Alex and Eliza--A Love Story

by Melissa de la Cruz

  “For Mrs. Washington,” he said.

  Alex had already known to whom the letter was intended. The only correspondent to whom General Washington himself wrote was his wife.

  General Washington turned back to his desk and reached for a passel of letters when he noticed that Alex had not left the room.

  “Yes, Colonel? Have I overlooked something?”

  “No, Your Excellency,” Alex said. “That is, I was hoping that I might have a word with you.”

  General Washington paused a moment, considering Alex’s question as seriously as if he had been asked for a loan of a thousand shillings, or his decision on whether or not to execute an enemy soldier. At length, he said, “Tell me what is on your mind, Colonel.”

  Alex would have liked to sit down, but General Washington was the kind of man who grew only more formal with those whom he spent the most time. There was a joke—a very private joke—that the M he wrote on the outside of letters to his wife was not for Martha but for Mrs., which was the only name by which anyone had ever heard him refer to her. Alex took a calming breath before addressing his general.

  “It is about a matter we discussed last fall. You said that I should bring it up with you this spring.

  “Ah,” Washington said, turning to the window. He gazed out over the snow-spotted boughs of an ash tree, and from thence to the fire in the hearth behind him that barely kept the outside chill at bay. “It does not look like spring to me.”

  “It is the second of March, Your Excellency. The ice is cracking in the Passaic and Hudson Rivers. The war will resume sooner rather than later.”

  “Indeed,” General Washington assented. “I wonder that you are so eager for the resumption of fighting. Most men would avoid it as long as possible.”

  “I am eager to fight only in as much as the sooner we fight, the sooner we win, and free ourselves from having to fight again.”

  “Indeed,” General Washington repeated. He looked at Alex. “May I assume that you are resuming your petition for a command of your own?”

  “I am, Your Excellency.”

  “You have never commanded a battalion before. Why do you think you are up to the responsibility?”

  “As a youthful country, many of our battlefield commanders have assumed their duties with little or no previous experience. I have learned what I know about war from the best of them all.”

  Something close to a smile flickered over General Washington’s lips. “I would disagree with you, but that would mean admitting that I am not the best of our men, which would smack of false modesty.”

  The story went that the general was a mirthless man, but this was not entirely true. The general’s teeth were notoriously rotten, and he was afraid his dentures would fall from his mouth if he smiled too widely, let alone laughed aloud. Certainly no one had ever seen the general laugh aloud. But Alex suspected the general had just made a joke, though whether at Alex’s or his own expense, he couldn’t be sure.

  “I have been present at some of our most contested battles,” Alex said now. “I know the enemy’s tactics and again, if I may make bold, I know yours as well, not the least of which is your ability to inspire troops with your words and your bravery.”

  “I could not disagree with the first part of that statement,” General Washington said, “since many of my most inspiring words were written by you. But I will say that there is a fine line between bravery and recklessness. A commander of an army cannot be so fearless that he unnecessarily jeopardizes his own life.”

  “You are referring to Monmouth, Your Excellency?”

  “It is not I who refer to Monmouth, but other soldiers and officers who saw you on the field. None would dispute your bravery, but many would question your ardor.”

  Alex was about to defend himself when General Washington spoke over him. “Many would, but I do not. Monmouth was a messy affair, and at the end of the day, only one thing saved us from defeat, and that was the fighting spirit of our men. I was very proud of you that day.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Alex said humbly.

  “But it is difficult for me to conceive of my own role—of this office—without you by my side. Quite simply, you are too good at your job. You make me a better commander, and that is good for our army and our country.”

  “You flatter me, Your Excellency.”

  “I think you know that I have never flattered anyone in my life, nor, as I have already indicated, am I much impressed by false modesty.”

  “Then allow me to speak immodestly, Your Excellency. For as valuable as my services are to you as a clerk, a hundred times more valuable will they be to you on the battlefield, where I can fire off not letters but bullets, and finish off our enemy the only way he will ever truly be vanquished, which is not with ink but with blood. Other men can craft pretty sentences that persuade men to surrender their money or their supplies, but only a few men can persuade men to give up their lives. I believe I am one of those men, and for the sake of my country I would like the chance to prove it.”

  “Your eloquence is persuasive, Colonel Hamilton, yet it also works against you, for true eloquence is far more rare than bravery. I am not convinced that I could replace you and, more to the point, I do not want to.”

  Alex felt his heart sink, but he pressed on. “Your Excellency,” he said urgently, “would you call yourself a soldier if you had never set foot on the field of battle, but only directed men from a protected promontory? Would you feel that you had served a country as great as this one if you had only written letters like a tradesman, ordering troops about like so many bales of cotton or hay? I know you, sir. I have seen you wade into the thick of the action like an enlisted man, and I know that this experience has made you a better general, because you know what is at stake when you give an order.

  “Your Excellency,” he continued, “this nation has the potential to be something that no other country has been, a beacon of freedom and opportunity. But it is as yet very far from realizing those goals, and it never will realize those goals if its men cower behind desks and windows. The war is being fought out there,” Alex wound up, “and out there is where I need to be.”

  General Washington absorbed all of this without giving away a clue as to how it was affecting him. He must be a formidable opponent at the card tables, Alex thought.

  At length the general turned back to his letters. “I make no promises,” he said. “But I will consider it.”

  “Your Excellency,” Alex said, bowing low, then retreating from the room. He knew he would get no more that day.

  26

  Timing Is Everything

  Down the Street from the Cochran Residence

  Morristown, New Jersey

  March 1780

  “That white house in the ash trees is the Ford mansion, where General Washington maintains his office,” Eliza pointed, “and that brown house is Jacob Arnold’s tavern where many of the officers take their mess, though for the life of me, I cannot fathom why anyone would refer to food by such an unappetizing name.”

  “If you saw what passed for food in most army camps, Miss Schuyler, you would understand immediately.”

  Henry Livingston had changed dramatically in the decade since Eliza had seen him last. He had grown into a tall, well-formed young man, with lamb chop whiskers and a thick head of chestnut hair he kept heavily powdered, in the manner of General Washington himself. His eyes were dark and mercurial, rarely resting on one object for long, be it a house or a painting or even the face of a young woman. On meeting Eliza at Aunt Gertrude’s house, he had said only, “Well, I guess I won’t be pulling your pigtails anymore,” and then walked right past her to the pair of portraits on the far wall.

  “I say, are these the Brits who used to live here? What a sad lot they look, huh?”

  “The Kitcheners,” Eliza said.

  “I wonder that
Dr. Cochran keeps their portraits still.” He lifted the portrait of Mrs. Kitchener and peered behind it. “Aha, I knew it. Wallpaper’s all faded. Have to keep these here to cover it.” He regarded Mrs. Kitchener’s face rather longer than he had Eliza’s. “Probably wasn’t a bad-looking woman in her day. Can only imagine what she thought when she was married off to that old buzzard.” He jerked a thumb at Mr. Kitchener. “At least you can say your parents didn’t sell you off to an old man, or an ugly one, if I do say so myself.”

  Eliza stared at him blankly. She had never heard a man speak quite so crudely about the marriage contract—least of all about his own.

  “I’m sure our parents were thinking of our welfare as well as our families’ when they chose us for . . . for each other.” Eliza found it hard to say the words aloud.

  “It’s a nice thought, but I’m pretty sure ol’ Mrs. Schuyler would’ve made you marry me even if I’d been an ugly cuss twice your age. And I know my mother wouldn’t have winked if you’d weighed fifteen stone and drooled when you drank your coffee. ‘She’s a Schuyler,’ she would have said,” he mocked, putting on an accent that was even more posh than the one he already affected, “‘her bloodline is impeccable.’ Well, I’m just glad you’re not a hag.”

  “I . . . thank you?” Eliza had no idea what to say.

  “The dress, though,” he said, waving a hand at her blue wool jumper. “I’ll get Kitty and Sarah to go fabric shopping with you, or maybe just send you fabric. Something more feminine. As a Livingston, you’ll be doing a lot of meeting and greeting, and I’d rather no one mistook you for the housekeeper.”

  Eliza did her best not to gasp.

  “Yes, well, my jumper is appropriate to the weather. It is not so cold today, and I thought perhaps you might enjoy a turn about the town after your long carriage journey.”

  “Absolutely.” Henry shrugged. “I mean, if you’ve seen one town on the Eastern Seaboard, you’ve seen them all. House, house, steeple, steeple, village green, cow patty. But I’m sure you want to show me off.” He grinned crookedly, as if he were making fun of himself, but Eliza decided he was just showing off his grin.

  An hour later, and Henry’s demeanor had not changed. Everything was too familiar, too old-fashioned, and too quaint. The only time he perked up was when they passed the house on the corner of Whitelawn and Farrier Streets, where even at this early hour a soldier could be seen making his way down the alley to the rear entrance, his hat pulled low over his face.

  “Well, I know a house of ill repute when I see one,” Henry said bluntly. “If you come looking for me in the middle of the night and I’m not in my bed, you might consider asking for me around there.”

  “Mr. Livingston!” Eliza struggled to regain control of her voice. “I most certainly will not come looking for you in the middle of the night!”

  “Oh, I’m supposed to come to you, then?” Henry said, and actually dug his elbow into her ribs. “You’ll ‘play hard to get’ and I’ll ‘pretend’ to ravish you, is that it?”

  “Mr. Livingston!” Eliza said again. “I find this line of conversation most inappropriate!”

  “Oh, come on, Eliza, I’m only trying to break the ice. We’re going to be married in a week.”

  “Well, we are not married now, and indeed we have only known each other for a few hours. I would appreciate a little delicacy before the secrets of the marriage chamber are thrust upon us.”

  “Thrust being the operative word,” Henry said, sotto voce.

  Eliza made to pull away but Henry had locked his arm in hers.

  “Oh, come on, Miss Schuyler. I’m just teasing. I promise to be good for the rest of our walk.”

  They continued on for ten more minutes, and if Henry refrained from any more off-color comments, he had not said much of anything else. Indeed, Eliza heard him yawn once.

  At length they came to the Ford mansion. Eliza peered up at the stately residence, thinking, Was it really only a few weeks ago when I was inoculating soldiers against the pox and bantering with Colonel Laurens and the Marquis de Lafayette and dining with . . .

  But she couldn’t bring herself to say his name. It seemed impossible that her life could have been upended so quickly.

  Oh, Alex, she thought, staring at the front door and willing it to open. Where are you? What happened to us? Did Angelica scare you away? I have no care for name or fortune; you are more than enough for me.

  To her shock, the door opened and Alex flew out in a whirlwind. He ran down the path, but it was only when he was near the end that he seemed to notice her.

  “Miss—Miss Schuyler! I was just coming to see you!”

  Eliza’s heart was beating so fast that she couldn’t actually speak.

  “How do, Colonel,” Henry said in a mocking rendition of a southern accent.

  “Henry Livingston!” Alex said, his eyes going wide with shock. “Is that really you?”

  Eliza remembered then: When Alex had first come to the United States, he had stayed with the Livingstons. It was Kitty, Henry’s sister, who had first described the young Alex to her.

  Eliza couldn’t help but notice that the two men did not embrace each other—a brief handshake sufficed. Kitty had described Alex as almost joining their family, but this greeting was not exactly brotherly.

  “What brings you to Morristown?” Alex said now. “I thought you were stationed in Connecticut. Are you on leave? Visiting family?”

  “After a fashion,” Henry drawled. “The powers that be—by which I mean our mothers—have arranged for Miss Schuyler here and me to tie the knot.”

  Alex’s face went blank. “Tie the knot?” he said, as if he didn’t speak English.

  “You know, get hitched, jump the sword, and become one, as they say in more refined circles.” His hand slipped dangerously low on Eliza’s hip and he patted her like he was inspecting a horse at the fair. “You are looking at the dam of the next generation of the Livingston brood. Enjoy this waist now, because after eight or ten babies it will be naught but a memory.”

  “I . . . I . . .” Alex shook his head, looking downright miserable. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “How about commiserations? I mean congratulations, ha-ha.”

  “I, um, con—” He clearly couldn’t bring himself to say it. “Miss Schuyler?”

  “The news was quite as much of a shock to me as it was to you,” Eliza said, doing her best to keep her voice level. I learned of it only two days ago myself.” She forced herself to smile, but it felt like her cheeks were cracking. “You were coming to see me, you said. Had you some news you wished to share?”

  “Oh, am I sensing a bit of history here,” Henry said now. “Am I spoiling the party, as it were? Never fear, Hamilton, there are plenty more in the sea—for you at least. I’m stuck with this one forever.”

  Alex’s head whipped back and forth between Henry’s and Eliza’s, as if he still couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  Eliza had a sudden urge to strike Henry Livingston, that oaf.

  “Your news, Colonel Hamilton?” she prompted, hoping for some kind of a miracle.

  Alex turned back to her. He looked at her for what seemed like an eternity, his blue eyes brimming with disbelief.

  “I was coming to tell you that I’ve received a posting,” he said finally. “A command.”

  “A command,” Eliza repeated. “You are going into battle?”

  Alex nodded. “It is a great honor for me.” His eyes bored into hers and it seemed as if he wanted to say more, but that was all he said.

  If Eliza went by what her father told her, or what she saw in certain paintings and prints, she would have thought battle was a man on horseback with a sword raised in the air and a standard flying behind him. But, though she had been sheltered from the realities of war, she knew it was a much bloodier business than that—why, think
of poor Private Wallace and his missing leg. The idea that Alex was facing similar peril—or even worse—made her knees tremble inside her skirt, and she silently pleaded for Alex to tell her that he would never be in harm’s way. But of course he wouldn’t do that. He was too honest to lie to her.

  Finally, because it was getting awkward, Eliza spoke. “Yes, it is a great honor. Congratulations, Colonel. Your first command, how exciting.” She stared back at him, feeling herself tremble all over at the thought of him going to war. If I cannot marry him, at least let me know that he is safe! But aloud all she said was, “When do you leave?”

  “In two days,” Alex said, looking so distraught that she worried he would keel over.

  “Two days,” Eliza echoed.

  “What unfortunate timing!” Henry’s braying voice cut in, making both Alex and Eliza jump. “You’re going to miss the wedding!”

  27

  Command Performance

  3rd New Jersey Regiment

  Amboy, New Jersey

  March 1780

  Springtime! All across New Jersey, tender shoots of new grass reached for the sun. Amid the delicate green of new leaves, the purplish-pink flash of the first redbud blooms hinted at a change in the air. Birds gathering in the yellow forsythia appeared tethered to a cloud as they heralded in a glorious new season with their songs.

  Along the post road, iced-over puddles cracked like broken glass beneath the wheels of wagons delivering morning goods, but by midafternoon the ice had melted into the muddy earth. The last few pockets of snow lingered in the northern shadows of barns where the cows were full of milk, and the farm wives were busy making butter and cheese. The farmers sharpened their plows and oiled their harnesses. It wasn’t time to plant yet, but soon, soon.

  It wasn’t time to fight yet, either. That would come soon enough.

  AFTER THREE DAYS of consideration, General Washington had announced that Alex was to be given command of the 3rd New Jersey Regiment. Its previous commander, Colonel Elias Dayton, had been wounded in a skirmish on Bedloe’s Island, when his raiding party ran afoul of a group of British soldiers making their way up the Kill Van Kull, north of Staten Island, to sabotage activities in Newark Bay. During the melee Colonel Dayton took a musket ball in his thigh. The wound festered, and gangrene set in before the leg could be taken. Lingering close to death for more than a week, Dayton finally succumbed.