#jemmy

No snow, muddy grass, grey skies. 

Poor Jemmy cried for hours.

He wouldn’t honor it his first. No, he reserved it for that fateful day in London. His first true snowfall.

This time, it wasn’t him pressed to the window. He thought of his first snowfall and only watched passively from his bed, halfway thinking that the morning weather would melt any snow into brown slosh similar to the first time. He had begged Jemmy to go to bed that night, but he whined and cried till there was no choice but to leave him. Jemmy watched the sky intently, as if his stare would keep the snow from melting come morning. For the hour John watched him, Jemmy’s breath fogging the glass, he prayed for the snow to stay. If only for Jemmy’s sake.

By the time he was shaken awake, he knew his prayer had been answered.

He skipped class, all three of them did. Though irresponsible, he couldn’t bring himself to let his brothers go to school when the snow outside was so tempting. Especially with Jemmy and Henry looking at him the way they were. They knew he was weak for his brothers. 

He made them promise not to tell their father.

When the first gust of cool wind kissed him, it felt like he’d entered a new world.

He had let out a shuddering breath. 

For the very first time, he understood why people loved winter. 

In his astonishment, he’d dropped his brother's hands. The two had taken it as permission to run into piles of snow headfirst; much to his distress. He told them to be careful, to watch for ice and not to stray too far. They’d already started playing when he commenced his admonishments again— before being pelted with a well-timed snowball from Henry.

Jemmy had doubled over into the snow with laughter, face pink. 

John wiped his face and glared.

He reached down into the snow to pick up a handful of the loose powder. Henry and Jemmy allied against him, prepared for his advance behind thick tree trunks.

John never stood a chance.

Since then, he’d experienced so many snowfalls that he’d lost count. All of Europe, it seemed, was full of the stuff. And the more snow that fell, the less his excitement sparked. Its initial mystique cleared, his excitement lived on through his brothers and watching their joy as opposed to experiencing his own. 

Jemmy never lost his curiosity. He loved snow, winter and cold. Adored it even when he sniffled and coughed days after rolling around for hours in the freezing weather. He would proclaim loudly over breakfast one day, that winter was the best season and that he never wanted to live in a world without snow.

John had only ruffled his hair with a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jemmy died in September.

It was cold. It had just rained. 

He had held Jemmy’s malformed head in his lap, stroking his blood matted hair while Jemmy made sounds no boy should ever make. His breeches were soaked in rainwater, tears and blood.

The doctor said there was no saving him. John already knew that. The moment he fell, John knew. 

That night, one thought pushed itself into his mind.

Jemmy wouldn't see winter this year. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That the first snowfall without Jemmy had sealed his childhood curiosity for good. 

There was no boy by the window, anymore. No more tiny puffs of air fogging the glass. The emptiness was loud. The curtains swayed with the cool winter wind.

John cleared the space for him that night. 

He halfway hoped his spirit would stay there and watch instead. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At twenty-two, John's fascination with snow had waned and died with his brother. More and more he sees the annoyances his father once described. The way it hardened travel, the way it spread illness, and the way it wet his clothing till he shivered. When it snowed, he no longer thought of skipped classes and boyish laughter. He only thought of what an annoyance it would be to clear the ground by morning.

At twenty-three, Laurens falls in love for the second time. 

With snow and with a man.

What John expects to find that fateful December morning is another miserable day of wading through ankle deep snow and bone chilling cold. Only soothed by the warm press of his friend, he thinks, miserably, that he would rather be anywhere other than Valley Forge.

Instead, he wakes to find his bedmate gone, his side of the cot still warm. His coat still hangs on the chair. It is the middle of the night and his teeth chatter involuntarily.

John decides to get up before his friend freezes to death.

When John finds him, he’s standing outside. Lamp in hand. The only light he can see.

“The cold will get you before the recoats do.” John says, cloak tightly wrapped around his frame. 

Alexander is silent, his breath visible in small puffs.

He is shivering when John approaches. 

John frowns and widens his cloak silently, encasing the man. Hamilton’s gaze never leaves the sky, but he rests his head against Laurens' shoulder, accepting of his embrace. He wraps his arm around Lauren's waist.

The spot burns too hot for the weather. John doesn’t pull away.

“It’s beautiful.” He says, eventually. “I always thought to myself- why do people move north? Why bother? When half the year is cold and miserable, what possible benefit could there be?”

His eyes flick to John's. The light in his eyes like stars. Like constellations.

“This is why.” He had said, smiling wide, lips red with cold. “It’s heaven.”

Heaven

John tears his gaze from Alexander's face, looking out towards the world. White and shining. The stars above were bright, as if shining just for them. Shining just for Alexander, the only color in his view. Red on white. 

He can swear he hears laughter, faintly, in his ears.

Heaven