She Is Your Wife, Isn't She? By: Historybuff and LoyalSark

Chapter 1

"Mr. Jefferson, you are driving me to homicide!" Adams exploded as he skipped up the steps leading to Congress. Jefferson had been allotted a specific amount of time to write this declaration and yet what was he doing? Scratching at his fiddle! Adams, as always, was feeling agitated. After all, he had made it a point to awake especially early that morning so that he would be able to visit Jefferson and take note of any progress he may have made before Congress convened. But as soon as he arrived, he saw just how much, or rather, how little, Jefferson had accomplished in his first night. It was quite a despicable sight, Adams thought. Had Jefferson written so much as a sentence, Adams would have been able to justify the sight that met his eyes as soon as he opened the door. However, with it becoming all too clear that Jefferson was not inflicted with the least bit of motivation at the present time, Adams could do little else but grimace as he had stood there, watching the redheaded tombstone hunched over his violin, a string of drool practically oozing out of the corner of his mouth, and a tall pile of crumpled, unused paper at his feet. Adams wanted to reproach him for his wastefulness, but thought better of it. Everything he said while attempting to lift Jefferson's spirits was met with total apathy. Finally, starting to lose the patience that Adams normally would have lost the moment he entered the room, he decided to depart, his face flushing with irritation. Before he could continue with his unpleasant thoughts, Adams saw that Benjamin Franklin had arrived in his little portable chair, which was currently being carried by two bribed prisoners.

"Stop a moment, boys!" Franklin demanded. The prisoners did as they were told, though their knees immediately began to quiver under the weight. "John, your expression is more sour than usual."

"Dammit, Franklin! I don't know what can be done! That useless Virginian dolt spends so much time reflecting over his own problems that he does not have time to fix mine!"

"I assume that you're speaking of Mr. Jefferson?"

"Yes! It's just so very aggravating. Everything is set for success. Can he really not indulge me with a week of his time?"

"You think you have problems. Look at this!" Franklin randomly shoved his giant gouty foot through the window for John to examine. John scrunched his face is disgust.

"Why would I possibly want to look at that?" Adams snapped.

"My apologies!" Franklin grumbled, struggling to get his giant foot back inside, almost causing his prisoners to drop to their knees under the wavering pressure.

"This wife of his must be even more spectacular than what we're imagining, for her to be occupying his thoughts to this extent. It's positively indecent!" Unbeknownst to Adams, Franklin suddenly noticed a group of pretty young ladies strolling in the opposite direction. Not particularly wanting to interrupt Adams' rambling, he decided it would be best to just sneak away. He signaled for his prisoners to follow the women, leaving Adams alone, ranting to himself. "Honestly, if I didn't know better, I might think that the only way to fix this problem would be to send for Mrs. Jefferson. How else are we going to obtain a declaration? Oh, we may obtain one. But I can tell you right now just how well-written it would be: 'We want independence. King George is bad. The end.' I might as well write it myself! But if Mrs. Jefferson were to come…" Adams stopped for a moment to reflect. "If she would come… our problems would be solved, would they not? Oh, but I suppose this is ridiculous. On my measly pension, how could I possibly afford to send for her? No, it's absolutely preposterous. Really, it makes me laugh to think about! Franklin, you must stop me when I start rambling like this. Isn't it an absurd idea, Franklin? Uh…Franklin?" Adams whipped his head in both directions, realizing that he had been abandoned. His immediate reaction was to glance up at the window to assure himself that a source of pure evil in a green coat was not lurking there, laughing at his expense. Thankfully, it was not. He sighed in relief and turned to enter the building. However, he was soon accosted by another source of pure evil, only this time, clad in a bright white frock coat.

"I couldn't help but overhear what you were sayin', Mr. Adams."

"Could you not?" Adams scoffed. "Admit it… You were peeping! Well… in the auditory sense of the word. (Though technically there is no auditory connotation to the word peeping.)"

"Mr. Adams, you were the one screamin' to yourself."

"That's not true! I NEVER scream to myself!"

"You do so practically every day, sir."

Adams was about to protest again, but thought for a moment, perplexed. "I do?"

"Yes. It's usually about independence and all of the new tactics you've contrived in order to convince us to be in accordance with your wishes."

"I scream to myself about independence? I never knew. Although… that does explain how Mr. Dickinson always is somehow prepared to smash all of my new ideas to dust. Anyway, what do you want, Rutledge?"

"Well, I thought, if you'd like, that I may be able to help you with your little problem."

"Ha!" Adams bellowed. "You help me? Very good, Rutledge. You almost amused me."

"I'm perfectly serious, sir. I would be willin' to help you." Adams scrutinized Rutledge's expression, trying to detect any form of sarcasm in it. To his surprise, there was none. "I'm aware that independence will never be a settled issue unless it's one that we've all agreed to. You would never allow it to be any other way. That being said, I think that we could use a declaration free from such phrases as… 'King George is bad.' Do you not concur, Mr. Adams?"

"Oh, yes. I concur. I just do not entirely believe that you do! You spend day after day fighting the cause, stating that we are not ready. Why would you want to assist in the creation of a document that would deliberately state that we are ready? You're contradicting yourself, are you not? Or… I know. There's a reason for you generosity, isn't there? What do you want, Rutledge?" At this, Edward Rutledge's bright white teeth began to gleam in the morning sunlight.

"Mr. Adams, I would like nothing more than this: One uncontested veto on any particular part of the declaration that I deem inappropriate."

"I'm not sure if I understand. You want to assist in the creation of the declaration so that you can veto it?"

"Not the entire thing! As I said, just one particular part that I might not agree with."

"And… if I say no to your little proposition? Then what?"

"Well…" Rutledge muttered with a nonchalant shrug. "I suppose you'll have to depend on the others' generosity. Maybe you should ask Mr. Dickinson if he would be willing to help you!" Rutledge was about to walk up the steps when Adams summoned him back frantically.

"Are you saying that, if I am willing to agree to your idea, you would vote for independence, provided that you receive your veto?"

"You have my honorable word, Mr. Adams." Adams was not entirely certain just how honorable Rutledge's word might be, but it was too great an offer for him to ignore. "Have you decided, sir? Or, upon observin' your continued silence, should I just assume that the deal is not to your likin'?"

Adams swallowed with great difficulty, realization of what he was about to do striking him like a lightning bolt. Unable to muster up words, he simply held out his hand. Rutledge grinned once more and gave it a firm shake. Adams closed his eyes in anxiety and wiped the sweat from his brow with his handkerchief. "Wait!" Adams cried out. Rutledge turned back, puzzled. "I feel the need to clarify something. When you spoke of an 'uncontested veto'… you're not planning on vetoing independence itself, are you?" Rutledge burst out laughing and went up the stairs, shaking his head. Adams stared up at him as he disappeared, expectantly. He groaned to himself disapprovingly. "He didn't answer me. That is a bad omen."