There remained another obstacle that to most men would have been insurmountable, but was only a passing challenge to Alexander. He had never formally studied the law while a student at King’s College before the war. But he had read voraciously on his own, and had learned more of British law than many other so-called scholars. Instead of relying on a lengthy apprenticeship with an established lawyer, he decided he could learn better and faster on his own. This was confidence, not arrogance, and I didn’t doubt he’d do it.
Throughout the rest of the winter and into the spring, he toiled many hours each day, reading and taking notes. He was often awake, dressed, and at work before I awoke, and I always retired to bed before he was done, a pattern that continued throughout our marriage. There was no rich library in Albany such as he’d had at King’s College; instead he relied upon the books in my father’s collection, and those in the private law library of James Duane, a well-respected lawyer and jurist, and an old acquaintance of Alexander’s from his early days in New York City.
Also making use of my father’s books was Colonel Burr, pursuing the same profession as Alexander. Occasionally I would pass him in the hall, or he would dine with us by Papa’s invitation, and he was always cordial enough, even charming, to me. But I could never entirely forget what Alexander had told me about his intrigue with Mrs. Provost, and it made me uncomfortable in his company. Mrs. Provost’s husband had since died in the Caribbean, and she now was a widow. Colonel Burr was expected to marry her, which, I suppose, would make her position more honest, if not honorable. And once when the colonel saw Alexander with me and Philip, he’d smiled, and praised him for a superior child. That sweetened my impression of him considerably, as it would with any mother.
My sister Angelica, however, didn’t trust him. “Have you noticed how little Colonel Burr speaks of himself?” she said after they’d met during one of her visits. “He smiles and asks many questions and practices his wit most admirably, but he never speaks anything of substance. It’s remarkable, really.”
I frowned, thinking. “He has always seemed to be pleasant company.”
“Which is exactly what he wishes you to think,” she said, nodding sagely. “I imagine he’s the very devil with women. You can tell from his eyes. He’d flatter a woman to agreeable distraction, and then be under her petticoats before she realized it.”
I laughed, for my sister was every bit as accomplished at flattering gentlemen to agreeable distraction, though of course without the same consequences. Lately, however, she’d other matters on her mind. During her visit, she had announced that her husband Mr. Carter was now to be called Mr. John Barker Church, his true name. Apparently the rumors that had always followed him about a fatal duel had been true, and he had in fact shot a Member of Parliament some years before, precipitating his hasty departure from London and the assumption of a false name once he’d reached our shores.
But now he’d learned that the man had only been wounded and had fully recovered, and any charges against Mr. Carter—that is, Mr. Church—were dropped, and thus he had decided to end his guise, especially with the war between our countries done. It was odd to hear my sister now addressed as Mrs. Church, but she seemed so blithely at ease with it that I suspected she’d known all along. As can be imagined, my father was thoroughly displeased by Mr. Church’s duplicity and the reasons behind it, but to my surprise, my own ordinarily truth-loving husband didn’t disapprove at all.
“Church did what was necessary,” he said, unperturbed when I told him. “He preserved his honor by the duel, and his life by assuming another name. Besides, if he hadn’t done either, he wouldn’t have come to our country, and we’d all have been deprived of his excellent acquaintance.”
“But a duel, Alexander,” I persisted. Duels were not common in Albany. To me, they were against both the laws of man and God, and a tragic waste of life. My husband, however, did not agree, and in fact during the war he had acted as the second to his friend Colonel Laurens in a duel with General Charles Lee.
Even knowing this, I could not leave it alone. “To think that Angelica’s husband would fire at a man in such a murderous fashion!”
“From what I have heard, it wasn’t the first time, either,” Alexander said, either not sensing my disapproval or choosing to overlook it. “Church doesn’t take affronts kindly. You know that of him. He’s also an excellent shot.”
Seeing no future to this conversation, I only sighed with exasperation and turned my eyes toward the Heavens. Clearly this was no more than another example of the occasional blind foolishness of men, to be found even in my own dear husband.
Yet in all, it was a blissful time for Alexander and me. Although he continued his interest in the affairs of Congress and politics in general, he seemed to be far more focused on passing the bar, and together we’d often speak of a future that now appeared quite tangible. It rankled him that we were compelled to live with my parents, but the truth was that since he’d left the army, he had no income, and wouldn’t until he could begin taking cases. I accepted my parents’ hospitality as an interim solution and no more, but for Alexander it was a disagreeable humiliation.
“The British are expected to leave New York by the end of the year,” he said one Sunday afternoon in May as we walked beneath the apple blossoms in our orchard. We’d left Philip asleep with my infant sister Catherine, the pair of them watched over by the nursery maid, and had stolen this time alone for ourselves.
“The instant the British ships sail away, Betsey,” he continued, “we’ll move to the city ourselves. The courts will be overflowing with new cases, and I’ll have my choice of the plum ones. I mean to find you a house on Wall Street, the finest house that can be procured, because that’s what my delightful wife deserves.”
“I should think we might wish to wait a few months, until the city is once again put to rights,” I said. “I’ve heard the war has ravaged the streets and houses no end.”
“All the more reason we should move quickly, before rents have a chance to rise.” He reached up to pluck a blossom from a hanging branch, and presented it gallantly to me. “The last time I was there, many of the houses were still of the old Dutch model, but I’d prefer a fine house of brick.”
I twirled the blossom’s stem between my fingers and smiled, pleased that he was thinking such domestic thoughts, if improbable ones. I was looking forward to living apart from my family and being mistress of my own establishment, but it needn’t be a fine house of brick on Wall Street.
“You know I’ll be content with less,” I said, tucking the blossom into the front of my bodice between my breasts. “So long as I have you and Philip, I’ll always be happy.”
“You are the best of wives, my love,” he said, taking off his hat to kiss me. He was smiling afterward, looking down into the crown of the hat in his hand, and I smiled, too, never suspecting what he’d say next.
“Robert Morris has asked me to become the continental tax-receiver for the state of New York,” he said, tracing a finger along the inner band of his hat. “He asked me once before in May and I turned him down, but then last week he wrote again to state that if I could be persuaded to take the position, he’d see that I’d earn a quarter of one percent of all the monies owed. I accepted.”
I stared at him with dismay. Mr. Morris was the Superintendent of Finance for Congress. I’d known Alexander had continued to correspond with him after he’d first written to him last year, but I hadn’t realized it had progressed to this.
“You’ve agreed to be a tax-receiver, Alexander?” I asked carefully, wanting to be sure I’d understood. “Now, when you’re studying so hard for the bar?”
“It brings an income,” he said, finally raising his glance to meet mine. “I want you to have that fine house, Betsey, and I don’t want you to have to wait for it, either.”
“But not this way,” I said. “I listen to you, Alexander, and I’ve heard you say how the states—even New York—do not wish to give any mon
eys to Congress, and how they hold funds back as long as they can. Taxes or customs, it makes no difference, does it? And with New York City still occupied by the enemy, there won’t be any collecting to be done in those counties. I do not pretend to your skills in finance and mathematics, but I am certain that a quarter of one percent of nothing is still nothing, isn’t it?”
His smile had turned lopsided, the way it did when he was hedging.
“That is unfortunately true, yes,” he admitted. “But it’s also the reason why I’ve agreed to assist Morris by approaching the state legislature in Poughkeepsie to explain why the enforcement of federal taxation is so necessary.”
“But consider your law studies, and how you have only until July to make yourself ready for the exam!” I exclaimed, my unhappiness with his impracticality growing by the moment. “How can you prepare yourself to represent Mr. Morris, and go before the legislature, and then act as a tax collector for Congress, too?”
“This is important, Betsey,” he said firmly. “I fought in the war for a new country. If men like me don’t continue to fight in other ways to create a government that is worthy of our first and truest ideals, then the entire war will have been for nothing.”
“All I care for is you,” I said softly, almost pleading. I didn’t wish to quarrel with him, but I could see nothing good coming from this. “I know you can do so much, my love, but there must be a limit, even for you. Recall how only a few months ago you were so weak and grievously ill that you were forced to take to your bed.”
“I assure you that won’t happen again,” he said confidently, and smiled. “You see how thoroughly you’ve restored me. Besides, no one expects me to storm the legislature with a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other.”
“Pray be serious, Alexander,” I said, placing my palm on his arm in tender restraint. “If you work yourself to exhaustion, you’ll achieve nothing.”
“I am serious, Betsey,” he said, finally settling his hat once again upon his head. “I’ve no intention of making myself ill. But when opportunities present themselves for the betterment of my family and for the country as well, I will not look away.”
He leaned forward to kiss me again, but I was too agitated for affectionate display, and turned my face so his lips found only my cheek. I stepped back, and swiftly began to walk toward the house, pointedly not looking to see if he followed.
But he had, and in a few quick steps he was beside me again.
“Betsey, my angel,” he said, coaxing. “My own sweet girl.”
When I didn’t stop, he caught my arm and drew me to him, turning me so I’d no choice but to meet his eye.
“Eliza, please,” he said gently. “Please. From the moment I wed you, my dearest, every choice I’ve made has been with you and our future in mind. You must remember that. Everything I do is for you and Philip.”
I searched his eyes, longing to believe that this, then, was the truth. From all he’d said and done since he’d resigned his commission last February, I’d thought that he would complete his studies and become an acclaimed and successful lawyer. I’d thought that we’d move from my parents’ house into a home of our own, and that our lives together would begin in earnest. Most of all, because he’d told me so, again and again, I’d thought that Philip and I were enough to make him happy.
I’d never foreseen difficult government appointments that would be impossible to fulfill, or journeys to Poughkeepsie that could last for weeks at a time. I hadn’t realized that he still wanted to be so much a part of the government in Philadelphia that he’d always claimed to despise, or that the beckoning of powerful men like Robert Morris would be so sweet to his ears.
I hadn’t known, because he hadn’t told me.
But Angelica had, long ago before Alexander and I were wed.
“Your Hamilton may not lie to you outright, Eliza, but I assure you that in the course of your marriage there will be omissions that he’ll justify and half-truths that he’ll dismiss. Some shall make you laugh and others, alas, may make you weep.”
I could not laugh now, and I would not weep.
With the back of his fingers, he lightly stroked my cheek.
“I love you so much, Betsey,” he said, and I vow there were tears in his eyes to match my own. “You must know that there has never been another husband who loved his wife as I do you.”
I did know, for that was the one truth that I’d never question. With a shuddering sigh, I gave myself over to his embrace, and the love that would always be mine as his wife. If he did choose to do these things for me and for Philip, then I must trust him that it would be for the best for us all. I must not doubt, but love.
And for the first months of summer, it seemed my trust in him could not be better placed. He passed the bar exam in July, exactly six months after he’d requested his extension, and exactly as he’d promised me he would, too. He was now an attorney with a fine title to prove his considerable accomplishment, though he jested he’d only become licensed in the art of fleecing his neighbors and acquaintances. No matter: I was exceptionally proud of him, and prouder still when he qualified as a counselor a short time later.
But the appointment as the state’s tax-receiver was every bit as difficult and frustrating as I’d feared it would be. Those who owed taxes had no impetus to pay them, while the law, such as it was, gave Alexander no way to compel them to comply. There was little remunerative return to him for all the effort he exerted in the position, and it seemed to me a sorry waste of his increasingly precious time.
Yet despite his complaints (and oh, yes, he did complain), the appointment gave him reason to appear before the state’s legislature with the goal of promoting a more effective way to collect taxes. He’d promised Robert Morris to do this, which would have been reason enough for him to make the three-days’ ride south to Poughkeepsie.
But he also had the encouragement of my own father, who was serving as a state senator. To my chagrin, Papa took Alexander under his wing, and showed him about to best advantage to the other members of the legislature. Ordinarily I would be pleased by Papa’s open affection and regard for my husband, but because of it, they both decided to lengthen their stay for several weeks. I will admit that they accomplished much, including the passage of a resolution calling for a new, national convention to overhaul the Articles of Confederation under which Congress weakly governed.
This should have been a resolution dear to Alexander’s heart, considering how often he declaimed about the country’s government, and likened it to every toothless and infirm beast he could name. Instead, however, he’d found the entire process disillusioning and discouragingly slow, and the members of the legislature a dull-witted and selfish lot whose main concerns were not for their constituents, but only for their own personal gain. He claimed he wished nothing more to do with it or them, and instead preferred to marvel over how much he thought Philip had grown in the time he’d been away, and how skilled his son had become at sitting upright unassisted. Of course I agreed on every count; how could I not?
But in August came news of the most sorrowful kind. I’d never had the honor of meeting John Laurens, but I knew how much his friendship meant to Alexander, and how, since Yorktown, they had strived to keep it aglow through letters. But while Alexander had returned to me in Albany after the last campaign, Laurens had been unable to leave behind the rigors and adventure of battle. Little actual fighting remained in any of the states, but Laurens had found it in a small and meaningless battle near his home in South Carolina. Leading a charge, he was shot from the saddle, and died soon after. The British left South Carolina less than a week later.
Like so many of our age, he was one more young man of promise and ability who’d been claimed too young, at only twenty-seven, and because Laurens had been so dear to Alexander, his death affected my husband deeply. He mourned not only the loss of his friend, but also the conclusion of the time they’d shared as soldiers, and his own youth with it. At twenty-six, A
lexander himself was hardly old, yet Laurens’s death made him feel the gloom of his own mortality. Only Philip’s innocence and infant promise seemed to comfort him, our son’s cheerful gurgles easing his sorrow far more than any adult words of condolence.
I felt certain now that he’d devote himself to building his practice, and that the house he’d continued to promise would soon be ours. His associate Aaron Burr had also passed the bar, and the office he’d opened was prospering. But in October, amongst the many letters that came daily to The Pastures was one that set Alexander on another course entirely.
He came to me while I was at my music in the parlor, the open letter still in his hand. He was grinning, smiling more widely than I’d seen since he’d heard of Laurens’s death, and as I played the last lines of the little song I’d been practicing, he danced a small jig of joy that made me laugh.
“I’d guess that must be good news,” I said, “to make you caper about so.”
“Oh, only the best,” he assured me, “and all the more for being so unexpected.”
He took my hand and raised me from the bench, and made me dance a few more steps with him while he hummed the tune I’d been playing. He ended by giving me a loud, smacking kiss that made me laugh again, and swat at him for being foolish.
“Tell me, Alexander,” I said. “Or am I to guess you’ve been offered a position as a dancing master?”
“I could do that, you know,” he said, and winked. “But it’s something far grander than that. You recall when I came home from Poughkeepsie, convinced the entire legislature was nothing but a barn of incompetent dolts and nodding old fools?”
“I do,” I said. “You’ve made sure I wouldn’t forget, too.”
I, Eliza Hamilton Page 25