Alex and Eliza--A Love Story

by Melissa de la Cruz

  “Over there by the fireplace,” Eliza said with immediate confidence. “The room is sufficiently warm that the men won’t be chilled when they remove their jackets, and there are extra chairs, which I shall need.”

  Peggy held the supplies basket while Angelica looked around with an unimpressed air.

  “May I?” Angelica sat herself down on the nearest chair. Peggy followed suit and moved to unload the supplies in the basket.

  “Stop, Sister! Germs! Germs!” Eliza blanched. “First clear the table for our equipment. Nothing must touch the floor.”

  Angelica was taken aback by her middle sister’s bold new confidence in this strange arena. Clearly in the brief time she had been away from Albany, she had taken on some impressive new strength, but then Eliza had always been the quickest study of the three of them. Angelica turned to Peggy, who was staring openmouthed at Eliza.

  “Well, what are you waiting for, Peggy? You heard Sister. Put the basket on a chair and help me clear this table for her. She’s got important work to do!”

  Corporal Weston glanced nervously at the basket and gave it a wide berth as he headed for the door. Eliza thought him a bit dim. His companion looked equally skittish and made to follow his friend, but Eliza stopped him.

  “Larpent, isn’t it?” Eliza spoke briskly. “The building is not so large that it will take two of you to gather everyone, Mr. Larpent, so why don’t we start with you? Peggy, fetch me a pitcher of water from the kitchen.”

  Larpent glanced desperately at Weston, but his friend was making a grand show out of leading Peggy to the kitchen, despite the fact that she had just walked through it.

  “Of course, Miss Schuyler,” Larpent said in a resigned voice. “What should I do?”

  “You need do nothing but remove your jacket, roll up your left sleeve, and have a seat here.”

  Larpent took off his jacket, unbuttoned the lace flounce from his cuff, and began to roll up the sleeve.

  “Is there any reason why it’s the left arm?”

  “The procedure will cause a slight rash that can make writing a bit uncomfortable.”

  “And suppose I am left-handed? Oh, well, it’s a pity. Perhaps I’ll come back another day.” Larpent jumped up in relief.

  Eliza grabbed his sleeve. “Please relax, Mr. Larpent. The treatment is just as effective on the right arm as the left.”

  Larpent sat down. “It doesn’t matter,” he said dejectedly. “I’m not actually left-handed.”

  “Mr. Larpent!” Eliza said with a laugh. “Are you nervous about the procedure? I assure, there’s nothing to worry about. I have had it myself, along with my entire family, including my seven-year-old brother, and both of my sisters.”

  “A remarkably courageous act for such a young boy,” said Angelica. “Of course, he was holding on to Mama’s petticoats at the time.” She delivered Larpent a tight smile packed full of derision.

  Peggy returned from the kitchen, sloshing water from a full pitcher.

  Eliza began to prepare the paste, measuring conservatively. Though there were only a dozen or so treatments to administer and more than enough medicine, she didn’t’ want to waste any of it. She could feel the young soldier’s nervous eyes on her as she mixed the powder and water. At length he cleared his throat. “I-I’ve heard that the treatment doesn’t work for everyone.”

  “If it doesn’t work, we’ll administer it again.”

  “But how do you know if it doesn’t work?”

  “As I said before, if it takes, there will be a rash, as if you had been exposed to itch ivy.”

  “Will it itch like itch ivy? I had that once when I was a boy and my mother had to sew socks on my hands to keep me from scratching myself to bloody pieces.”

  “I assure you, Mr. Larpent, the pox itches far, far worse.”

  “It’s Lieutenant Larpent, actually.”

  “Of course,” Eliza said. “I apologize. So young to be an officer!”

  Larpent shrugged. “It doesn’t mean much in a new army. They hand out ranks like apples in October around here. There are even colonels my age—Colonel Hamilton for one—but he earned it the hard way, didn’t he, fighting at Brandywine Creek one year, and the next alongside Washington himself at the Battle of Monmouth.”

  Thrilled to hear Colonel Hamilton’s name come up so naturally in the conversation, Eliza wished he would say more. But Larpent had moved on from the subject and was complaining about the lack of rations.

  “Buck up, Lieutenant Larpent,” said Eliza. “Surely the blockade will be over soon. I’m just happy to be able to do my small part for the cause. Now, if you will extend your arm, please.”

  Larpent gave her his left arm as though she were going to chop off the hand. Eliza grasped it firmly by the forearm and reached for the rake. “This may sting a bit,” she said, and before he could react she dragged the rake across his wrist. Larpent groaned.

  “Lieutenant!” Eliza chided. “It is just a scratch!”

  “It’s not the cut that bothers me,” Larpent said. “It’s just—I’ve heard some people get sick from the treatment.”

  “There will be a rash, as I said, and a light fever—”

  “I’ve heard some people die,” Larpent cut her off.

  “Lieutenant, would it put your mind at ease to know I have just this week given an inoculation to your colonel Hamilton? And not for a moment did he doubt its worth or question its aftereffects. He merely said that if the inoculation was good enough for his general, and good enough for his general’s men, then it was certainly good enough for him. General Washington would be proud of the example of this brave man. Do you not agree, sir, that we are all fighting the same battle?”

  Larpent dropped his chin to his chest. “If you say so, miss, but Colonel Hamilton is awful brave. If there was ever anyone among the officers I admire more than the colonel, it could only be the general.”

  “Brave, is he?” said Angelica, exchanging a look with Peggy. “Pray, tell us more about this brave young colonel.”

  “I heard all about it from the boys, ma’am. Yes, indeed! It was at Monmouth—the day Colonel Hamilton had his horse shot out from under him. With redcoats swarming over the hill, he was charged head-on by a pistol-wielding cavalryman. So what did he do? He stood his ground. He cut the man down with his sword, swung himself into the empty saddle, and galloped away. At least that’s the way it was handed down to me . . .”

  Angelica rolled her eyes. “Ah, so the legend begins!”

  But Eliza was thrilled to hear it, even as she noticed Peggy looked a little green around the gills.

  “Please, Sister, take a seat before you faint. Lieutenant Larpent, I’m afraid our Peggy is not used to such fantastic stories. Why don’t we get on with the less disturbing task of the inoculation treatment, shall we?”

  Eliza was aware of the mortality statistics surrounding the smallpox inoculation and knew there was some truth to what the frightened young fellow was saying. For every hundred inoculations, one or two people did in fact develop full-blown smallpox, sometimes fatally. But given that the fatality rate among uninoculated individuals was thirty times higher, she understood that it was a more than acceptable risk. Still, she was too honorable to lie to the worried young man.

  “Be of good cheer, soldier. You are far, far more likely to die of the pox without this treatment than with it. For that matter, you are more likely to die on the battlefield than from this treatment. Now then—” She laid the poultice over the scratches and wrapped it in place. “It’s in God’s hands now.”

  Larpent blanched.

  “I’m teasing you, Lieutenant,” she said as she knotted the wrapping in place. “Everything will be fine. You’ll be arm wrestling again in no time.”

  16

  Officers and Gentlemen

  Continental Army Headquarters

 
Morristown, New Jersey

  February 1780

  Just as Eliza finished, Corporal Weston returned to the room with eight men. Most were younger than twenty-five, though a couple were older. Eliza scanned the faces eagerly, telling herself she wasn’t looking for one face in particular.

  The officers were surprisingly much more nervous than the enlisted men, and to the degree that Eliza and her sisters could bring themselves to converse with any of them, they gathered that it was because the men had been told just enough about the procedure to fear it and not enough to understand it. A little education, Eliza reckoned, could sometimes be more dangerous than no education at all.

  But Eliza had no time for idle talk. The men were mostly young, and all of them extended chivalry to the point of flirtation. They were besotted with Peggy and intimidated by Angelica. It was clear that they didn’t get to spend much time in the company of females other than dowagers and servants, and all were eager to make them laugh or secure some promise of a future dinner or perhaps even a dance at some point.

  Eliza tried to answer them in kind, but her words were listless. She had to admit it; she was disappointed that Colonel Hamilton wasn’t there. She told herself that she wanted the opportunity to chastise him yet again for his gross assumptions of her imputed behavior two years ago, and to call him out in front of an audience. But that argument was losing steam. More than anything now, she wanted to know what it was about her in the first place that would make a young man think she was capable of such wanton actions and whether those assumptions stood for a more complex affection on Alex’s part, or if it was only a baser emotion at the heart of it.

  She felt a flush spread over her cheeks as, for the hundredth time that week, an image of Alex waiting for her in her father’s hayloft appeared in her mind.

  Just yesterday, she had agreed to let him take her on a sleigh ride, if only to see his horse, Hector, once more. Although as much as she wanted to admit it, she was feeling a welling of affection toward Hector’s master lately as much, if not more, than for Hector himself.

  Her current patient, a Colonel Martins, tried to escape.

  “You look flushed, Miss Schuyler. Please, allow me to fetch you a glass of cold water!”

  Eliza held on to his arm and kept him in his chair.

  “I am quite comfortable, Colonel. Please remain seated until I’ve finished the procedure.”

  She was just administering a final dose to the genially named Lieutenant Colonel Friendly when she heard the door open in the hallway behind her, and a jovial male voice exclaimed:

  “Where is he—that scoundrel, Hamilton! Tell him to come downstairs with his saber drawn! His fate has caught up with him at last!”

  At the sound of Colonel Hamilton’s name, Eliza’s heart tumbled over in her chest in delight.

  “Nope, not here, sir!” said Corporal Weston, getting out of the loud officer’s way.

  Eliza did her best to hide her disappointment once more. She glanced up at the three men still in the room who had come up with excuses for not going to work (or whose rank was high enough that no one could order them to stop flirting with the doctor’s pretty aides). But none of them seemed particularly bothered when a pair of flamboyant figures appeared in the door.

  Both were about Eliza’s age, or a year or two older, and both wore particularly smart uniforms cut from the finest wool. One’s sleeve declared him a lieutenant colonel, while the other was a major general, and it was hard to say which of the men was the more dashing specimen. The general had dark wavy hair combed forward over pale cheeks tinted rosy from the cold. His nose was long and thin and aristocratic, but he smiled in real pleasure when he saw Eliza, who was alone in the room, having sent Angelica and Peggy to search the house to make sure there were no more officers hiding in a cupboard or wardrobe.

  “Well, I have certainly come to the right place today! I just passed two stunning beauties in the hall and now find myself face-to-face with a third! A good day, indeed!”

  The colonel’s features were less refined, the complexion ruddier, but his uniform was, if anything, even more turned out than his companion’s, the blue jacket as crisp as if it had just been ironed, the boots still in high polish, though the officers must have been riding for some time to get here from wherever they were coming from. A few wisps of brown hair showed in his whiskers, but the rest of his hair was freshly powdered. This was a man who cared about how he looked—how others saw him. When he saw Eliza looking at him, he put a hand to his chest and bowed low.

  “I beg your pardon, miss!” he said in a comically loud southern accent. “Had I known there were female presences in this house of fallen men, I would have tied up my companion with the horses outside!”

  “Had you known there were women inside, Laurens,” the general scoffed, “you probably would have slunk around to the back door, to save yourself the embarrassment of being passed over for a man of both higher breeding and higher rank.”

  Laurens! Eliza recognized the name instantly and the southern accent reinforced her thinking. Henry Laurens from South Carolina was the president of the Continental Congress. This must be one of his sons.

  The dark-haired officer’s accent was also intriguing. It was definitely European, but it had a certain aristocratic universality, which made it hard to tell if it was French or Spanish or Italian. Eliza had just decided it was French when the general said, “Allow me to introduce myself, mademoiselle. I am Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, but you may call me Gil—”

  “Or you can just call him Marie, which is what everyone else calls him.” Colonel Laurens cut in, extending his hand with American frankness. “John Laurens,” he said. “A mere three syllables next to my friend’s five and twenty, but what I lack in letters I make up for in charm.”

  Eliza watched this display with increasingly widened eyes. At length she said, “I would shake your hand, but I have smallpox on my fingers.”

  Colonel Laurens couldn’t have jumped back any faster had a cobra come out of her mouth. In half a second he was on the other side of the room, the marquis well on his heels. Eliza burst out laughing.

  The marquis was the first to recover. “I beg your pardon, mademoiselle, but I thought you said smallpox.”

  “I did say smallpox, General.”

  Angelica and Peggy swooped back into the room, empty-handed.

  “It appears word has gotten out”—Angelica sent a scowl in Corporal Weston’s direction—“there’s suddenly not a soul left to be found out there.”

  “You see, General,” said Eliza with a wave of her hand, “my sisters and I are here on an errand of medicine, inoculating the good soldiers of our army against an enemy more fearsome than all the British and Hessian troops.”

  “You girls?” The southern gentleman seemed surprised. “Inoculating our troops?”

  “Every one of them!” replied Eliza. “Why, the man you were calling out for, Colonel Hamilton, just received his yesterday. Would you like to follow in his footsteps?” Eliza smiled her first real smile of the day. There was something immediately likeable about this fellow Laurens.

  Laurens scratched at his arm. “The marquis”—he pronounced it “mar-kwiss” in a mocking tone—“and I had that procedure done some years ago. I commend you for your bravery, but I found the whole affair unnatural and unnerving.”

  “What? You have been inoculated? Then you have nothing to fear.” As she spoke she stood up, motioning to Peggy to begin packing up the supplies. Laurens retreated farther behind a chair.

  “I must take my American friend’s side in this matter. If God had not wanted us to catch smallpox, he would not have made it in the first place,” said Lafayette.

  Angelica had finished packing and made to leave the room, but could no longer hold her tongue. “That is the most absurd statement I have ever heard! The Lord presen
ts us with trials so that we may use our God-given gifts to overcome them, not to give in to them. By your logic we would all be naked and living in caves—a condition that I am sure Colonel Laurens would find not at all appealing.”

  “Touché, mademoiselle! You are quite correct.” The marquis snickered more at her than with her. He gave her a frank, appraising look that started at the top of her head and landed at her toes. Angelica smiled to herself as she scooped up the last of the supplies and laid them in the basket.

  “Peggy, it is high time we left here. Eliza can join us back at Aunt Gertrude’s after she finishes her duties with these gentlemen.”

  Eliza didn’t understand why Angelica was rushing Peggy off—neither did Peggy, apparently, judging by the confused expression on her face. Then her older sister caught Eliza’s eye with a wink and a nod in the direction of the charming Colonel Laurens, and Eliza realized: Angelica was playing matchmaker!

  “Forgive my friend’s lack of faith in your brave efforts,” the marquis called to Angelica and Peggy as they headed out of the room. “Our Laurens is full of hubris. Indeed, I have discovered vanity to be endemic among southern men.”

  “Said the man who goes on campaign with three servants, two jewelry boxes, and wears knickers lined with mink,” Laurens teased.

  Angelica smirked. “Good day, gentlemen,” she said, as she pivoted on her shoe and left the room, Peggy right behind her.

  The marquis’s legs squeezed tightly together. “Mon Dieu! I see your northern winters are as blasted cold as your women!”

  “They are not my northern winters,” Laurens said, laughing. “I would give anything to be home in Carolina right now. But at least there is something here to relieve the cold. And, since the mar-kwiss has, despite his many names and titles, failed to ask, may I inquire as to your name, mademoiselle?”

  “Unlike you, Colonel Laurens, I value my name highly, and don’t just hand it out to any lieutenant colonel or major general who asks, even if one of them is a mar-kwiss. So, what will you give me if I tell you my name?”