The colonel’s jaw tensed and he frowned, as if there was much he wished to say but couldn’t. “You speak with passion, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Pray do not forget that I am a Schuyler, sir,” I declared fervently. “I know the cost of liberty, and victory besides.”
He cocked a single brow with interest. “Those are brave words for a lady.”
“Brave words born of truth, Colonel,” I said, “and from what I have witnessed. Ill and in pain, my father insisted on his duties where others would have taken to their beds. When all others were fleeing Saratoga and the coming British, my mother bravely went toward them, to our farms and property there. With her own hand she set fire to the entire season’s crops, acres of wheat and corn, to keep from feeding the enemy. Still, General Burgoyne and his officers commandeered our house in Saratoga as their own, and when they had drunk all my father’s brandy and plundered my mother’s goods, they burned our house, our barns, our mills to the ground for sport before they surrendered to General Gates.”
It had been a shocking, sorrowful day when the news of that destruction had reached us. Our family had spent more time in that house in Saratoga than this one here in Albany, and I’d only but the sweetest memories of sleeping with our bedchamber windows open in the summer. I’d hear the breeze in the trees, and gathered berries in the fields, and danced with my sisters out of doors beneath the stars. Now that home and the trees and the berry fields were burned and blackened by war and my father’s name cast into disgrace, and with it all had gone much of my childhood innocence, too.
Yet the colonel said nothing in return, and I feared I’d prattled on too much. Many other families had lost their homes to the British, and most did not have a second house in which to live, as we did. Doubtless I sounded spoiled and indulged, a rich man’s daughter and nothing more. I tried to smile, tried to explain, tried to make light of what still hurt.
“There was an old tabby-cat at the house who always slept with me on my bed,” I said foolishly, unable to help myself. “Her name was Sally, and she had only one eye and a crooked tail, but she was the sweetest cat. The servants told me that one of the officers thought she was an ugly nuisance in the house, and had her thrown into the river to drown. And when afterward those same Englishmen—Burgoyne and his men—came to stay here in this house for ten days as prisoners-of-war, Papa obliged us to be as gracious to them as we would to any guest. He called it the fortunes of war, and said we must do it for the sake of liberty. Yet each time I dined with the English officers, or sang songs for them, all I could wonder was which one of them had drowned poor Sally in the river.”
I bowed my head, looking down at the ivory fan in my hand. I’d only made things worse, not better, and I blushed again from misery.
But the colonel wasn’t laughing at me. “Nothing about this war is easy.”
“Not for you,” I said ruefully. “You risk your life in battle, while I weep over a cat.”
“No,” he said firmly, so firmly that it startled me. “It’s not the cat alone that is causing you distress, is it?”
Taken aback, I shook my head warily, unsure of what he intended. “I don’t see what—”
“But you do, Miss Elizabeth.” There was a fresh intensity to his expression. “None of us can deny that this war has turned all our lives upside down. The old dreams of our future are gone. Nothing is as it was, and nothing is the way we’d always expected it would be. But this new country that we have claimed as our own will be better, braver, more glorious than anything the world has dared imagine.”
Other officers, including my father, spoke of the war in droning, practical terms of cannons and maneuvers, casualties and regiments. But none of them spoke like this, about dreams and glory, nor with this fervor. I understood now why Papa had been so intrigued with the colonel’s conversation at dinner: his manner was that exciting, and contagious, too.
He leaned toward me, a fierceness in his blue eyes. Although I knew I should step back and away from him, the way I should with any man who was too forward with me, I didn’t. Despite the fact that the rest of my family and our guests were not ten feet from us in the drawing room, my conversation with Colonel Hamilton had made me forget them all, and turned this window corner into a place so private that we might have stood in another house entirely.
“I knew from the first that you understood, Miss Elizabeth,” he continued, lowering his voice like a conspirator. “I heard it in your speech, and see it in your face now. You understand the sacred rights of mankind, and perceive the injustice of how those rights have been taken from us. You crave liberty, and have no more patience with injustice or tyranny than I.”
“I do, Colonel Hamilton,” I said, pleased that he’d imbued me with such patriotic qualities instead of flattering me with compliments on my eyes or my complexion, the way most gentlemen would. “But I also know that these dreams and glories exact a terrible price.”
He nodded solemnly. “They do indeed. That is why each time I am called to battle, I accept that ‘Liberty or Death’ is no empty, vainglorious slogan for me. If I die, I do so knowing that I have helped secure our country’s dearest freedoms.”
“How terribly melancholy!” I exclaimed. “A most noble sentiment, but consider how your loss would affect your poor mother, your sisters.”
“I am quite without family, Miss Elizabeth, or even a true home of my own,” he confessed. “My father left my mother at an early age on the Caribbean island of Nevis, and after she died I came alone to New York for my studies. I can be that most perfect soldier, free to sacrifice myself without thought of those I must leave behind.”
I shook my head, unable to accept his grim explanation. Surrounded as I had always been by my own large and loving family, I couldn’t conceive of being so utterly alone in the world.
“I–I shall add you to my prayers, Colonel Hamilton,” I said. “I’ll pray for your safe delivery in battle, and for God’s blessings upon you as you triumph over our enemies.”
“I am honored by your kindness,” he said gravely, and bowed as gracefully as any French courtier might. “I cannot think of anything that would give me greater pleasure, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Eliza,” I said impulsively. “My friends call me Eliza.”
“Then I shall call you Betsey, to set myself apart from your other friends.” He smiled again, and added a disarming little nod that made me smile in return. “Now that you’ve honored me once again with a pledge of friendship, Betsey, I shall remain always in your debt.”
Too late I realized I shouldn’t have smiled with such encouragement, or let him misinterpret my good wishes. I hadn’t intended to pledge friendship, and no lady ever wished to have a gentleman in her debt. But before I could demur, my sister Peggy suddenly appeared, popping up like a sprite beside Colonel Hamilton.
“Mamma wishes you to come bid good night to our guests, Eliza,” she said pointedly, seizing me by the arm to make sure I understood. Which of course I did: I’d been too long alone in the colonel’s company, and Mamma—or worse, Papa—had noticed. “Pray excuse us, Colonel.”
She didn’t wait for me to speak, instead pulling me forcibly away from him and from the room. As soon as we were in the hall, I shook my arm free of her grasp.
“I don’t require you to yoke yourself to me like that, Peggy,” I said crossly. I followed her—not willingly, but because I knew I must. “That was rude of you, and you know it.”
Peggy pursed her lips and raised her brows, a face full of smugness that I never liked to see.
“Then you can tell that to Mamma and Papa,” she said. “I was only obeying their wishes, which is more than you were doing.”
“I was doing nothing wrong,” I said defensively, though I knew that wasn’t quite true. “I was discussing the war with Colonel Hamilton.”
Peggy made that face again, but by now we were in the front hall, and I slipped into my place beside my mother. One by one, carriages were drawing up before our h
ouse and our guests were taking their leave. As usual, my parents bid each of them farewell in turn, with many promises of good wishes and returning calls.
Last of all came Colonel Hamilton. I didn’t note what he said to my parents, because I was concentrating so hard on saying nothing foolish myself.
“Good night, Colonel Hamilton,” I murmured, all I dared say as I dipped a slight curtsey.
“Good evening, Miss Elizabeth,” he said. He bowed, and moved on to thank my mother.
And that was all. Four words, my full name, and perfect propriety. I should have been relieved (if, in honesty, a bit disappointed), except for how he looked at me as he spoke. His eyes crinkled at the corners and the slightest of smiles played upon his lips, as if together we shared the greatest, most amusing secret in the world. It was only there for the instant that he stood before me, and gone before he’d turned to my mother. Even as I hoped no one else had taken notice, I smiled swiftly in return, unable to help myself.
Soon afterward, one of the footmen closed the door behind the colonel, the last guest of the evening. At once my mother began giving brisk orders to the servants so that the house would be put back to order, while my father tested the lock on the front door, the way he did every night before retiring. Peggy turned to climb the stairs to bed and I began to follow, believing I’d escaped.
I hadn’t.
“Eliza, a moment,” Papa said, and reluctantly I paused. Peggy stopped, too, eager to listen, but a curt nod from Papa sent her on her way up the stairs and out of hearing.
I turned to face him, my hand on the twisting newel post. Because I remained standing on the bottom step, we were nearly eye to eye.
“Colonel Hamilton is an agreeable young gentleman, isn’t he?” he said.
“Yes, Papa,” I said warily.
“A young man with great promise,” Papa continued. “Intelligent, perceptive. Resourceful and persistent, too, to hear His Excellency tell it.”
I nodded, wishing for all the world that I’d been able to flee upstairs with my sister.
“You appeared to enjoy Colonel Hamilton’s company, Eliza,” he said, not a rebuke, but a statement. “He’s a charming fellow, is he not?”
“He is,” I agreed uneasily. Papa had never been one for guile or trickery, but I couldn’t see where all this was leading us. “We spoke of the war.”
Papa smiled. “I expected so,” he said, “for war is much on his mind, as it would be for any officer. Although speaking of war is hardly the way for a gentleman to win a lovely young miss.”
“He wasn’t trying to win me, Papa,” I said, rankling a bit at that “lovely young miss.” Among the three of us sisters, Peggy was the beautiful one and Angelica the most clever. I was somewhere in the middle, exactly where I’d been born, pretty enough and clever enough. But Papa insisted on praising my appearance whenever he’d the chance, as if repetition were sufficient to make me over into Venus herself. He meant well, I know—he always did—but still I wished he’d recognize my other qualities, too, the ones my sisters didn’t possess, such as how well I could ride a horse, or how skilled I’d become at managing the household affairs with Mamma.
“Gentlemen don’t always make their intentions apparent at first,” Papa continued. “I saw the attention he paid toward you.”
How many times this night had I blushed? “I assure you, Papa, that our conversation was entirely innocent of—of any intention.”
Papa’s smile faded. “I am glad of that,” he said more seriously. “I wouldn’t want you to consider an attachment to him.”
“Oh, Papa!” I exclaimed with dismay, my cheeks growing warmer still. “After a single conversation?”
“I am serious, Elizabeth,” Papa said. “Colonel Hamilton is a young officer with much to recommend him. I liked him very much. He is entirely devoted to the cause and to this country. Perhaps too devoted. According to His Excellency, the colonel is brave to the point of being reckless in battle—the first to engage and the last to leave the fray.”
Sadly, I couldn’t argue with Papa, not after all Colonel Hamilton had said to me earlier. Liberty or death, indeed.
“I’ve seen it before in other young officers,” Papa continued, “and to my sorrow I’m certain I shall see it again. While courageous, even admirable, such men do not have long lives as soldiers. He’ll return to Pennsylvania tomorrow, and I fear that will be the last we’ll see of him. I would be surprised if he survives to his next birthday.”
“Yes, Papa,” I agreed softly. I wished that what he’d said wasn’t true, and I wished even more that we all lived in different, more peaceful times.
“Yes.” There was sadness and regret in Papa’s face as he doubtless remembered all those other brave young soldiers, now lost, who’d served with him. “You can understand why I caution against him, Elizabeth. There are plenty of other young gentlemen in the world for you. Perhaps they may appear less dashing or less handsome, but they will be steady by your side, and love you more than glory or fame. That’s what matters most. It’s late now. Time for you to find your bed.”
He kissed me on the forehead, and added a fond pat to my shoulder as I turned and slowly climbed the stairs. He was a wise man, my father, and wanted only the best for me. I knew that. I was always grateful for his wisdom and guidance, as any daughter would be. He’d been right: most likely I would never again meet Colonel Hamilton in this life. Forgetting him should be easy enough, just as he would forget me.
But still, I added him to my prayers that night, exactly as I’d promised, and as I drifted to sleep I thought of how he’d smiled when he’d called me Betsey. . . .
CHAPTER 2
Morristown, New Jersey
January 1780
I think every family must have a habitual matchmaker—a sister, aunt, or grandmother (for of course matchmakers are by nature female) who devotes her every waking minute to contriving the perfect pairings for those she loves best.
In our family, the title belonged to my aunt Gertrude Cochran, my father’s sister. She was herself happily wed to an amiable and well-respected physician, Dr. John Cochran, who was currently serving not only as the personal physician to General Washington, but also as Surgeon General of the Middle Department, as appointed by Congress. In her way, my aunt was serving, too, traveling with her husband wherever the army might take them. Most recently they had settled in to winter headquarters in the town of Morristown, in New Jersey, not far from the city of New York.
From my aunt’s letters, this was not nearly as odious—or arduous—as one might think. While my mother had shuddered and feared that Aunt Gertrude must be huddled against the winter winds in some mean tent, in truth she and Dr. Cochran had been granted a pleasant house with every convenience for their use. They were situated not far from His Excellency’s headquarters, and were often invited there to dine and share in other entertainments. I’d several friends who were already in Morristown, too, ladies who were staying with relations and happily being courted by at least a half dozen gentlemen. It all sounded quite merry, and my aunt wrote long letters describing assemblies, suppers, and musicales, all attended by gallant young officers.
If her letters were contrived to make me envy her situation, they achieved that goal. Over the last months, the major conflicts of the war had shifted from the northern states to the south, and while this brought more security for my family, it also meant there were fewer and fewer visitors both to our house and to Albany. Last April, my father had finally been exonerated of any wrongdoing in the court-martial he’d requested, but even so, he’d resigned his commission, left the army, and once again taken his place as a delegate to the Continental Congress in Philadelphia. No longer did officers, gallant or otherwise, come to call at our house, and Peggy and I both chafed at the lack of gentlemanly company. When Aunt Gertrude wrote to invite me in December to visit her in Morristown, I nearly leapt at the offer.
In perfect fairness, I must add that there was one more enticement to
my aunt’s invitation. Among the dozens of officers she’d mentioned in her letter, one name had stood out as sharply as if it had been doubly inked: Colonel Alexander Hamilton. Whether because of my prayers on his behalf, God’s grace, or the colonel’s own innate good fortune, he was not only still alive, but prospering as a trusted member of General Washington’s staff—the General’s Family, as it was called—in Morristown.
During the two years since the colonel had called at our house, there had been no further words shared between us other than the ones I have described here. We’d exchanged no letters, nor sent messages through others. I knew better than to behave so boldly, and besides, I was sure he’d far more demanding things to do for the sake of the army and the war. He’d become a hero of numerous battles, decorated and lauded for his bravery, daring, and resourcefulness under fire. And yet as soon as Colonel Hamilton had learned of my aunt’s connection to me, he’d asked at once for her to relay his regards, and his fond memories of our only meeting.
She’d done so in her very next letter to me, and had in all the letters that followed. Further, she’d added so much praise for the colonel—his wit, his courage, his handsome face and form—that I’d blushed at her audacity. Aunt Gertrude was not only a habitual matchmaker; she was a brazen one, too.
I was flattered. I was intrigued. I’ll admit to nothing more, even now. I was by nature more practical than many ladies, and I didn’t believe in the kind of instantaneous love that poets praised. I had liked Colonel Hamilton, and I’d thought often of him, and yes, I’d kept him in my prayers each night for the past two years. Apparently, he had liked me, too, at least well enough to confess it to my aunt. Now, in Morristown, he and I could discover where that affinity might lead us.
To my great surprise, my parents were nearly as eager as I for me to join my aunt—so eager that I suspected Aunt Gertrude had shared her schemes for me and Colonel Hamilton with them as well. The favorable impression that my father had first formed of the colonel had continued to grow with reports of his diplomacy and intelligence from General Washington himself, reports that balanced the more frivolous praises from my aunt. The colonel had become the general’s most skilled aide, and his most trusted as well. Whatever my parents’ reasoning, they agreed that I should go, and when Papa departed Albany to return to Philadelphia soon after Twelfth Night, I traveled south in his company, with the plan that I would be left off in Morristown.
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