I, Eliza Hamilton. Susan Holloway Scott
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of battle and dying have been the same since the ancients, and it’s no different here at Morristown.”
I listened reluctantly, and realized that she was most likely right. Now that I was here at the site of the encampment, I did need to be less blind as to the lives of soldiers, and perhaps to those of men in general. I’d always prided myself on being practical, and there could be no more practical thinking than this. Surely my mother would have agreed. I’d never seen her flinch from the less pleasant realities of life, and she was as perfect a lady as was imaginable. She’d always followed the army with my father, sometimes into the very face of the enemy, and I suspected she’d witnessed far worse things than mere “whoring.”
But I myself was young in experience, and still didn’t quite wish to tarnish the golden gleam of near-perfection that I’d granted Alexander. I raised my chin a stubborn fraction higher, determined to be as forthright and direct as my aunt.
“Forgive me, Aunt Gertrude, but I do not see the sense to this,” I said, striving to sound reasonable and not petulant. “If the colonel is as much a—a rogue as you say, then I should think that a dull evening here would send him directly back to his—his—baser pursuits, and we’ll never see him here again.”
“If it does, Eliza, then you are well rid of him,” my aunt said. “If he is that easily discouraged, then you’ll know the measure of his character, and you will do well to begin looking elsewhere. He must prove himself worthy of your company, and that he is ready to put aside his bachelor’s pursuits for your sake. You are the prize, Eliza, not the colonel, and you must not forget it.”
“But how can I—”
“Hush, and listen,” she said. “In addition to your own delightful person, you will bring all the Schuyler family’s wealth, influence, and resources with you to your bridegroom. All Colonel Hamilton has to offer is his own promise. Your father agrees with me in this, too. Oh, I know he is impressed with Colonel Hamilton because General Washington holds him in high esteem, but not so far that he’d ignore propriety where you are concerned.”
“It’s not a question of propriety,” I began, even though I knew that’s exactly what it was. “I’m not a child, Aunt.”
“No, you are not,” she agreed, her voice as even now as it had been at the beginning of our conversation. “For if you were a child and not a young woman of marriageable age, then none of this would be a consideration. Good night, Eliza, and sleep well.”
I’d no choice but to retire to my bed in despair, convinced my aunt’s heavy-handed plan had ruined my future. The next day we made more calls together, visiting other officers’ wives who had come to the encampment to be with their husbands, and I presented the letters of introduction from my father to several of his army acquaintances, including the Prussian General von Steuben. We passed many officers and soldiers, but not the one I most longed to see. Was it mere coincidence, I wondered anxiously, or was Aunt Gertrude’s grim prediction already coming true? Although neither she nor I mentioned the colonel again, he loomed over the day like a silent presence, always in my thoughts if not in my conversation.
Yet to my amazement (and relief), he called at the Campfield house again that evening, and the evening after that as well, proving my fears unfounded. He endured every one of my aunt’s trials with good humor and grace, and certainly more than I did. Each night we were permitted to exchange a few more sentences, a few more smiles, a few more glances that seemed to express so much more than words alone. As much as I chafed under my aunt’s restrictions, Alexander’s persistence pleased me, and I felt honored by it.
Perhaps he truly did consider me the prize that everyone claimed I was. Perhaps he was as ready as I for marriage, and lasting love. With the innocence of my situation, it all seemed very easy, and very romantic, too. He was charming, and for the first time in my life, I was eager to be charmed.
* * *
“I do believe it’s going to snow again.” My aunt glowered upward at the heavy gray clouds gathering overhead, as if a doleful look would be enough to change the weather. “Haven’t we had enough for one winter?”
“We’ll be back at Dr. Campfield’s house before it amounts to anything,” I said, likewise looking upward. Cold as it was, I didn’t mind. I’d spent too much time this winter trapped drowsing beside the fire, and I relished this opportunity to be out of doors, to walk briskly across the small town and breathe deep of the clear, cold air.
Although my uncle was the surgeon, not my aunt, she still would consult him for a friend with aching joints, or a neighbor’s child with a rheumy eye, and if the remedy to the affliction were a simple one, she’d carry it herself. Colonel Eckford’s wife had been plagued by a persistent cough, and earlier this afternoon my aunt had brought her a soothing tisane to ease her discomfort. While the two of them had talked, I’d amused the three Eckford children, singing nonsense songs and dandling the littlest on my knee.
“Snow or not, aunt, you must admit that the days are growing longer,” I said. “Little by little, and soon enough it will be spring.”
But my aunt only sniffed loudly, daubing at her nose with the handkerchief she’d pulled from inside her muff.
“Spring, indeed,” she scoffed, pausing before the window of a small shop. “You are ever the optimist, Eliza, aren’t you? I wonder if this shopkeeper has any dark thread left in his stock. Your uncle promised he’d try to send for some from New York as soon as he could, but in the meantime the buttons keep popping willy-nilly from his waistcoat.”
“Miss Elizabeth!”
I knew that voice, and I knew its owner. Swiftly I turned just as Alexander came striding across the street toward me, dodging a horse-drawn sledge in his haste.
Could there be a more welcome surprise? I’d grown so accustomed to seeing him by the firelight that he dazzled me here, even on this gray day. His dark blue cloak billowed around his shoulders in the breeze, and the same breeze made the white silk cockade on his black hat flutter like an out-of-season butterfly. Because his face was ruddy with the cold, his eyes were even more blue by contrast, and his smile—ah, his smile would have melted every last flake of snow in Morristown.
“Miss Elizabeth, good day,” he said formally, bowing to me and touching his hat just below the cockade, then making the same salute to my aunt. “Mrs. Cochran, madam. How fortuitous that I find you here! I was just on my way to Dr. Campfield’s house with this.”
He pulled a letter from inside his waistcoat and handed it to me. I didn’t open it, but held it in my gloved fingers: a single sheet, folded and sealed with dark green wax. Part of me wished to prolong the delight of receiving a letter from him (letters from gentlemen, especially from gentlemen like him, being a rarity for me), while another part of me feared the worst, and dreaded reading whatever ill news the letter might contain. I smiled still, but I could feel the uncertainty in the curve of my lips.
“I regret that because of my duties, I won’t be able to attend you this evening,” he said. “His Excellency is giving a dinner for several visiting dignitaries, and my attendance is required. I didn’t wish you to worry when I didn’t come.”
To my surprise, his smile was tinged with uncertainty, too, though I couldn’t fathom what should make him so.
“I wouldn’t have worried,” I said quickly. I meant to put him at his ease, but as soon as I’d spoken, I realized how flippant my words sounded, as if I wouldn’t have worried because I wouldn’t have cared—and that was very far from the truth.
I glanced downward, both from embarrassment and to compose my thoughts.
“That is, if you did not come, I would have guessed His Excellency had made some urgent demand upon your services,” I said. “I would have understood, for your service to him is far more important, but I would also have been disappointed not to see you.”
His smile widened, and the hint of uncertainty fell away from his face. “Would you?”
“I would,” I