I, Eliza Hamilton

Papa frowned, and lowered his chin into the thick collar of his greatcoat like a turtle closing into its shell. “It is not so simple as that, Eliza.”

“Why isn’t it?” I asked, genuinely troubled. I wasn’t being difficult; I simply wished to know. Surely there was a way to remedy this appalling state of affairs. “You’re a member of Congress yourself, Papa. If it is known that our soldiers are hungry, why isn’t food being given to them?”

“That’s no concern of yours, nor should it be,” he said, more sharply than I’d expected. “It will be addressed by Congress, and they will be made to understand.”

He gave my knee an awkward, muffled pat with his gloved hand. “I shouldn’t burden you with my worries. That’s not why you’ve come all this way, is it? No, your purpose here is to be a companion to your aunt through a difficult winter. I’m sure you’ll be a cheerful and virtuous presence and a comfort to all those here who need it most, as any good Christian woman would.”

“I shall do my best, Papa,” I said, an easy promise to make. Being cheerful, virtuous, and a comfort to others had been ingrained into me and my sisters all our lives by our mother.

He nodded, though I sensed that his thoughts were already elsewhere.

“I’m sure your aunt has told you that Colonel Hamilton continues as His Excellency’s primary aide-de-camp in Morristown,” he said gruffly, “and that he has asked after you. You do recall the gentleman, don’t you?”

We’d been traveling together for three weeks, yet it had taken Papa until now to speak those words to me. But because I’d been half expecting this from the beginning (and even long before), I managed to keep my voice even and my reply measured and truthful.

“Aunt Gertrude did relay the colonel’s compliments to me, yes,” I said carefully. “And yes, I have not forgotten him. But he has never written to me directly, Papa, nor presumed upon our acquaintance.”

Papa frowned, his brows drawing tightly together beneath the cocked brim of his hat.

“I would expect that as an officer, Colonel Hamilton has been far too occupied with his duties to write love letters,” he said. “It’s your aunt who has been the presumptuous one in regard to the man.”

“You liked Colonel Hamilton when he called on us two years ago,” I said, daring greatly. “You said he had great promise, and you said he was intelligent, resourceful, and courageous.”

“And you, daughter, have an excellent memory.” He shifted on the sleigh’s seat to face me. He had tied a scarf around his black beaver hat to keep the wind from carrying it away from his head, yet long wisps of his hair had pulled free from the ribbon around his queue to whip in the breeze beside his weathered cheek. I don’t know why I took notice of his hair at that moment; perhaps my thoughts would rather have concentrated on his unkempt hair than on the seriousness of our conversation. “So the colonel did catch your eye when he last visited us. I thought as much.”

My cheeks warmed, even in the cold air. “One evening’s acquaintance is scarcely enough to judge him, Papa,” I said. “He made himself agreeable to me, that was all.”

“You needn’t be so coy with me, Eliza,” he said. “I knew within moments of meeting your mother that I would marry her.”

“Papa, please,” I exclaimed. My parents had never made a secret of the warm devotion and love they held for each other, and although they had been wed for nearly twenty-five years, the nursery on the uppermost floor of our house was still frequently required for another new little brother or sister. Yet it made me feel uncomfortably rushed to hear my father speak of me and Colonel Hamilton in the same fashion. “It’s far too soon for that.”

He shook his head, making it clear that he believed my objections to be nothing more than over-modest rubbish.

“Such matters are inclined to move more swiftly during times of war, Eliza,” he said. “I realize that your aunt may be as enthusiastic as Cupid himself, especially where Colonel Hamilton is concerned. It cannot be denied that he has certain impediments, however. The man has no fortune or family, and his origins are questionable at best.”

“I know his family wasn’t Dutch, like ours,” I began, “and I know he wasn’t born in New York, but—”

Papa cut me off. “It’s not where he was born, Eliza, but how,” he said. “His mother left her lawful husband to live sinfully with her lover. That man was Hamilton’s father. He is illegitimate, a bastard, and all the world knows it.”

All the world might have known his parentage, but I hadn’t, and in confusion I looked down to my lap. I’d never known anyone who’d been born outside a lawful marriage, and although it was shocking, I was still unwilling to abandon Colonel Hamilton.

“But that is not his fault, Father,” I said earnestly. “None of us has the ability to choose our parents. That is God’s will, not ours. I was fortunate in my birth, and he was not, and he should no more be blamed for that circumstance of his fate than I should be praised for mine.”

“What republican sentiments for a lady, Elizabeth,” Papa said, so dryly that I couldn’t tell if he agreed with me or not.

“They’re Christian sentiments as well,” I said firmly. “You cannot quarrel with that.”

“Nor with you, daughter,” he said more gently. “Permit me to continue. You should know that regardless of Colonel Hamilton’s lack of a respectable family, I remain impressed with his zeal, his courage, and his determination. By his own merits, he has achieved far more than he should have by rights of his low birth, and I’ve little doubt he’ll continue on that path. He will do well in this world. He already has. He has won the favor of His Excellency, and therefore mine as well.”

“Then you—you do not find him objectionable?” I asked uncertainly.

“Not at all, Eliza,” Papa said. “If you discover that the fellow continues to be agreeable to you, why, then, I want you to understand that neither your mother nor I would object if he presses his suit. I would not object at all.”

I bowed my head, my thoughts spinning. That was as good as a blessing, better than I’d expected. But I understood what Papa wasn’t saying, too: that I was twenty-two-years old, that he worried for my future, that he was relieved that a reasonably acceptable man was showing interest in me, and that he didn’t want me to waste away as a spinster.

I didn’t want to perish as a spinster, either. But it had been over two years since I’d last seen Colonel Hamilton, and even that had been for only a few hours’ time. After so many months, I wasn’t sure I could even recall his face, handsome as it had been, with real clarity.

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