Not Quite a Hamilton
written by Cole Llewelyn
In the streets of Albany in 1800, young, scrappy and hungry, an 18 year old girl's life is made worth living by one family, but when the family begins to fall apart, her fragile life could fall to pieces. I will be adding chapters as I write them. (All character descriptions taken from the musical Hamilton, not 100% historically accurate)
Last Updated
05/31/21
Chapters
9
Reads
903
A Day Alone
Chapter 2
The next morning, I woke up, and seeing the four walls around me, I panicked, forgetting where I was for a second, and then I remembered. I sighed in relief, put on my boots, and stepped out of the door into the huge hallway of the Hamiltons’ house. When I walked into the hallway, the smell of frying eggs filled the air, and as I walked round the corner, I saw someone that I had never met before. A woman in a light pink dress sat at the small round table, talking to Eliza, who was in the kitchen.
“Come and help me with breakfast, Lydia!” Eliza called, and the woman who I assumed was Angelica turned to face me. I smiled at her, then walked into the kitchen, where Eliza stood in her nightgown, frying eggs on the stove, a loaf of bread to her right on the counter. “Put some bread on the fire to toast, please,” she told me. I put the bread over the fire, and waited for it to brown. A few minutes later, I picked the toast off the griddle, and put it onto china plates. I helped carry the breakfast to the table, and I was introduced to the lady at the table, “Lydia, this is my sister, she’s here from London,” Eliza told me, and Angelica offered me her hand, which I shook.
“Angelica Schuyler Church, and you are?” She asked me.
“I’m Lydia, Lydia Thornston,” I replied, noticing the hint of an English accent in her voice that I knew was in mine as well. “Morning, Phillip,” I said, seeing him walk down the stairs, still in his pyjamas.
“Morning,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He did a slight double take when he saw Angelica.
“Philip! Come here,” she said, pulling him into a hug, “The last time I saw you was when you were four!” his messy, curly hair was squished under her hand, but it sprang back up the minute she let go. “How’s school?” Philip stepped back, a tired smile on his face.
“It’s going well, I’m home for the Winter break,” He said, waking up slightly. Angelica smiled, obviously proud. Eliza put a fifth plate on the table, with toast and eggs on it. She sighed, slightly angrily, turned to Philip and I, and said,
“Will one of you two please take this up to Alex?”
“I’ll take it,” I said, knowing that Philip was tired, and that it would be hard for him to talk to his father again, after the pamphlet. Eliza smiled at me, thankful, and I picked up the plate, then began to ascend the stairs. I knocked on Alexander’s office door when I reached it,
“Come in,” He said, and I walked through the doorway cautiously, the plate in one hand. He turned around, and I saw worried lines across his forehead, which relaxed slightly when I handed him his breakfast.
“Hello Lydia, what happened this time?” he asked, genuinely curious. I told him about the fight with Jefferson, leaving out the part about the pamphlets. He smiled, slightly sadly. I left the room, and went back downstairs to the breakfast table. I sat at the circular table between Philip and Eliza, one chair at each side. We ate breakfast mostly in silence, only broken by the scraping of forks on plates occasionally. When I had finished, I cleaned my plate, then stood up.
“I should probably be getting to work, thank you for everything,” I said to Eliza.
“Ok, Lydia. Take care,” she replied. I gave Philip a short one-armed hug, then waved goodbye to the family.
“I will. Thank you again,” I said. As I was leaving the house, I heard Angelica ask,
“Why was she here?” to which Eliza replied,
“That’s Lydia. She got in trouble again. She punched Thomas Jefferson, of all people.” I heard Angelica laugh,
“I admire her spirit, you know, she reminds me of myself at her age.” I closed the door tightly behind me, a smile on my face. It had been a while since I had eaten a cooked breakfast. I sighed, pulled my hair into a ponytail, and headed towards the seamstresses. As I rounded a corner, I saw a man with next to no hair walking down the street.
“Burr,” I whispered to myself, turning back around the corner and pressing my back to the wall. I watched as Burr passed by, then turned the corner again, and walked hastily to work. When I arrived at the seamstresses, I went into the back room and pulled on a skirt, as I had left it at the shop the last time I had come in to work. I sat at the huge black sewing machine, and waited for an order to come in. 8 hours, 4 dresses, and 7 rolls of fabric later, I walked out of the store, still wearing my skirt, which now had 5 dollars in the pocket. I decided to put off buying food for now, as I had just eaten. It was getting dark, and a winter chill lingered.
“Come and help me with breakfast, Lydia!” Eliza called, and the woman who I assumed was Angelica turned to face me. I smiled at her, then walked into the kitchen, where Eliza stood in her nightgown, frying eggs on the stove, a loaf of bread to her right on the counter. “Put some bread on the fire to toast, please,” she told me. I put the bread over the fire, and waited for it to brown. A few minutes later, I picked the toast off the griddle, and put it onto china plates. I helped carry the breakfast to the table, and I was introduced to the lady at the table, “Lydia, this is my sister, she’s here from London,” Eliza told me, and Angelica offered me her hand, which I shook.
“Angelica Schuyler Church, and you are?” She asked me.
“I’m Lydia, Lydia Thornston,” I replied, noticing the hint of an English accent in her voice that I knew was in mine as well. “Morning, Phillip,” I said, seeing him walk down the stairs, still in his pyjamas.
“Morning,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He did a slight double take when he saw Angelica.
“Philip! Come here,” she said, pulling him into a hug, “The last time I saw you was when you were four!” his messy, curly hair was squished under her hand, but it sprang back up the minute she let go. “How’s school?” Philip stepped back, a tired smile on his face.
“It’s going well, I’m home for the Winter break,” He said, waking up slightly. Angelica smiled, obviously proud. Eliza put a fifth plate on the table, with toast and eggs on it. She sighed, slightly angrily, turned to Philip and I, and said,
“Will one of you two please take this up to Alex?”
“I’ll take it,” I said, knowing that Philip was tired, and that it would be hard for him to talk to his father again, after the pamphlet. Eliza smiled at me, thankful, and I picked up the plate, then began to ascend the stairs. I knocked on Alexander’s office door when I reached it,
“Come in,” He said, and I walked through the doorway cautiously, the plate in one hand. He turned around, and I saw worried lines across his forehead, which relaxed slightly when I handed him his breakfast.
“Hello Lydia, what happened this time?” he asked, genuinely curious. I told him about the fight with Jefferson, leaving out the part about the pamphlets. He smiled, slightly sadly. I left the room, and went back downstairs to the breakfast table. I sat at the circular table between Philip and Eliza, one chair at each side. We ate breakfast mostly in silence, only broken by the scraping of forks on plates occasionally. When I had finished, I cleaned my plate, then stood up.
“I should probably be getting to work, thank you for everything,” I said to Eliza.
“Ok, Lydia. Take care,” she replied. I gave Philip a short one-armed hug, then waved goodbye to the family.
“I will. Thank you again,” I said. As I was leaving the house, I heard Angelica ask,
“Why was she here?” to which Eliza replied,
“That’s Lydia. She got in trouble again. She punched Thomas Jefferson, of all people.” I heard Angelica laugh,
“I admire her spirit, you know, she reminds me of myself at her age.” I closed the door tightly behind me, a smile on my face. It had been a while since I had eaten a cooked breakfast. I sighed, pulled my hair into a ponytail, and headed towards the seamstresses. As I rounded a corner, I saw a man with next to no hair walking down the street.
“Burr,” I whispered to myself, turning back around the corner and pressing my back to the wall. I watched as Burr passed by, then turned the corner again, and walked hastily to work. When I arrived at the seamstresses, I went into the back room and pulled on a skirt, as I had left it at the shop the last time I had come in to work. I sat at the huge black sewing machine, and waited for an order to come in. 8 hours, 4 dresses, and 7 rolls of fabric later, I walked out of the store, still wearing my skirt, which now had 5 dollars in the pocket. I decided to put off buying food for now, as I had just eaten. It was getting dark, and a winter chill lingered.
