by Diana Rubino
James heard naught about the Treasury Department position, either. But his friend Ephraim Heald began a clerkship there paying $500 a year. “Why had I bin passed over? I got sacked before I even got the job,” James groused at least thrice a day.
“I wish I knew.” I dragged myself about, with no interest in anything except receiving a letter or a surprise late-night visit from my lover. He's swamped with work, I convinced myself.
James now wrote Alex another letter, kindly asking for the job again, to no avail.
After two weeks, unable to sleep or eat. I suffered profound loss as if Alex had abandoned me. I lost my temper over the slightest mishap, my fists clenched and my chest tightened more often. Had he been using me? After all we'd shared? I pushed that thought away. He still cared, he had to!
I also felt sorry for James. Although the gold smithing commissions brought in a steady income, he coveted this treasury position.
Early next morn as I brewed coffee, James ushered in a thin redheaded woman wearing a wrinkled linen dress and carrying a battered satchel. “This is Miss Maggie McKivan, my wife Mrs. Reynolds,” he introduced us.
As she curtseyed and greeted me with her Irish brogue, I knew he'd hired her as a servant. She held the kitchen chairs out for us, sat us down and began cracking the eggs I'd bought at market. We chit-chatted about the weather as she set the table and poured our coffee.
“How did you find her?” I asked James as Maggie bustled about, lit the fire in the wood stove and scoured the fry pan.
“Maggs sailed here from Belfast on the Friendship, the same ship Patrick Bevin came over on, another goldsmith I work with. In fact, he paid her passage, and tis he from where we inherited her.”
“Inherited her? He died and left her in his will?” I kept my voice low.
“Nay, not quite so dramatic. Yestermorn she finished her seven years of indentured servitude to him. She came up for hire, so I hired her. We kin well afford it.”
I hoped her employment would be long-term, not subject to James's rising and falling fortunes. This morn, she served us omelettes using nearly my entire dozen eggs, and scrubbed up till the kitchen sparkled. She then asked, “What else can do, ma'am? I'll do anything.” I gave her some ironing and stockings to mend, not needing anything else.
As she worked and I read on the sofa, James settled at his desk and busied himself writing. This letter took him two hours whilst he used up all his ink and most of his whisky. I'd never seen him put so much effort into anything. “Shall I read it to you,” came out like a statement rather than a question, as if I'd dare say no.
He cleared his throat and began: “Sir, you have deprived me of everything that's near and dear to me. You took the advantage of a poor broken-hearted woman, instead of being a friend, you have acted the part of the most cruelest man in existence. You have made a whole family miserable. She sees there is no other man that she cares for in this world, now, sir, you have been the cause of cooling her affections for me, but now I am determined to have satisfaction. It shan't be only one family that's miserable, for I am robbed of all happiness in this world.”
He paused for effect. “Now, sir, if I can't see you at your house, call and see me, for there is no person that knows aught as yet. And I am determined to see you, by some means or other, for you have made me an unhappy man forever. Put it to your own case and reflect one moment, that you should know such a thing of your wife, would you not have satisfaction? And so will I before one day passes me more.”
He finished reading and looked at me as if expecting me to applaud. “Well?”
I sat there at a loss for a response. I disliked the letter, but I was just as upset with Alex. James was not a patient man. He wanted this job, and to be fair, he had given Alex useful information.
I shook my head and turned towards the kitchen, needing some strong coffee. “Sending that letter won't make him act any faster, James. Rein in your spur.”
But he posted it anyway.
Two days later, a letter from Alex arrived. My heart slammed my ribs. I gasped for breath. But it was addressed to James. As he opened it, I peered over his shoulder, desperate to read it. It stated that no job was available, but he wanted to meet with James at his earliest convenience.
“Now is early enough.” He tossed the letter aside, grabbed his new velvet cloak and loped out the door.
I awaited his return with frayed nerves. I went for a walk, played my violin and tried to read because I couldn't eat. James finally came home near six of the eve. I wanted to drag the words out of him. “What did he say?” I nearly screeched.
“The department has no immediate openings, but he referred me over to Congressman George Clymer, who might need an assistant clerk. I told him I can procure some more damning evidence about—”
I held up my hand. “Spare me your deals till later. What did he say about me?”
He shrugged. “Naught at first. But I encouraged him to continue to see you. Then he said since his wife's return, he needed to step back from…yur assignations.”
“So that is why I hadn't heard anything…” Dejection crushed my spirit. “What did he say when you suggested…encouraged…” I gestured with fluttering hands.
“He'll be back.” James flipped his hand as if swatting a fly. “The bit about the missus was an excuse, I take it. I should'a known. He ain't the devoted family man all the folk think he is. He may be peltin' some doxy this very minute.”
“No one ever said he was a saint.” But the thought of him “peltin' some doxy” tore me apart. I swiped at tears with my balled fist.
“Just keep yurself prepared.” Exactly what James meant by that, I knew not. Prepared for Alex's amorous attention? Or for a shattering rejection should he never return? But James had heard it first hand, and Alex didn't lie. I knew in my heart I'd see him again. But I continued hoping James wouldn't resort to that diabolical blackmail scheme of his. After this lapse of time, I reckoned he'd forgotten about it.
Next day I received a letter from Alex. I tore it open with fervor bordering on lust, read it over and over, kissed his signature, hugged it to my breast. “He wants to see me again!”
“Immense.” James nodded. “Now for the second order of business.”
“Which is?” I feared he was about to extort more money from Alex.
“Never mind.” He headed for the door. “Ah'm off to the stationer's. We're out o'paper.”
Alex came to me that night. Tingling in anticipation, I ached to leap into his arms. But I restrained myself, unlike our last meeting. His genius intrigued me, and knowing that I in turn intrigued him made me feel his equal. I longed to be his wife, but his equal would have to do for now.
He stepped inside and kissed my hand. I didn't fight the shiver of delight that thrilled me. Neither did I throw myself at him. “Alex, why did you not write or call on me? I was ever so worried about you, after that whisky tax passed,” I rambled, taking rapid breaths. “I read about the mad farmers, and so feared they'd storm the Capitol. Please do not ignore my letters when I implore you to reply. Let me know you're safe. I was so…I was afraid you'd…” I cut myself off when I realized I was begging. I forced myself to calm down, finding it painful.
“I am sorry, Maria. No one stormed the Capitol. We are all safe for now.” He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “I did not reply because I am working night and day, non-stop. I had time for naught else. Don't take it as an affront.”
Something made me believe him. I couldn't bear to disbelieve him. It was then I noticed his hands, stained with blue ink. He'd been writing all day. Every time I saw him, every inch of him was impeccably washed. This affirmed my belief. Relief lightened my heart. I breathed calmer now.
“What have you been writing, Alex?” He followed me inside and sat on the sofa. “Your memoirs? I believe you're a bit young for that yet.” I poured us each a goblet of claret from a crystal decanter I'd put out for this eve…with matching goblets.
“Would tha
t I'd play cowtow to my whimsy. No, I've been working on my Report on Manufactures. I hope to present it to Congress by the end of the year. I've been writing so long, my fingers are still curled, albeit round an invisible pen.” He sipped his wine. “This is why I did not write or call here. This has taken every waking moment. I skipped meals to write this. I wrote in the privy. I skipped Sunday services. It literally consumed me.”
“You poor dear. I'll fix your fingers.” Taking the goblet from his hand, I leant over and straightened his fingers one by one. As he flexed them, I kissed their tips and knuckles. “Why do you not dictate to a secretary?”
He gave a dismissive wave. “I cannot express myself orally as well as with my hands.”
“Oh, I can argue that,” I teased.
I knew he spoke the truth. This report was consuming him. He sat hunched forward, his gaze fixed on the floor.
“Alex, tell me about it. I want to be here for you and hear everything about your work, and you. Share with me. Ask me for opinions, ideas. Anything at all.”
He looked pensive, a crease between his drawn brows. He took a sharp breath and nodded. “Actually, you can help me with this. Remember when I told you about the corporation I formed, the Society for Establishing Useful Manufactures? We call it S.U.M. now. I met with my board today, and we discussed possible locations for grist mills. But none seemed suitable to me. Of course it has to be on a river, as I told you. We need to utilize its power. One of the men suggested the Mississippi. He was laughed out of the room. We want to power a town, not the entire nation.” His eyes brightened as if hit with a brilliant idea. “In your travels, have you seen a good site for some mills?”
He'd never asked me such an important question. An opinion was one thing, but where to base mills for his manufacturing corporation? If he accepted my suggestion, I could be instrumental in shaping the nation.
“How about along the Delaware or Hudson River?” I suggested.
His eyes focused on the floor. “Somewhere less prominent. Where the land is cheaper. We need to lease the land to other mill ventures. Not everyone is wealthy. It needs to be affordable.”
“I traveled through New Jersey with James when he fled his duel with Jon Dayton. We went through a town with lovely waterfalls…wait.” I squeezed my eyes shut to recall. “I believe we crossed the Passaic River at one point. Yes, the Passaic.” I nodded. “There were some waterfalls. That can serve the purpose better than a river.”
He released his gaze from the floor and regarded me with such pleased surprise, his eyes glittered in the candlelight. “Now that is clever, my dear.”
My heart danced at his praise.
“The Passaic River and the waterfall. I was there once. In seventy-nine as I recall, with then-General Washington, the Marquis de Lafayette and his aide-de-camp James McHenry. En route to Paramus, we stopped there. It was called—” He tapped the side of his head. “What was it? Oh, yes, the Totowa Falls. We picnicked there, and I commented to the other men about the natural beauty and power of the falls. Somehow I always knew I'd return.”
His eyes focused on a faraway point, as if he relived a fond memory. He went on, “A charming gentleman, Colonel Theunis Dey, commanded the Bergen County militia.” He stood and paced back and forth. “Our troops bivouacked on the property surrounding his house, and some of us stayed in the house itself. Colonel Dey gave me a lovely upstairs bedroom to myself. His house is a stone's throw from the falls.”
His gaze locked on mine. “Oh, Maria, thank you so much for reminding me! It would be ideal for mills to be built there.” He inspected his ink-stained hands, as if just realizing he hadn't washed them. He began stammering an apology.
I refilled his goblet. “Good heavens, Alex, you're growing the nation by leaps and bounds, and worrying about blue hands? Never mind. You can wash them later. Now I want to hear about your manufacturing report.” I added, “Of course, being from New York, my family believes the economy of the merchant North far superior to the agricultural South. We all supported your creation of the Bank. But you're far ahead of what my father or brother had ever discussed. Forming a corporation, building mills and leasing them? You're not merely a visionary, but an entrepreneurial genius as well!” My curiosity piqued, I blurted out, “Alex, you must let me read this report.”
“In time.” He gave me a confident nod and sipped his wine. “As you're reading in Wealth of Nations, I praise the many-sided benefits of the division of labor. There is naught of greater moment in the nation's economy than the proper division of labor. Manufacturing will also attract immigrants. Jefferson's belief that the cultivation of the earth as the most reliable endeavor is outmoded. At least by a century and a half.” He swirled the wine in the goblet and took another sip.
“Then you're saying farmers should abandon their farms and begin producing textiles, nails and shovels?” I leant forward.
“No, not all farmers. But in order to ensure our independence from foreign countries and be competitive, we need to manufacture our own goods, many more than we're producing now. Ever since the first settlers began engaging in commerce, our economy has navigated itself with adequate velocity. And it will remain stagnant as long as people are governed by habit.”
He stared into the goblet. “They will fail to imagine the simplest improvements and innovations. Workers will stick to their ordinary occupations and routines unless some are moved by curiosity and daring. Who can provide this stimulus? Our government, of course. We need inventors. There is at present a fermentation of mind and enterprise. If left to itself, tis vulnerable to destructive effects.” He took three rapid gulps, draining the goblet.
I sipped my wine. He continued, “Yes, farming is rewarding, but not everyone can or should farm. I come from a long line of merchants. But with a few mills—the sky is the limit as to what they can produce. Jefferson and Madison are missing the boat. Jefferson finally admitted my plan would make the nation wealthier, but couldn't resist arguing that republicanism and democracy would suffer if the nation succumbed to corrupt industrialists.”
“And he believes all industrialists are corrupt?” I asked. “That's very democratic.”
He snickered. “Jefferson emphatically pointed out to me that the Revolutionary War had been won by farmers who fought for their freedom. But he is dead wrong. At least in New York and New England, many of the continental and militia soldiers were mechanics, artisans and urban laborers, not just farmers. And my propositions are unconstitutional, as he is opposed to government financing private enterprise.”
“If he wants the nation to remain a nation of farmers, we'll be stuck in the Middle Ages, with naught but agriculture to sustain the entire economy.” I stated the obvious. “A schoolchild would know this.”
He beamed at me. “My point exactly. Imagine an industrialized nation.” His eyes grew wide. Again he paced, as if preparing to present a case to a packed courtroom. He twirled on a heel and faced me. “Factories, plants, mills humming with activity, turning out yards of silk, wool, linen, hundreds of saddles, shoes, boots, gloves, sheathes of paper, shovels and nails, as you are correct, the sky is the limit.”
I could almost hear Yankee Doodle on a fife accompanying his speech. He took a deep breath and sat.
“But this idea, brilliant as it is, may not go over with the anti-Federalists. Will it?” I had to ask.
He shook his head. “No. Not right away. This may take an entire generation to accomplish. But I would like to see some progress in my lifetime. And be the one to begin it.”
My mind whirred. Alex was serious about this waterfall on the Passaic River. “This is too lofty for James to consider jumping into, but my cousin George Lewis, my brother-in-law Gilbert, or even James's friend Jacob Clingman, another visionary, and with ample funds, will back you a hundred percent on this. They'll invest in your corporation when the board secures the location.”
“The more the merrier.” He smiled and emptied the wine bottle into his goblet. “Oh, sorr
y, do you want some more?”
“No, thanks. I couldn't think of drinking more. Have you sought out any investors yet? I'm more interested in this than getting your report through Congress. I'm sure Jefferson and his cronies will dismiss it out of hand. But our idea, rather, this idea, is something worth exploring. Together,” I added, thrilled at this venture, Alex's and mine.
“I'll seek them out when I'm sure of the location. But siting it on the Passaic River at the great waterfalls, my dear, that is a stroke of genius. I must outright give you several shares just for thinking of that.” He clasped my hand.
Warmth enveloped me, and it wasn't from the wine. “Oh, there's no need. I can buy some. Besides, you'd been there only a few years ago. You would have remembered the site without my help, surely.”
It hit me like lightning—little Maria Reynolds planning our nation's future with the great Alexander Hamilton!
But I was too overcome with the idea and its prospects to realize how visionary it was. “My brother-in-law Gilbert wants to open a textile factory someday,” I told him. “He's tiring of his law practice. He wants to see tangible things produced, not just sell services. He thinks it's more honorable, too.”
“Of course.” Alex nodded, eyes atwinkle. “And it puts more people to work. Entire families can be gainfully employed.”
“Families?” Ah, yes. He meant children. “That is one thing I'm against, child labor. Alex, why are you in favor of putting children to work?”
“Why should they not work? They shouldn't grow up spoilt.” His tone bordered on chiding. “I started work myself, clerking at age nine. Why cannot American children do the same? Working them in cotton mills cannot be worse than working them on farms.”
I shook my head in despair. “Both are equally repugnant. Will you make your own children work in this mill? Or any other?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “This is to keep the poor from starving. My children do not need to work.”
Vexation niggled at me. I swallowed it down. But I had to make my point. “I would never make my children work. I want them to be educated. So they can do whatever they please, be it lawyering or running a saw mill. But working? No. I've seen child labor. I do not want to see any more.”