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"Philip, come back!"
The boy's parents cried out from the white-painted porch of the Hamilton family's house. But the cries were in vain as young Philip Hamilton was running further away from them. Not daring to grant a glance or response to the worried relatives frantically yelling his name.
His only adjective was to get away—from it all.
He didn't know where he was going, nor his destination, but all he knew was that he didn't want to be there—not with them. He needed to be away, away from it all, away from the pain, away from the yelling, the fighting—
He ran and ran, down the dirt road. And his mind was too filled with haze and senseless urge of running—to bother to slow his pace and spare his polished leather shoes from the country rocks and dirt that made the road.
The only concern in his conscious was to get away, as far as he could, as far as possible. He didn't care about anything, he didn't care if his parents went looking for him, or his siblings.
He didn't even care to stop when he had tripped over his loosen shoelaces, his knee being scrapped from the fall and most likely dripping blood. But yet, he proceeded to get back up with some struggle and continue his runaway—
What a pathetic coward he felt like, no man would run from their seemingly enticing problems. Pa wouldn't do that.
But he was no man, he didn't feel like a man, he felt small, crushed, hurt, and— pitiful . He didn't want to be like Pa. He didn't want to hurt people, his family—his Mama.
He still clutched the cursed paper in hand, holding the details of the night that would tarnish their happy family. The dreaded night his father turned his back on his own family to satisfy his own needs.
His bouncy symbolists' curls slipped loose from the blue tie, that they were previously held to, now scattered his face in a mess from the gushing wind that blew from running. But yet, he didn't know where he was going in the first place, what good was sight?
It was a shame, his mother worked so hard to keep his long hair nicely kept. His sisters loved playing with it too. And Philip could remember the times the boys at his boarding school would tease and pull it, calling him taunting labels like "Pretty boy". but his mother was always there to raise his poured spirits at the end of the day, always.
But now, he was running from those warm embraces, because, even those strong feelings of hugs and promises couldn't heal the injury of their Father's grand mistake. Even when they tried, he didn't need the encouraging hushes to shield his vision from the scandal. He was grown and had seen such filthy acts in the world—but if he was so grown and mature why would he cry and run from it? Why was he acting like a schoolboy running from his angered teacher ready to swat his wrist?
Truthfully, he wasn't grown. But then again, no grown man could bypass this gash in the heart. it wasn't like burnt supper, or failing a test, it was more severe. it was immutable damage—one that could not be healed with a hug or apology.
No—Pa had done something greater than break Mother's vase, and he wouldn't be able to pick the pieces and repair it. he had shattered the family's heart, and no spoon of medicine could heal their heartache.
Did father not care for them? how could the man just go with another woman? how could he forget his own children and wife? how could he be so, irresponsible , immature , heartless , merciless —
"Boy, watch out—!"
A steady stallion abruptly ceased it's strod for the upcoming boy running across the path. Displeasing the rider guiding the horse, as he shouted for the horse to soothe it's flailing limbs. And the stead eventually did, the man shifted himself off of his carriage and soothed his horse more with gentle pats down the nose.
Philip, quite flabbergasted, and still in an emotional state, was left speechless on what course of action was most appropriate. so wiping his smeared face, he cleared his throat and begun an apology;
"I-I apologize, Sir, for my disruption. I was in an h-haze and was being irresponsible..." Philip apologized, his already adolescent voice cracking with his trembling words. And the man's concerned look definitely noticed the error,
"Quite alright, what's more important is if you are injured?" The man said with a more questioning tone to his statement, still with gentleness.
"N-No, Sir. I'm alright." The young boy replied, trying to maintain a gentleman manner even during his current predicament. Now that Philip stood near the man, he now only figured the man was quite broad and tall. Wearing nice clothes— must have money . But he could not recognize him in the category of the citizens around here.
"Yes, but what was a Young Man, such as yourself, running across the road for, Son?" the man settled, examining Philip's indecent appearance; a face red from crying with streaks of snot and tears being rubbed, his hair looking similar to a lion's mane, and his clothes wrinkled with dirt dusting them.
It seems whatever the young man was doing, it wasn't casual.
"Not your son," Philip corrected with narrowed brows. If there was one thing the little Hamilton hated; it was belittleness of juvenile treatment. "And the reasoning was nothing, Sir."
The nostalgia of such stubbornness cracked a laugh from the man, and Philip's brows narrowed further with confusion. And for a moment,—he even dismissed the pain he was previously suffering from. Finding the grown man interestingly confusing.
"—Tell me, Young Man, what could be your name? If you don't mind answering that is," The stranger chuckled out, showing a kind smile. and something that made Philip find this stranger— somewhat surprisingly —trusting. He showed posture and exhibited anything less than endangering, what harm?
"It's Philip Hamilton, good Sir,"
"Ah, that explains it," The man looked less than surprised, but with a glint of more amusement and kindness in response. "Is by chance, your father, Alexander Hamilton?"
"Uh, why yes, Sir." The young man confessed, but with a sadder complexion of the reminder of the man. but he couldn't display such emotions in front of a stranger such as this man, "Why may you ask?"
"Ah, I may work the fool," The strange man sighed, sounding like he was mostly talking to himself. And the boy wasn't sure to feel offended by the playful name-calling to his old man.
The man soon knelt down a little to be level with Philip as a friendly gesture, even if he nevertheless still slightly towered him.
"Names Washington, my boy," The man, Washington, extended a hand to properly greet the child. And Philip took it with a shake to return the gesture.
Philip felt some type of fimilarness with the name but was still distracted by his despairing mood returning from the mention of his father.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Washington, Sir," Philip said, with a monotone hint and his face looked anything that's the opposite of cheery. In fact, he looked more distressed than when Washington first saw him.
"Whatever could be the matter, Lad?" The stranger— Washington —asked with concern.
The boy was stumped on whether to trust the man or not, he seemed to show peace and kindness. But if he was a friend of Pa's then he will most likely take him back home to hear one of his children ran away crying.
"N-Nothing, Sir…" Replied Philip, in an attempt to hold his voice steady and blink the stinging tears, he clutched the pamphlet he still had in hand harder.
The Washington man caught this and seemed to have recognized the title that was in bold cursive—
"The Reynolds Pamphlet"
A look of sympathy washed over Washington's complexion, he sighed and rested a broad hand on the little boy's shoulder. Without a hint of roughness or anything brutish, the large man seemed somehow, gentle and warm, and guiding. Not something you would first assume from appearance.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
No, definitely not. It is what Philip would burst into salty tears and scream, but he knew better than to burden the friendly traveler with concerns over his pitiful situation.
"Yes, Sir—Mr. Washington, actually I believe I best be heading back to my folks now actually…" Philip said, but with nothing of a reassuring tone, as he sadly glanced back at the way he came.
Washington knew better than to keep the boy from his family, but he couldn't let the disheveled child run back after everything —There had to be something he could do for the Lad.
"Why don't I give you a ride there, Son? It would be a long walk back after all, and I reckon you're depleted from running, or am I mistaken?" Washington stood once more, looking at the young one invitingly.
"Um…"
Philip glanced back at the path, and truthfully he hadn't felt the ache burning his legs until the man mentioned it. A ride would be spectacular right now, but who was he to take advantage of sympathetic folks?
"I wouldn't wish to burden you, good Sir." Philip pressed respectfully. He had surely picked up the polite manner from his dear mother, as she always found proper posture and gentlemen's manners a necessity.
"It's no trouble at all, I'm not in a hurry and I have to head down that route regardless," which wasn't precisely a lie, but Martha would surely worry for his late arrival. And tagging the boy along would delay, but it was worth it if to help a child in need.
Philip watched with consideration as his man aboard his carriage and patted the rider seat next to him invitingly as he grasped the reins to his stallion.
His burning knee scrap urged him to take the alternative with pleading stings, and Philip couldn't even stand with it anymore.
So with a smile tugging his lips up instinctively, he climbed up and sat down on the leather chair awaiting him. His legs releasing their ache in the comfort of not holding up his weight for any longer.
Washington had sensed the clear relaxation and gave him a soft reassuring pat on the back, before whipping his horse with the reins to continue its walk.
But yet, he made sure the horse walked at a slow pace compared to the original he was riding with.
The cab bumped slightly from the country dirt road, and Philip chuckled as he was lightly tossed in the air from it. The precious sound of adolescence innocence warmed the soul of Washington to see the devastated boy's appearance brighter just the slightest.
They sat in ambient silence as the horse took them down the path. As it really wasn't recognized as awkward, both having thoughts swirling their minds to bother focusing on the clear silence—But after some given time, Washington had decided to speak up first;
"I reckon it must hurt,"
A soft little understanding and Philip glanced up at the man with awaiting curiosity as to what he had meant. To specify, he tapped on the crumbled newsletter in the boy's grasp.
Oh,
Temporarily he had forgotten of the dreaded parchments existence, as much as he preferred to keep that way—Washington was wiser not to just dismiss issues like these.
Philip slowly unraveled the now tarnished sheet with grief, just looking at it made his eyes burn with salty watery tears. The page disgusted him with despair from its simple existence itself.
"Mama is very miserable because of it, she no longer wears the sky blue gown she always loved…" Philip said with the emotion of sentimental. He was partly rambling to himself, but yet, Washington still attended with a listening heart, "Pa bought her that gown. They no longer eat at the table either…"
"It must affect you and your siblings, " Washington asked with empathy, Philip looked up from the document willing himself to avoid any sight of the painful reminder. Instead, he watched the surroundings slowly pass by peacefully.
The nature view was quite relaxing, even if it was considered hot today. A soothing display to cease his overwhelmed emotions.
"Yes… The younger ones are worried with concern and don't understand." Philip had sometimes wished to return to that youthful state in life, careless and naive—no real problems to distress over—a lack of understanding to unforgettable moments like these.
A passing silence came again, the only sounds that were heard were the slow galloping of the stallion, and ambient nature white noises filling the silence.
But then finally;
"I can not envision the misery on a personal level, but I can say that I know—from ordeal for sure; we all make mistakes," Washington spoke, making small glances at the young boy seated next to him. Trying to take small steps so the boy would understand,
"Some more foolish than others, regardless it's a mistake. They're not always made intentionally with the purpose to hurt. But they do sometimes, and the promising way is to own up for them."
Philip listened intently, examining the man with eyes of understanding—Mostly shocked that a traveling stranger was willingly helping him through the emotional ditch he had stumbled into.
"But, we must also take our part in understanding these mistakes and recovering from their injury. So that's why, Phillip, you have to give your father a chance to make it right."
Washington sighed, taking his eyes off the path ahead and glimpsing sympathetically at the stunned youth.
"Don't forget all the good a person has made and let it be shadowed by their faults, flaws do not make a person any less human. We all make mistakes, it's invincible, but don't let that be the reason you give up on someone. Especially— family ."
Philip slowly glanced back down at the parchment laying in his palms with a newer expression and feeling. Something of encouraging, motivational to move forward from this depressing point.
"Do you love your father, Philip?" Washington asked bluntly but metaphorically. And any other day, Philip would've read out an essay of how apparent it was he did, with his childish understanding of looking at things.
But instead, he understood on a more mature level,
"Yes, I love Pa. He's the world to us." Philip replied, smiling up at the man once more, but a more heart moving one than before. It showed kindness, willingness—And Washington could see that the boy was genuine.
"Then you need to thrive to forgive him, no matter what, he's your father. And trust my word, Son, your father loves you more than any legacy or job."
A passing silence was the only response, and Philip wasn't sure how to respond. But however, he listened with open ears and heart, and a smile.
It was quite reassuring to say, it was like the man could read his situation flawlessly. And understand what Phillip was struggling with,
"He works because he loves you and your family, he works to provide and care for you. And even if the fool takes more than essential, I'm sure that arrogant man will always hold a soft spot for his blessing of children and wife." Washington said, growing a happier note to his tone to see the boy was recovering.
The boy found himself chuckling at the given nicknames to his father, those were some descriptive words that anyone would recognize Alexander's rebellious character in.
"Ah, yes—He would brag about all of your accomplishments, even challenging his frenemy Mr. Burr to whose child was favorable." Washington chuckled, now focusing on brightening the mood. and he was successful as the young
"Pops actually did that?" Philip boosted with confidence from the short tale, remembering the faith his father had in him—In all his family and siblings. Pa was always so proud of his family.
"I remember all his ramblings about how his eldest son could play the piano with the grace of his mother, as quote his words that spring evening."
the two joined each other in laughter and warm family tales, and Washington would recall the times of Hamilton's pride for his children and their accomplishments.
the ride seemed to have shortened with distraction, as they made it back to Hamilton's residence very soon.
Philip sighed at the sight of their happy little home, and knew he'd have a punishing penalty that awaited him inside for his absence.
"Well, now my boy, you best be heading to your folks. they're most likely worried sick for your late arrival." Mr. Washington patted him on the back, and it almost seemed like he was fighting his instincts to not shed a tear. for a towering man, he was rather soft.
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Washington. I will surely take your advice to heart, and help Mama!" Philip smiled, his positivity and precious adolescence were practically shining like the sun.
while Philip stood up to exit the riding carriage, he couldn't help but feel the hole in his heart that he was forgetting something—the feeling of, if he didn't do it now there was no turning back.
so with hesitance, the boy quickly turned to the man and grasped him in a tight hug. his tiny figure barely making it around, but the embrace was soon returned after the shock of the suddenness.
" Thank you..." he whispered with tears slipping from his tightly shut eyes.
the grasp of the other seemed to tighten just lightly from those words. and Philip would make sure, to never forget this moment through all his years.
Shortly, the hug broke, but there was no awkward aftermath, as Philip nearly sped off once the front door of the house was quickly opened, and his worried parents coming out.
"Mama! Papa!"
Philip dashed towards his crying mother and, nearly in tears, father. greeting them with another tight hug, and his parents were non the hesitant in returning.
he was so overtaken by his parent's natural presence he had forgotten all about the traveler.
"Oh, Philip, my dear child. we thought we'd lost you!" Eliza cried as they knelt together tightly grasping their oldest child as if once they'd loosened their grip he would vanish.
"You had us worried sick, Young man!"
"Gracious, darling you're a mess! Are you hurt anywhere?"
"We looked everywhere for you, where had you taken off to?!" Alexander demanded, with eyes that shined his worried thoughts and concerns.
And Philip swallowed the guilt of putting his parents through the emotional hardship—His own previously aching heart practically fully recovered to being greeted with the love and protection by his parents.
"Ma, Pa, I'm alright- really! A Traveler helped take me back." Philip smiled, but after some thought—that probably wasn't the best thing to say so bluntly.
"A Traveler ?" Eliza's face twisted with—if possible—even more concern.
"A stranger?" Alexander and his wife shared a worried look before returning to their son, practically demanding answers.
"Y-Yes, a polite man named, Mr. Washington!" Philip quickly reassured them before they felt the need to remind him of stranger danger.
but thankfully, their overwhelming concern seemed to wash away at the name shortly after. They both look up behind their boy with a look of now a world of grateful and thankful prays.
Philip soon turned too and saw the man tip his hat to his folks. With confusion, he watched as his father soonly stand and raced to thank the stranger for everything.
"Thank you so much, Sir! I-I, I can't thank you enough. really!" Hamilton was practically cherishing the other, and Philip hadn't seen him so happy in a while honestly.
"No worries Secretary Hamilton. Though I do assure you, you have some unfinished business with all of your children." Mr. Washington gave him a strict look but decided to allow a smile slip through regardless.
"Surely, Sir." Hamilton gave a bow as the stranger bidding them adieu and fixed his hat as he walked back to his carriage.
They watched in peaceful silence as he soon continued on down the path—A moment of sighs from his parents passed before his father turned back to them with his arms crossed and a look of a strange mixture of 'I'm happy you're okay, but you're still in trouble'.
"Alright, you have a lot of explaining to do, mister." Alexander chuckled, as they walked back inside the house with their disheveled child.
"Does this mean I'm grounded?" Philip asked sheepishly, a shade of blush dusting his freckled cheeks when both his parents looked at him knowingly.
But quite honestly, Philip didn't mind—As long as he was there to help his mother and siblings through this, he'd stay grounded for however long it took. And also be there for Pa.