Love & War--An Alex & Eliza Story

by Melissa de la Cruz

  Alas, that did not seem enough for the snooty Rensselaers.

  “She is being absurd!” Eliza scoffed now. “It is Stephen who chased you. Why, that boy has been in love with you since he was in short pants!”

  “Oh, has he started wearing trousers at last?” Angelica quipped, to a swat from Peggy.

  Eliza laughed, then patted her younger sister’s hand. “The Rensselaers wouldn’t dare forever object to joining their family with ours. We are already cousins on Mama’s side, and for all their money and land, they haven’t nearly the prestige we do.” She sighed. “Well, it sounds like dinner will be a full house. I look forward to seeing all three of our lads in the same room. It’s so rare these days.”

  “I know!” Angelica said. “And soon enough the war will be over and you will be moving to New York City or Philadelphia or, heaven forbid, Virginia. John has been talking about returning to England, and I’m sure Stephen will want to build Peggy a house on some plantation-size corner of his vast holdings. This may be the last time we’re all together for who knows how long!”

  “Well then, let’s make it the best party ever!” Eliza said. She stood up and grabbed a pie from the cooling rack, placing it in a basket. “And now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take Mama a snack. Peggy, please don’t wear the crimson silk Stephen gave you,” she joked. “I cannot bear to be eclipsed by your radiance yet again.”

  “Ha!” Angelica laughed. “Telling Peggy not to dress up is like telling a goldfinch not to shine. Face it, Eliza, you’re going to have to cinch tonight.”

  “And put on a wig!” Peggy added with a laugh. “Dot was teasing mine up for an hour last night, and it is at least three feet high!”

  Eliza groaned, dreading the pinch of a corset and the itchiness of a wig, then reached for one last berry.

  Springtime! In Albany! Not even the thought of all the painstaking effort that would go into looking presentable could ruin her day.

  2

  Allies and Conspirators

  Schuylkill Tavern

  Albany, New York

  April 1781

  Colonel Alexander Hamilton leaned against the nearby open window and drew in a few deep breaths. Both his father-in-law, General Philip Schuyler, and his brother-in-law, John Barker Church, were inveterate smokers, and after four hours, the small room in the back of Schuylkill Tavern was suffused with smoke. He desperately needed some fresh air. Yet the atmosphere outside was hardly more pleasant than that in the room. The tavern’s back side (all puns intended) opened onto a narrow, muddy alley into which the local innkeepers regularly tossed their garbage and scraps, not to mention the contents of their guests’ chamber pots. But as long as Alex inhaled through his mouth rather than his nose, he was all right. At any rate, he was at least not tempted to retch.

  He scolded himself for complaining, for surely the price of inhaling a little smoke was nothing compared to now being part of Eliza’s family—the Schuylers were one of the oldest and most prestigious clans in all of New York to be sure—but more important, Alex had been folded right into the middle of its loving arms. The family was even throwing him a good-bye party tonight before his imminent return to duty. Speaking of loving, the last six months had been the very definition of wedded bliss, as yearning for Eliza from afar did not hold a candle to the very happy reality of being her husband. Just the thought of his dear chestnut-tressed maid brought a warm smile to his face. He couldn’t wait to see her later that evening.

  The orphan in him also thrilled to think that he now had a father, a mother (although to think of the intimidating Catherine Schuyler as his mother was perhaps too large a leap, even if she seemed adequately fond of him, he did not want to overstep), sisters (how he loved to tease and spar with those girls) and now brothers as well. He spared a thought for his own lost brother, left behind in the Caribbean colonies, and turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

  “We seem to have reached a deal then,” General Schuyler said to his other son-in-law. “You shall provide five hundred rifles, twenty barrels of powder, and two tons of shot to General Washington at Newburgh, and the Continental army will pay you one thousand pounds sterling.”

  John Church smiled wryly. “I am aware of the irony of paying for arms to fight a war with currency from the very nation you are trying to defeat. But until the United States has a money of its own, British pounds remain far more fungible paper.”

  Alex listened to the men talk with one ear. The problem had come up countless times in the five long years of war: Thirteen colonies, each with its own currency, plus the bills issued by the Continental Congress. What it added up to was a mess, and the only thing that was going to fix it was a single currency issued by a central United States government. But if overthrowing British rule was a difficult task, getting the deeply independent-minded citizens of thirteen distinct polities stretching along a thousand miles of Atlantic Ocean coastline to agree on one currency was almost impossible to imagine, let alone achieve.

  Still, one of Alex’s great gifts was his ability to plan for the new nation to succeed and as well as to focus on immediate needs. Even so, these were problems for the future. The war for independence had to be won first.

  He nodded to his brother-in-law. “Dear Mr. Church, I would like once again to convey General Washington’s appreciation for all your efforts in support of the American cause. There are men in the far north who are still firing matchlocks, and I’ve even heard that some of the forces in the far southwest are armed with arquebuses that date back to the Spanish conquest.”

  John laughed. “I wish you were joking. Nevertheless, it is my honor and privilege to assist the Continental army. If only I could declare my support for the cause of independence more openly.”

  “It is a terrible burden, I am sure,” General Schuyler assented. “A man wants to be judged based on his principles rather than rumors. But if your support for our side were more widely known, it would not be half as effective. The British would be seizing or sinking any ship that carried your ‘linens’ and ‘teas’ upon it, just as they do with those from our French allies.”

  “Yes, and they’d be seizing you, too,” Alex said with a grim smile. “And I would simultaneously lose a brother-in-law and a contented wife. Angelica would be heartbroken without you, and if one of her sisters is sad, then my Eliza is equally miserable.”

  John smiled. “It is an honor for me to call both of you family as well as allies. Still, I do wish that I could tell my wife what it is that I actually do.”

  A chuckle from General Schuyler, accompanied by a cloud of smoke. “As Hamilton says, my daughters are inordinately close. It is excellent for family solidarity but not so good for state secrets. But never fear,” Schuyler continued, clapping his eldest daughter’s husband on the back, “one day you will be celebrated as a true supporter of our nascent country.”

  “It is only too bad that you will not be present to enjoy your acclaim,” Alex said. “You remain determined to return to England once the war is over?”

  “What can I say?” John shrugged. “I love this country and its people, not least my beautiful and brilliant wife, but I am an Englishman. I believe that a man should mind his own country and not meddle too long in the business of others. And Angelica is more European than she realizes. She will thrive in London society, as well as Paris and Berlin and Rome and all the capitals of Europe.”

  “It saddens me to imagine one of my daughters on the other side of the ocean. Yet it excites me to think of the Schuyler name and legacy extending even to European shores.” General Schuyler turned to Alex. “Only don’t you get any ideas about spiriting my Eliza off to the Indies. The Caribbean colonies may have better weather and more money than their North American counterparts, but my Eliza is as American as Mrs. Washington, and would not be at home anywhere else.”

  Alex laughed. “You shall not lose sleep over i
t, I guarantee. The Indies might have been where my body was born, but my mind did not fully awaken until I came to this country. This is my home as much as it is your lovely daughter’s, and I cannot imagine living anywhere else.”

  The general nodded, but his expression seemed unsettled. “Aye,” he said finally, the old-fashioned word harkening back to his Dutch roots. “You and my daughter are as well matched a couple as any parent could hope for.”

  Alex’s brow knitted. “Your words are complimentary, yet your tone is clouded. Have I done something to offend you, sir?”

  “What?” Schuyler started. “Oh no, no. I have two such fine sons-in-law of whom I am very proud.”

  “But?” Alex prompted.

  Schuyler waved a hand at the munitions contract on the table. “These guns are destined for Yorktown, Virginia. General Cornwallis is gathering the bulk of his forces, and General Washington seems determined to cripple the British army and end the war in a single stroke. I take it that when you return in a few days you are still keen to accompany General Washington to the battlefield?”

  Now it was Alex’s turn to fall silent. He could feel his father- and brother-in-law’s eyes boring into him. “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly?” John repeated, taking a puff from his cigar. “That sounds rather ominous.”

  Alex summoned a breath. “I have decided to ask General Washington for my own unit to command.”

  It would not be accurate to say that General Schuyler goggled at him. The old Dutchman was too reserved in both life and command to ever betray his thoughts so openly. Still, there was a discernible straightening of the older man’s spine. The thick wool of his uniform strained a bit, and his voice, when it came, was tight. “Patriotism and bravery are two of the finest qualities a man can possess. But there is a fine balance between zealousness and, dare I say, foolhardiness.”

  Alex opened his mouth to protest but his father-in-law—who was also his superior officer—spoke over him, so he held his tongue.

  “You have been on the field of battle precisely once,” said the general. “At Monmouth, where it is my understanding from General Washington himself that you acquitted yourself with valor, but also with what amounted to a reckless disregard for your own well-being. Washington said it was almost as if you wanted to die on the field of battle like some modern-day Norse warrior, as if only death by bullet or saber could assure you a place in Asgard.”

  “Sir, I can assure you,” Alex began, compelled to explain. “There were no such thoughts in my head. Indeed, if there had been any thoughts at all, I do not remember them. I desired only to drive the enemy off the soil of my beloved country, and gave no regard to my safety whatsoever.”

  “This is exactly my point,” General Schuyler said. “The difference between a commander and a soldier is that the commander fights in a cooler state of mind. He considers not just the individual skirmish or even the battle itself, but the course of the entire war, his own place in it, and that of all the men serving under him. If all our commanders fell to the bloody earth with their soldiers in each battle, we would have none left to lead the army. It would be a melee of undisciplined men mobbing about the field to be exterminated by the enemy.”

  Schuyler’s words cut Alex to the core. Even General Washington had told him that his bravery at Monmouth was impressive, but his bloodlust to fight until he was struck down had made the general loath to send him back into battle. “You serve your country better intact,” he had said. And in a rare show of personal attachment, he added, “I’d prefer you to live.”

  Alex had been flattered, in a way. He knew he was indispensable to Washington’s office. But if the signs were reading true, the war was winding down. If the battle at Yorktown was successful, the British army would be decimated, and it was highly likely the overseas empire would at last concede that the American colonies were more trouble than they were worth, and surrender.

  But Alex didn’t care. He had come north as a teenager, brilliant but unworldly, and this country had embraced him and given him a chance to make a man of himself, and hopefully a fortune, too. How could he face his future children and tell them that he had spent the war in a paneled office with a pen in his hand and a warm fire at his back? When his future sons asked him how many battles he had won, how could he answer, “I did not fight. I was a secretary.” His blood boiled at the thought.

  “The counsel of very few men is of more value to me than yours, General Schuyler,” Alex said. “And you may be assured that I will keep it in mind, just as I will keep my beloved and precious Eliza in my heart when I make my decision.”

  “She knows of your ambitions then?” General Schuyler asked pointedly.

  Alex’s words caught in his throat. He could not lie to his father-in-law. “We have not discussed it yet, but I know she will understand. She has your own bravery as a prior example, after all.”

  “Hamilton,” John said sharply. “She will be crushed.”

  Again, Alex paused before speaking. He knew his brother-in-law spoke the truth. The reality of Eliza’s tears—of her fear on his behalf—had kept him from sharing his plans with her until the last minute. He’d been determined to shield her from the news until it was inevitable, not wanting to break her heart just yet. After all, they had been discussing their own dreams for the establishment of their own home, and this would delay it indefinitely. Putting himself in the line of fire would also mean allowing for the possibility of a final separation between them, and the thought of his dear love as a grieving widow when their story had just begun was almost enough to dissuade him.

  Yet—he had to put aside these fears for now. He would have a command; he would be part of this Revolution, if it was the last thing he accomplished.

  Finally, he drew himself up straight. “Be that as it may,” he said in the distant tone of a statesman or a commander rather than a husband, “I fight not just for myself now, nor even for my country, but for my wife and the family we will raise, and for the legacy of our name, which is yours as well. You must remember that I have studied war at the side of the man whose genius, bravery, and, dare I say, calculated patience has guided this country from bondage to freedom. If five years under General Washington has not prepared me to lead our brave boys into battle, nothing will.”

  General Schuyler said nothing for a long moment. Then he nodded. “I will speak on this matter no more. I do not wish to insult your honor or impugn your motives. And now, my dear boys, we have concluded our business and must rejoin our women. They do get upset when we are late for a party, especially one they are throwing in your honor, Hamilton.”

  3

  Cousins and Confidences

  The Schuyler Mansion

  Albany, New York

  April 1781

  After supervising the cleaning of the kitchen and making sure everything was set for the party later that evening, Eliza traipsed up the stairs to her parents’ bedroom, where she knocked on the door lightly. “Mama,” she called through the closed portal. “It’s Eliza. I’ve brought you a bit to eat.”

  A pause, and then her mother’s strong voice came to her. “Enter.”

  Eliza eased the door open. The chamber on the far side was dimly lit, with muslin-backed silk curtains pulled entirely across all four windows. “Oh, Mama, were you sleeping? I’m so sorry, I’ll come back later.”

  “No, no,” Catherine Schuyler said, the bedsheets rustling as she sat up. “I was only drowsing out of boredom. This forced indolence is far more taxing than my condition. Please, please, let a little light into my dreary cave.”

  Mrs. Schuyler’s “condition” was revealed as soon as Eliza pulled open the curtains. Though her mother was covered by heavy cotton sheets with handmade lace borders and a light woolen blanket, not to mention her rather shapeless dowager’s nightgown, it was still obvious that she was very, very pregnant.

  “How are
you feeling?” Eliza asked, carrying the tray of food to her mother’s bedside.

  “As I told Dr. Van Vrouten, I am absolutely fine. This is my twelfth time with child. I should think I’d have it rather figured out by now.”

  “Oh, Mama!” Eliza laughed. “Papa says that, despite your patrician pedigree, you are as hearty as a farm lass.”

  “Your father is a wise man. I only wish he were not in cahoots with that fool of a doctor.”

  Eliza smiled. The truth was that this pregnancy had been hard on her mother. Her ankles had swollen alarmingly with retained water, and her breath grew short when she walked up even a single flight of stairs—signs, according to Dr. Van Vrouten, that the large size of the baby was putting pressure on Mrs. Schuyler’s internal organs, and inhibiting their full function. Two weeks ago, she had stood up from a settee, wavered a moment, then fallen back onto it in a faint. That was all General Schuyler needed to see: Since then he had insisted, following the doctor’s instruction, that Mrs. Schuyler keep to her bed until she had been delivered of her final child.

  “Now, Mama,” Eliza said as she cut an ample slice of blueberry pie and drizzled a bit of clotted cream over it. “You are indeed a strong woman, but you are six and for—”

  “Ah-ah, my child,” Catherine cut off her daughter. “I may be old enough to require bed rest, but I am not so ancient that I will tolerate having my age said aloud, even in the privacy of my own bedroom.”

  Eliza laughed again and handed her mother the dish of pie. “You are as handsome now as you were when I was a girl.”

  Though Mrs. Schuyler was generally rather reserved, she couldn’t quite keep a smile off her face. A stout woman, the plumpness of her cheeks had staved off the wrinkles that marred the visages of others her age, and she did indeed look much younger than her unmentionable years.