I, Eliza Hamilton. Susan Holloway Scott
Читать онлайн книгу.
Betsey, and replace my sword forever with a pen,” he said. “There is a sense of protection to the position, of obligation, which I find eminently distasteful. How can I be considered a soldier? Each day that I am chained to my clerk’s desk is another that questions my courage, my valor, my dedication to risk everything for the cause.”
This, too, I’d witnessed before. Alexander was a gifted speaker, and once he fair had his teeth into an argument, he could worry it like a tenacious (but eloquent) bulldog for hours at a time. His skill with words was a wondrous gift and one that left me in awe. But beneath my cloak tonight I was dressed for a ball, not an out of doors declamation beneath the stars, and I needed to steer him gently toward a less furious course before my teeth began to chatter.
“His Excellency knows you’re not a coward,” I said, tucking my hands beneath my arms to warm them. “Your record in battle has already proven your courage. But there are no battles to be fought by anyone in the winter season, and—”
“There are in Georgia, in Carolina,” he said, the words coming out as terse small clouds in the cold air. “Laurens has written me of brisk and mortal encounters with the enemy.”
I sighed again. John Laurens was another lieutenant colonel and former aide-de-camp, and Alexander’s dearest friend in the army. Laurens had left the General’s Family before I’d arrived, but I felt as if I knew him from Alexander’s descriptions of his friend’s character, handsomeness, and daring; he’d also been born to wealth and privilege as the son of the wealthiest man in South Carolina, accidents of fate that greatly impressed Alexander. His fondest reminiscences of Laurens, however, involved hard-fought battles, gruesome wounds, swimming rivers under enemy fire, and having horses shot from beneath them. These tales I found terrifying, even though I understood from Papa that this was how soldiers behaved during wartime. Little wonder that I also believed—though I’d never say so—that Colonel Laurens was responsible for much of Alexander’s restlessness.
“You’ve told me before that those are random skirmishes,” I said as patiently as I could. “Colonel Laurens admits that himself, does he not?”
He grumbled, wordless discontent. “He does, on occasion.”
“And you’ve said yourself that they’re risky ventures,” I continued, “and of no lasting value to the cause.”
He paused his pacing again, and tipped his head to one side to look at me. The moonlight caught the curl of his hair beneath the brim of his hat, like a flame against the dusky sky.
“Not when compared to larger, more organized campaigns, no,” he admitted, finally sounding a fraction more reasonable. “Yet every action, large or small, has its use in deciding a final victory.”
“But even the general accepts that there is a season for battle, and a season for rest.” I kept my voice logical yet soothing, too, knowing from experience that was what would calm him. “The letters you now write for the general, the plans you make for the army for the spring on his behalf, are far more important than any random encounter in the Carolina wilderness.”
“But there’s no glory in it, Betsey,” he said, his earlier impatience now fading into a sadness that touched my heart. “You know I’m a poor man, without family or fortune. I’ve made no secret of that with you.”
“But consider how far you have come on your own,” I said, “and how much you have already achieved.”
“It’s scarcely a beginning,” he said. “I need to make my name for myself now, during the war, and that I can’t do scrivening away at a desk. I cannot gain any measure of fame unless I return to the battlefield, and yet because I have no familial influence of my own, I will never be advanced to a higher command.”
“You have friends,” I said softly, trying not to think of what Kitty had told me earlier. “Important friends, in the army and in Congress. Friends who appreciate your talents, and regard you as you deserve. All will come to you in time. I’m sure of that.”
“In time, in time, in time,” he repeated in despondent singsong. “What if I can’t wait, Betsey? What if you can’t? I want to be worthy of you, and yet I have nothing of any value to offer you.”
“Oh, Alexander,” I said. “You have so very much to offer to me! You’re brave and honorable and kind and clever, with a hundred other qualities besides. You have grand ideas and dreams that only you have the power to make real. You could never raise your sword against the enemy again, and still I’d be the one who wasn’t worthy of you.”
“My dear Betsey.” He smiled, a weary smile, yes, but a smile nonetheless. “No wonder you’ve become so dear to me, and so indispensable, too. I do not think I could bear this winter without you. You’re my very Juno, filled with the wisest counsel, combined with the beauty of Venus herself.”
“You say such things.” I smiled, too, but uncertainly. I knew he’d just paid me a compliment, but unlike Angelica, I’d no aptitude for scholarly endeavors, and I was never quite sure what he meant when he spoke of ancient goddesses.
“I do indeed,” he said, finally coming to stand close to me. “And you are cold, aren’t you? Let me warm you.” He wrapped his arms around me and drew me close, folding me inside the dark wings of his heavy wool greatcoat. I went to him and snugged next to his chest as if I’d found my true home. I felt safe and protected with his arms around me and my cheek against his chest, and so contented that I could not keep back an unconscious sigh of pure joy.
He chuckled, and drew me closer. “Sweet girl,” he said. “You thought you’d come here to dance, not to shiver in the moonlight with me.”
I tipped my head back to see his face. I’d been so occupied with our conversation that I’d nearly forgotten about the dance, and with his reminder I was again aware of the music coming faintly from the assembly within the storehouse. The minuet was long past done. What I heard now was an allemande, and I wondered how many other dances had been danced since we’d left the assembly. By now our absence must have been noted—I doubt I’d ever escape Kitty’s sharp eyes—but I didn’t care. This time alone with him was worth any price.
“I’ve never seen a moon such as this,” I said breathlessly, turning a bit in his arms to better see the sky. “It’s like magic, isn’t it? A full moon wrought from silver, there in the sky.”
His hands had settled familiarly around my waist above the whalebone arc of my hoops, and just that slight pressure of his palms against my sides was making my heart beat faster.
“You should see how the moon glows in the sky over Nevis,” he said. “There’s no magic involved, but a phenomenon caused by the island being so close to the equator. It’s every bit as bright as this, with the brilliance reflected and magnified by the sea below it.”
“Truly?” I said, trying to imagine what he described. “You make it sound very beautiful.”
“Oh, it is,” he assured me, but the way he said it made me think perhaps it wasn’t. “A sight worthy of the finest poets.”
He fell quiet, gazing up at the moon. He almost never mentioned the island where he’d been born, and I longed to know his thoughts.
“Does this make you wish to return home?” I asked. “The moon, I mean.”
“Nevis is no longer my home,” he said bluntly, “and I never wish to return. If I’d remained there, I would by now be dead. It’s the way of that place.”
The sadness in his voice was heartbreaking. “But you’re here now,” I said. “Beneath an American moon, not a Nevis one.” I turned around to face him again, and placed my palms lightly on his chest. My right hand rested over his heart, something I didn’t realize until after I’d done it.
“You shall do wonderful things, Alexander,” I said fiercely, gazing up at him. “I’m sure of it. You are a man born to do great things. I only pray that I’ll be there to see you do them.”
Suddenly