenemies. He realizes, staring at his old friend, that this had quickly become an immediate matter of life and death.

“Well,” James says curtly, knots of anxiety tying themselves in his stomach. Suddenly, he finds himself on the wrong side of history, staring down at his friend that was now planning to murder his political rival... Nerves prickle just beneath his flesh, and the crisp morning air is suddenly far too cool—everything inside of him screams that something is not right, something is not right. Do something to stop this, he screams at himself. Stop this, at once! “Then I suppose, there is nothing that can be done.”

There is nothing that can be done, he assures himself, though something in him is not satisfied with that outcome.

Nathaniel nods, shakes Madison’s hand, and turns away—back towards Hamilton, to whisper something in his ear. The man’s eyes find James, then they float over to Aaron, and then they flutter shut for several long moments. In that time, there is nothing in the air but the sound of birds chirping and the river water pattering along—almost as though the world is giving a respectful moment of silence to the two men laid bare before it. Then Alexander takes a deep inhale and gives a nod, turning on his heel.

Burr turns as well.

They count.

One…

This isn’t right, James mind screams as he watches their boots crunch the leaves on the ground. Nathaniel warns him to turn around for deniability, but he can’t will his body to do so—he’s frozen in anxiety, anticipation. Someone could die, right this very moment, and he can’t tear his eyes away from the inevitable.

Four…

Do something! Stop this at once!

Six…

This is foolish!

Ten…

Someone is going to die!

For some odd reason, that thought is the one that spurs his feet forward. He’s already moved towards the line of fire when Burr has turned, pistol pointed directly at Hamilton’s chest and finger on the trigger. A sense of urgency blanketing him, James half-stumbles, half-runs in front of the gun just as Hamilton raises his own weapon in the air. The action of concession is too late, however, because Aaron has already pulled his finger back against the trigger and fired.

He distinctly hears both Hamilton and Burr simultaneously shout ‘No!’ and a ringing in his ears from the gunshot. Pain sears through his stomach, spreading out to bloom a blood-red flower against the creme cloth of his coat. His eyes can’t focus on just any one thing, but he distinctly catches a glimpse of the regret on Aaron’s face before his eyes flutter closed from the blood loss.

They open again at home, and his nose is filled with the smell of pork cooking and fresh laundry. James grunts in confusion, attempting to sit up from what must’ve been a bad dream. He is made distinctly aware of the fact that it was indeed not a bad dream by the tearing pain that spreads through him again—exploding from the center of his stomach and rippling outwards. Giving a cry of pain, he nearly collapses back against the sheets but is caught by gentle hands.

“Stop!” a soft, familiar voice says. James looks up to find his wife’s french manicured hands on his chest, easing him back down against the clusters of pillows. He frowns just slightly at the design—she hadn’t had it before he left, which meant Thomas must’ve sent her more of those French fashion magazines. How long was I out for? he wonders curiously.

There is worry crinkling the corners of her dark eyes, and she smoothes back the sweaty curls of James’ dark hair—a comforting action for the both of them—as she speaks. “Take it easy! I wouldn’t want you to tear your stitches again. It was quite the hassle the first time it happened, I think you’ve ruined a set of sheets… or two.”

Wincing at how it scratches at his throat when he does so, James mutters, “I was shot.”

“Yes. Stupidly, I might add. You told me you were going to a meeting,” she says, pointedly avoiding looking him in the face—probably afraid she’d be unable to school her expression out of anger and hurt. Instead, she peels back the covers of their bedsheets and tuts her tongue at what she finds—his quick action had caused blood to begin spread through his bandages, soaking the perfectly white cloths and his shirt a wine red. “I’ll have to change these.”

“It was a meeting,” he says defensively, watching as she rises from her spot at his side to open a nearby cupboard. A cupboard that hadn’t been there before either—stacked neatly with tonics, bandages, alcohols, and medicines. He can’t help but notice how frazzled she looks as she does this—her usually well-styled hair falls limply over her shoulders, and she doesn’t wear any of the grande dresses that he’d become accustomed to seeing her in. Instead, she wears a simple frock—one that a milkmaid might wear to work the cows. It’s obvious that she has not left the home they share together—Dolley had never been known to let the public see her this way.

“Do you take me for an idiot, my love?” she asks flatly, filling a wicker basket with bandages, towels, and antiseptics before joining him again at his bedside. She sets the basket of materials down and begins the messy task of changing his bandages.

He winces, this time from the guilt. “Dolley, I—”

“Hush, you foolish man,” she says, peeling back the cloths. Looking down, James grimaces at the wound. Dark puckered flesh around a carefully stitched together hole in his stomach, red and swollen from irritation. Blood oozes and gushes from the sides—probably from where he’d torn the stitches in his abrupt movement. Dolley sighs, and he doesn’t say anything when he notices her swipe at tears on her face. “We can argue about how stupid and callous that was later. Rest more. Are you hungry?”

“How long was I out for?” he asks groggily, waving his hand in dismissal at the offer. Dolley hums a faint tune underneath her breath, peeling the bandages the rest of the way from his clammy skin and tossing them onto the rug on the floor.

“A week and a half,” she says, after a moment. Taking a cloth, she pours a bit of the alcohol onto it and begins to clean up the blood that had begun to dribble from the wound. James winces at the faint burning that comes when she swipes around the gunshot wound, gives a small hiss of pain. Despite the scowl gracing her lips, she lets up on the pressure. “I thought you were going to die. Everyone did. Hamilton, Burr, those idiots they… they send their sympathies and well wishes. I made stew.”

James gives a laugh, a dry one that hurts his abdomen, as he says, “You can’t cook.”

“Fine,” Dolley says, tossing aside the dirty cloth with the rest of his bandages. She’s quiet for a few moments as she finishes redressing his injury—noticeably pulling tighter than necessary—before she retrieves the still steaming bowl of stew waiting on the nightstand for him. “The servants made stew. Eat.”

“I’m… sorry, I didn’t tell you,” he interrupts, as she lifts a spoon from the bowl. Dolley’s hand falters, before lowering down. Sighing, she sets the bowl aside again and reaches up to brush away his hair.

“You should be,” Her voice is soft as she speaks, the edge slowly receding before dissipating completely. Dolley looks tired, he notices under the barely flickering lamplight. There are deep bags under his eyes and a striking sadness that breaks his heart. “You’re lucky that doctor that was with Hamilton was halfway competent, you could’ve gotten an infection or they could’ve shot you somewhere serious or… or—”

Dolley’s voice breaks and she cuts off, bring the sleeve of her dress up to press against her nose. Fat tears roll over the brim of her eyes and she swipes at them again—though unfortunately, this time, she misses the majority. Reaching up with weak hands, he presses it against the side of her face—thumb lightly rolling over the soft skin of her cheek. He thumbs away a stream of tears, a sad smile gracing his lips.

“My love, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Then why the hell would you jump in front of a loaded gun!” she snaps, abruptly pulling away from his touch. She picks up the bowl again, stirring the contents of the stew around with an urgency in her movements he had not seen before. The tears that fall over her face come with rapid succession now, pooling at her chin and making large droplets on the sheets. “... I could’ve lost you! You could’ve died! What were you thinking!? No, you obviously weren’t thinking!”

“Dolley, I’m sorry,” he stresses, attempting to still her hand. He wraps his hand around the one that holds the fork, stilling her movements. Then, with a weak smile, “I promise, I won’t do it again.”

She softens, looks back down at the bowl. “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not trying to be,” he assures, with a whisper.

“I love you, James. I truly, truly do. You have made me the happiest woman on Earth. But damn, if you aren’t a fool sometimes.”

“You are getting a potty-mouth from that parrot of yours. I do say, she has a bad influence on you,” he chuckles, head falling back against the pillow. Though there are still tears in his eyes, his efforts are finally rewarded with a light chuckle and smile. Lifting the spoon again, this time with a purpose, she brings it to his lips.

“Oh, hush. Here.”

“Mm. Thank you. Dolley, I love you, too. And I promise, if there ever is another duel, I’ll stay far from the firing range.”

“There will be no other duel,” the woman says with finalcy—eyes narrowing and a daring in her tone. James chuckles again, wincing just slightly and shifting in his sheets to become more comfortable.

“Are you sure? Hamilton is still alive, isn’t he?”

“James,” she says sternly, warning in her eyes and tone. He smiles as she readies another spoonful of the stew for him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

James was seated in a beach chair with a useless umbrella attachment that was currently shading a spot a couple feet away from the chair. He was wearing swimming trunks only because he knew his family would mock him if he wore pants to the beach, but he also had a t-shirt on, and no intention of getting in the water. Instead he was penning a letter to his best friend, Thomas Jefferson. He could do this just as well in the hotel but his parents refused to leave him there, as if that were the worst way he could spend the vacation. At least he wasn’t trying to sneak off with older boys and get drunk like Frank did on their spring getaway.

A shadow fell over James and his first thought was that it was one of his siblings, but when he looked up instead he saw a girl around his age in a sport swimsuit, a cover up tied around her waist.

“Hi,” she said. “Can I borrow your pen when you’re done with it?”

“Uh, sure,” James said, hoping she wasn’t going to do something like write her number on his arm. “Give me a minute.” He finished up the letter then handed over the pen.

“Thanks!” the girl said. She took the pen over to a nearby picnic table where she began drawing on a beach resort brochure.

James stood up from his chair and headed over to her.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m making a treasure map for a bunch of kids that look like you. Your brothers and sisters?”

James glanced over his shoulder to where the other kids were playing at the edge of the water.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “You don’t have to do that, though. If they’re bothering you I can tell them to leave you alone.”

“It’s no bother,” the girl insisted. “It sounds like fun, doesn’t it?”

James supposed that at one time he would have enjoyed a game like that. “I guess.”

The girl smiled at him. “Glad to hear that! I need you to hide the treasure.”

“What?”

“This map is going to take a while. I’m sure they’ll be eager to start by the time I’m finished. So you need to go hide the treasure.”

“What treasure? Hide it where?”

“Some pretty shells, I guess. Some good rocks. I’m sure you can find them. And I’m putting the X behind the third lifeguard tower, so bury them there.”

“Hold on, I can’t bury them behind a lifeguard tower. The lifeguard will see me.”

“So?” the girl shrugged. “It’s not illegal.”

“What if he asks me what I’m doing?”

“Tell him?”

James had no response for that, just like he had no idea how this girl he’d just met had roped him into her plan without even exchanging a proper introduction.

“What’s your name?” James asked finally.

“Dolley. And the little you’s said your name is Jimmy.”

“Ignore them. It’s James.”

Finding the shells was more of an ordeal than James was hoping. There weren’t very many good ones in the dry sand so he had to get his feet wet. He kept checking over his shoulder to make sure none of his siblings were sneaking up on him, but they seemed to be entertaining themselves by burying Ambrose near Dolley’s picnic bench and pestering her about when the map would be ready.

Once James had gotten a decent haul, he made his way over to the selected lifeguard tower. He hoped none of his siblings would see him burying the treasure, but then again the final location would be obvious enough once they had the map in front of them, and clearly the journey was more important to the kids than the destination, or else why bother Dolley for a map at all? When James arrived back at the table, she had already finished up.

“Is it ready?” Nelly asked, holding the map. “Can we go?”

“Yeah,” James said. “Go ahead.”

The kids took off immediately with the exception of Frank.

“Well?” James asked “What are you waiting for?” He was hoping to talk to Dolley.

“I’m not doing a stupid fake treasure hunt. I know you put the shells behind the lifeguard tower.”

“Well, you’re the only one old enough to look after Billy, so you have to go anyway.”

“You’re old enough, too.”

“I have to watch our bags. Just go with the kids or I’ll tell dad you made up botany club so you could hang out with the stoners after school.”

Frank bristled, then Dolley put a hand on each of their shoulders. “Why don’t we all go?” she suggested. “The kids can all carry their own bags and pretend they’re supplies. We can make up challenges for them as we go along. It could be fun.”

Well, James supposed he could talk to Dolley just as well on a treasure hunt as at a picnic table. “Okay,” he said. “Frank, help me carry the bags until we catch up.”

Frank wasn’t as disinterested in the journey as he let on, coming up with most of the challenges. The kids seemed to enjoy them even if they were rather simple things like walking backwards to avoid making eye contact with mermaids who turned people into stone or walking in each other’s footprints to avoid traps. In fact they were so into the game that they don’t seem to care when James and Dolley settled at a nearby picnic table.

“So what did the lifeguard say when you buried the treasure?” Dolley asked.

“He just told me that if someone else dug it up first, he wasn’t going to stop them.”

“That’s fair. I think we’ll be okay, though. Did you get enough for everyone?”

“I got as much as I could carry, but trust me, they’ll probably still fight over particular ones.”

“I hope I didn’t cause you too much trouble by indulging them with their treasure hunt.”

James shrugged. “It’s fine. They always find something to fight about regardless, and I didn’t have anything else to do once I finished writing my letter.”

“Is that what you were writing?” Dolley asked. “That’s cool. Not a lot of people write letters these days.”

“My best friend and I exchange letters pretty regularly. It was his idea. He’s kind of extra, but it is kind of fun to get stuff in the mail so I don’t mind.”

“Maybe you could send me something sometime.”

That would have been a good time to ask for some kind of contact information, but James couldn’t seem to find the words to do so. After too long of a silence he said; “So are you here with your family?”

“My mom and my sister. They’re doing a spa day today, but it sounded boring to me so I just decided to have a beach day by myself.

“I wish I could have gotten some time for myself on this vacation,” James said.

“You’re not in charge of all these kids the whole time you’re here, are you?” Dolley asked. “They’re sweet, but I’m sure they’re a lot.”

“It’s only for today. My parents always set aside one kid-free day in their vacation, but even when I’m not in charge I am expected to participate in family stuff.”

Dolley smiled. “Do you think if you asked your parents they’d let you hang out tomorrow without an entourage?”

“Today’s actually our last day. We check out in the morning.”

Dolley’s smiled dropped. “Oh. That’s too bad.”

As predicted, the kids had a bit of trouble dividing the treasure, but with a quick run back to the water, James and Dolley were able to grab enough nice shells to appease them all. They were wrapping their hauls in their respective towels when Mrs. Madison appeared.

“There you kids are,” she said. “It’s time for dinner.”

There was some grumbling from the kids, who would rather remain playing, but they knew better than to actually argue with their mom and so said their goodbyes to Dolley.

“Oh, who’s your new friend?” Mrs. Madison asked.

“This is Dolley,” James said. “She helped me entertain everyone today.”

“Well, that’s very sweet of you, honey,” Mrs. Madison said to Dolley. “I hope they didn’t bother you too much.”

“Not at all,” Dolley assured. Turning to smile at James she said; “I had a great time today.” James smiled back automatically, then his eyes flicked over to his mother, who had a knowing smirk on her face.

“Jimmy, baby, did you still want to get your own dinner tonight?” she asked.

“Uh….” James began, having asked his mother no such thing, but trying his best to pick up the baton she was passing him. “Yes, if that’s okay.”

“It’s fine, baby. Just don’t stay out too late.”

“Aw, how come Jimmy gets to stay out?” Sarah asked.

“Because Jimmy took care of you today and deserves a break. Come on, babies. Let’s go.”

While the others made their way back to the hotel, James turned towards Dolley.

“So… did you want to go to the hot dog stand?”

It was a bit chilly in the evening, though the sun hadn’t yet set. James regretted ordering a cold drink with his hot dog, though he was glad that Dolley had let him treat her.

“I’m really good at finding treasure,” James had insisted. “I can handle paying for a milkshake.”

They talked about school mostly. What classes they were talking next year and where they wanted to go to college. James was thinking Princeton and Dolley was hoping to find out what the other coast was like.

“It’ll probably get lonely being away from your family and friends,” James said. “You have to make sure you stay in touch. Maybe you could write letters?”

Dolley laughed. “I’ll probably just text them. But if you wanted to write me letters, I’d gladly accept them”

James pulled a piece of paper out of his bag and ripped it in half. “Here,” he said, sliding one half over to Dolley along with a pen. “Give me your address and I’ll give you mine. And if we go away to college, we’ll trade dorm addresses.”

Dolley grinned, jotting the address down. “I’m glad you think we’ll still be writing then. That’s over a year from now.”

“It’s always good to think ahead,” James said. “I like having a plan.”

“Planning is good,” Dolley agreed, sliding the pen and paper back to James. He started to write down his own address as Dolley continued. “But sometimes I prefer to be spontaneous.”

James looked up to ask her what she meant when suddenly she crashed her lips into his. He dropped the pen in surprise, but it was just as well, since once he caught up to what was happening, he laced that hand into her hair.

“Hey, no hanky panky,” the hot dog guy said.

James pulled away from the kiss, face burning.

“This place is literally called Hanky’s Hot Dog Hut,” Dolley retorted.

“Hey, I just work here,” the guy said. “If you want to make out, try under the pier like everyone else.”