Читать книгу I, Eliza Hamilton - Susan Holloway Scott - Страница 7

CHAPTER 2

Morristown, New Jersey

January 1780

I think every family must have a habitual matchmaker—a sister, aunt, or grandmother (for of course matchmakers are by nature female) who devotes her every waking minute to contriving the perfect pairings for those she loves best.

In our family, the title belonged to my aunt Gertrude Cochran, my father’s sister. She was herself happily wed to an amiable and well-respected physician, Dr. John Cochran, who was currently serving not only as the personal physician to General Washington, but also as Surgeon General of the Middle Department, as appointed by Congress. In her way, my aunt was serving, too, traveling with her husband wherever the army might take them. Most recently they had settled in to winter headquarters in the town of Morristown, in New Jersey, not far from the city of New York.

From my aunt’s letters, this was not nearly as odious—or arduous—as one might think. While my mother had shuddered and feared that Aunt Gertrude must be huddled against the winter winds in some mean tent, in truth she and Dr. Cochran had been granted a pleasant house with every convenience for their use. They were situated not far from His Excellency’s headquarters, and were often invited there to dine and share in other entertainments. I’d several friends who were already in Morristown, too, ladies who were staying with relations and happily being courted by at least a half dozen gentlemen. It all sounded quite merry, and my aunt wrote long letters describing assemblies, suppers, and musicales, all attended by gallant young officers.

If her letters were contrived to make me envy her situation, they achieved that goal. Over the last months, the major conflicts of the war had shifted from the northern states to the south, and while this brought more security for my family, it also meant there were fewer and fewer visitors both to our house and to Albany. Last April, my father had finally been exonerated of any wrongdoing in the court-martial he’d requested, but even so, he’d resigned his commission, left the army, and once again taken his place as a delegate to the Continental Congress in Philadelphia. No longer did officers, gallant or otherwise, come to call at our house, and Peggy and I both chafed at the lack of gentlemanly company. When Aunt Gertrude wrote to invite me in December to visit her in Morristown, I nearly leapt at the offer.

In perfect fairness, I must add that there was one more enticement to my aunt’s invitation. Among the dozens of officers she’d mentioned in her letter, one name had stood out as sharply as if it had been doubly inked: Colonel Alexander Hamilton. Whether because of my prayers on his behalf, God’s grace, or the colonel’s own innate good fortune, he was not only still alive, but prospering as a trusted member of General Washington’s staff—the General’s Family, as it was called—in Morristown.

During the two years since the colonel had called at our house, there had been no further words shared between us other than the ones I have described here. We’d exchanged no letters, nor sent messages through others. I knew better than to behave so boldly, and besides, I was sure he’d far more demanding things to do for the sake of the army and the war. He’d become a hero of numerous battles, decorated and lauded for his bravery, daring, and resourcefulness under fire. And yet as soon as Colonel Hamilton had learned of my aunt’s connection to me, he’d asked at once for her to relay his regards, and his fond memories of our only meeting.

She’d done so in her very next letter to me, and had in all the letters that followed. Further, she’d added so much praise for the colonel—his wit, his courage, his handsome face and form—that I’d blushed at her audacity. Aunt Gertrude was not only a habitual matchmaker; she was a brazen one, too.

I was flattered. I was intrigued. I’ll admit to nothing more, even now. I was by nature more practical than many ladies, and I didn’t believe in the kind of instantaneous love that poets praised. I had liked Colonel Hamilton, and I’d thought often of him, and yes, I’d kept him in my prayers each night for the past two years. Apparently, he had liked me, too, at least well enough to confess it to my aunt. Now, in Morristown, he and I could discover where that affinity might lead us.

To my great surprise, my parents were nearly as eager as I for me to join my aunt—so eager that I suspected Aunt Gertrude had shared her schemes for me and Colonel Hamilton with them as well. The favorable impression that my father had first formed of the colonel had continued to grow with reports of his diplomacy and intelligence from General Washington himself, reports that balanced the more frivolous praises from my aunt. The colonel had become the general’s most skilled aide, and his most trusted as well. Whatever my parents’ reasoning, they agreed that I should go, and when Papa departed Albany to return to Philadelphia soon after Twelfth Night, I traveled south in his company, with the plan that I would be left off in Morristown.

Although none of us realized it then, that winter would be the worst in memory, with bitter cold and numerous storms that froze rivers and harbors solid and buried roads thick in snow and ice. Our journey was slow and arduous, by sledge and by sleigh. Although the campaigns of both armies had ceased for the winter season, the country was still at war, and Papa took care that our driver followed only the safest (if indirect) routes through territory held by the Continental forces.

There was another reason to be cautious. Although my father had resigned his commission, he remained a close friend and advisor to General Washington as well as a member of Congress. The British knew this, and there’d been sufficient rumors of a possible kidnapping that we were granted a military escort for our journey.

Not a day passed that our progress wasn’t hampered by fresh snow or ice, yet still we pressed onward. As a soldier, Papa was accustomed to this kind of hardship, and lost himself in reading letters and dispatches from the other members of Congress as if he were home at his own desk. I was woefully not as stalwart, no matter my resolve. Fresh coals in my foot warmer turned cold beneath my skirts within an hour, and even bundled beneath heavy fur throws, my fingers and toes were often numb with the cold. It wasn’t possible to divert myself with needlework or reading; all I could do was concentrate on keeping warm.

In the midst of my misery, I thought often of how Colonel Hamilton had made this journey in five days during October. Now, in January, it took Papa and me nearly three weeks to cover the same distance.

We finally arrived in Morristown late in the afternoon on the first of February. The weak winter sun was low and rosy in the sky, making long shadows across the snow. I sat up straight and looked about me as the weary horses slowly pulled our sleigh through the small town, eager for a glimpse of the exciting encampment that Aunt Gertrude had promised.

I didn’t see it. Instead Morristown had a weary, pinched look, and none of the bustle and purpose that I’d expected. The snow in the streets was dirty and trodden, and the few soldiers we passed were hurrying hunched and bent against the cold. To my surprise, there were no women or children abroad at all. Although the houses were agreeable, some had their shutters closed on the lowest floors as if the inhabitants were in hiding, while others showed more the appearance of public houses than private homes, with a general lack of care and tidiness that no good housewife would admit.

“Where is everyone, Papa?” I asked, my words coming out in little clouds in the chill air. “Aunt Gertrude said there were thousands of soldiers here, yet I’ve seen fewer than a dozen.”

“The majority of the men aren’t stationed here in town, but to the north, in a place called Jockey Hollow,” Papa said as he, too, glanced about the quiet street. “Some of the higher-ranking officers have secured quarters in private houses for themselves and their families, with His Excellency and his staff in Mrs. Ford’s mansion at the end of town.”

I nodded, for that made sense. “But if the soldiers are elsewhere, then where are the townspeople? I know it’s cold, but there should still be people about at this time of day. There would be in New York or Albany.”

“But neither of those are Morristown,” Papa said, his voice somber. “I suspect your aunt has painted this place like some merry Vauxhall frolic, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. The townspeople don’t want the army here at all, and have no compunctions about showing their disdain by keeping their distance, as you have noticed.”

His frankness startled me, for though he was still closely involved with affairs of the war, he seldom confided these matters to me.

“How very uncivil of them,” I said warmly, “and unpatriotic, too.”

Papa grunted. “They have their reasons,” he said. “Nor would I question their patriotism. The last time the army camped here three years ago, the soldiers brought smallpox with them, and many from families here fell ill and died. Since then, His Excellency has ordered that all men be inoculated so they no longer carry the contagion, but the fears among the people remain.”

Their fears were understandable, too. Smallpox was a terrible evil that claimed young and old alike, and while inoculation was growing in popularity, there were still many more superstitious folk who would rather risk the disease itself. No wonder they kept within their homes.

“But for this camp, disease is the least of the worries,” Papa continued without any prompting. He wasn’t looking at me, but staring straight ahead past the driver’s back, his profile sharp against the banks of snow, and his mouth grimly set. I wondered if he even remembered I was beside him.

“The soldiers themselves are already suffering,” he continued bluntly, his voice edged with anger, “and winter still has months to run its course. There are insufficient shelters, leaving men to weather these snowstorms with no more comfort than a tattered blanket. His Excellency does what he can for them, but there isn’t enough food, firewood, or cabins, and most of the men haven’t been paid in months. Some have deserted for home, and others have turned to thieving. It is a constant challenge for the officers to maintain morale and discipline.”

No, there hadn’t been a word of any of this in Aunt Gertrude’s letters. I sank a little lower beneath the piled furs that kept me warm with my hands snug inside my muff, and with guilty remorse I thought of soldiers shivering through the winter without proper shelter, without fires for warmth or food in their bellies. What right did I have to feel the cold, or complain of it?

“Where are the army’s provisions?” I asked. “It’s still early in the winter. Surely supplies are not already exhausted. If the men are in want, why hasn’t Congress addressed their needs?”

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.

Yet I had liked him; he’d impressed me in all the ways that mattered most. That was what I remembered, that he’d been so different from other gentlemen. He’d been special.

If I’d married someone from Albany or New York as had always been expected of me, a young gentleman who was from a family similar to my own, I would know exactly what my life would be. I would oversee a large house in the country and another in the city of New York, with children and servants and a respectably dull and dully respectable husband. It would all be predictable and safe and without a whit of excitement, and the longer I considered such a life, the less appeal it held for me. Yet even after only one meeting, I knew that life with Alexander would always be exciting, because he was exciting.

So yes, I’d liked him. But as much as I respected my parents’ wishes, I wanted this decision to be mine, not theirs, and I wanted to be sure.

Papa, however, misread my silence.

“Of course, I wouldn’t expect you to go against your heart, Elizabeth,” he said with another awkward pat to my knee. “If your mother and I are mistaken and he doesn’t please you, then you’re sure to find many other fish in the sea, yes? Above everything else, we wish you to be happy. There will be officers by the score here at this encampment, and perhaps there will be another who will better—”

“He didn’t die, Papa,” I said, my head still bent. “Colonel Hamilton wasn’t killed in battle or by illness or anything else. You and I both feared he would be, and yet instead he was preserved.”

“He’s lucky that way,” Papa said easily, an explanation that I expected was popular among soldiers. “Some men simply are.”

“Perhaps Colonel Hamilton was kept from danger for a purpose, Papa.” I looked up to meet his gaze. “Perhaps he was meant to do great things, for this country, and nothing will stop him until he does.”

Papa only smiled indulgently.

“I suspect the colonel would agree with you, Elizabeth,” he said, glancing past me to the houses we were passing. “Ahh, finally, there are your aunt’s lodgings. I cannot wait for the comfort of a good fire, can you?”

To mask my disappointment, I busied myself with arranging my cloak, as if preparing for the end of our journey. I should have known better than to say such things about Colonel Hamilton to Papa. It wasn’t that Papa couldn’t understand. It was more that he wouldn’t. In his head he’d already decided that Colonel Hamilton would be acceptable as a suitor for me, and that was the end of it. The subject was done.

Mamma claimed proudly that Papa’s ability to make up his mind quickly and progress forward to the next decision was why he had been a successful general, and perhaps it was. My opinions were of no consequence, because his thoughts had already moved elsewhere, doubtless to the confidential meeting he would have with General Washington later in the evening. How could my humble opinions rival that?

I smoothed my gloves and sighed, and resolved to let it pass. But I could understand now why my sister Angelica had eloped rather than battle with Papa about her own choice of a husband.

The horses had stopped before a clapboard house, with candles already lit within against the dwindling daylight and smoke from the fires that my father so craved curling from the chimneys. The house belonged to Dr. Jabez Campfield and his wife; Dr. Campfield was an army surgeon who had agreed to quarter my aunt and uncle during the winter encampment. In a town where lodging was at a premium, the arrangement between the two medical gentlemen had become both gracious and convenient. Still, as was the case everywhere in Morristown, we would be a crowd in the house, with not only Dr. and Mrs. Campfield and their young son, their servants, and the doctor’s two apprentices, but my aunt and uncle, their two sons, their servants, and now me as well.

Aunt Gertrude must have heard the horses, for we hadn’t yet climbed from the sleigh before the door to the house flew open and she came out to greet us herself, heedless of the cold. Before long we’d been swept inside and my father was blissfully before the fire he’d craved. Soon after, we all dined together—my father, my aunt and uncle, and Dr. and Mrs. Campfield—and after so many meals among strangers in the drafty common rooms of inns and taverns it was a great pleasure to be among family and friends. But Papa didn’t linger at the table, excusing himself as soon as the cloth was drawn and leaving for His Excellency’s headquarters a half mile away.

I, too, retreated to my bedchamber to oversee Rose as she unpacked my trunks. Mamma had made a loan to me of Rose, one of our Negroes, to act as my lady’s maid and to dress my hair for me while I was here in Morristown. Rose and father’s manservant had only just arrived, having traveled more slowly in the sledge with our baggage, and she was now beginning to shake out my gowns. I joined her, trying to decide what of my belongings to unpack and which to leave for now in the trunks. As was to be expected, my room was small for all that Mamma had insisted I needed to bring with me.

We’d scarcely begun before Aunt Gertrude joined us. My aunt resembled my father, with the dark eyes and long nose of their family, as well as the same practical streak. But while in years she was the older sibling, she had always seemed much younger to me. This was perhaps because after being widowed and then remarrying, she’d surprisingly become the mother of two more sons, now aged nine and three, the younger born when my aunt was fifty-three.

“So many clothes, Eliza!” she said with unabashed approval as she sat in the ladder-back chair that was the only one in the room. “But you’re wise to have brought them, my dear. Wartime or not, the young ladies here dress to captivate the officers. The competition will be very fierce.”

I laughed uneasily, and sat across from her on the edge of the bed. I hoped she was exaggerating. I didn’t possess the necessary cattiness for ballroom skirmishes with other ladies, and I didn’t enjoy them.

“I cannot imagine that the competition will be very heated when the men so outnumber the ladies.”

“Yes, yes, they do,” my aunt admitted, picking up a mother-of-pearl fan edged with sequins from my trunk. “But there are men, and there are gentlemen, and then there are the best gentlemen, if you take my meaning. My, this is a pretty thing!”

She spread the fan and held it over her mouth, mimicking a coquette.

“It’s French,” I said, not really interested in the fan. “Which gentlemen do you mean, Aunt?”

“There are the ones to be avoided at all cost,” she said, clicking the fan shut blade by blade. “The gentlemen who are intemperate, for whom strong drink is their mistress. The gentlemen with fiery tempers, and the ones who play too deeply at cards. The gentlemen who seek a mistress for the winter, not a wife for a lifetime. The worst, of course, are the married gentlemen who conveniently forget their wives and children at home when they come to winter encampment, and act as if they were bachelors. And then there is Colonel Hamilton.”

Rose was holding a folded bundle of shifts and stockings, waiting for my decision. I nodded, grateful for the distraction, and pointed to the small chest of drawers beside the window.

“Why would you mention the colonel with those other ill-favored gentlemen?” I asked as carelessly as I could. “Or has he earned a place among them whilst here in Morristown?”

“I don’t believe General Washington gives him sufficient time to be a wastrel, even if he wished it,” my aunt said. “The colonel is as fine a gentleman as can be, Eliza, but I will be honest with you: he has not been pining alone beneath the moon and waiting for you to arrive.”

I blushed, for that was painfully close to what I’d been imagining. It wasn’t that I had expected him to be as chaste as a monk in his cloister while away from me. I’d no right to hope for that. But in my thoughts I’d always pictured him as stoic and solitary, his heart pure and devoted to liberty. I realized now how foolish this was, and how unrealistic, too, which only made me feel more the perfect fool. After all, the colonel was young and handsome and a soldier, and soldiers were notoriously free with their affections; my aunt’s catalog of rogues in the camp was likely entirely accurate.

To my relief, my aunt continued without noticing my discomfort.

“Since he has been in town this winter, the gossips have claimed the colonel to be hopelessly in love with at least three different ladies,” she said. “Or rather women, not ladies, for I should not describe any of them that nicely. Along with the colonel’s other qualities, he does have the reputation of being something of a gallant—but then, what young man isn’t?”

“They all do,” I said, striving to echo her nonchalance. Striving, but not entirely succeeding, though again she took no notice.

“Exactly so,” my aunt said, nodding sagely. “But I do believe he is intelligent enough to realize the difference between a passing infatuation at a camp assembly, and the honorable and loving life he might have with a lady like you. In that brief meeting in Albany, you must have pleased him with your kindness, your intelligence, and, of course, your beauty. He would not have asked after you if you didn’t.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” I said faintly.

“No, indeed,” my aunt said shrewdly. “Nor would I have invited you to come here, either. But I tell you all this with a purpose, Eliza. If you decide that the colonel is the gentleman for you—or even if you wish the opportunity to decide—then you must act. You are a prize, yes, but he will not wander your way willy-nilly. You must plot and wage a campaign to capture the colonel’s heart, and be prepared to defend your prize once it is yours.”

This was a far different conversation than the one I’d had earlier with Papa. He clearly believed that Colonel Hamilton would in fact be mine for the taking, like an apple that dropped from the tree into my hand of its own accord. Aunt Gertrude, however, expected me to climb to the highest branches of the apple tree, reach for the fruit, and tug it free if I wanted it.

And yet I found I preferred Aunt Gertrude’s perspective. Fed only by a memory and an impression, I had come this far through snow and ice. I needed to learn if Colonel Hamilton was not only special for this country, but special for me. If he proved he was, if love grew between us, then I would do whatever I must for the sake of that love. In a land full of soldiers, this would be my battle.

And I would win.

* * *

“Lady Washington is eager to meet you, Elizabeth,” Aunt Gertrude said as we rode together in a sleigh to the general’s headquarters the next morning. “Bound as we are in our little community, we all welcome a new face, especially one as pretty as yours.”

“It will be an honor to meet her,” I said, with one hand holding my wide-brimmed hat from blowing away. Dr. Campfield’s house was less than a mile from headquarters, so our drive wouldn’t be long. For a change, the sun was bright on the snow and the sky a brilliant blue overhead. The air was clear and sharp, and on such a day it was difficult not to be in fine spirits. I had risen early to bid farewell to Papa, returning to his duties with Congress in Philadelphia, and now the centerpiece of my day was being presented to His Excellency’s wife. I would be honored—and a bit intimidated—to meet her, for she was the first lady of the country, and widely regarded as worthy of that title.

I’d dressed with great care for this presentation. I wore a blue silk Brunswick jacket, close-fitting and edged with dark fur, and a matching petticoat, both quilted with a pattern of diamonds and swirling flowers. My gloves were bright green kidskin, and on my head I wore the one extravagant hat I’d brought, the sweeping brim covered in black velvet and crowned with a profusion of scarlet ribbons. I had a weakness for tall hats, for I felt they added height to my small stature, and kept me from being overlooked in a crowd. Aunt Gertrude had assured me that Lady Washington was a lady of fashion, and that before the war, she’d ordered the finest of everything from London. She would appreciate the effort I’d made in her honor to dress with fashion and taste, even in the middle of a military encampment.

But I’d other reasons, too. The general’s aides-de-camp were quartered in the same house, and followed the general’s orders from his office. There was an excellent possibility that I might encounter Colonel Hamilton—or so Aunt Gertrude had assured me—and I wished him to take note of me.

“It seems that we are all crowded together with the Campfields,” she said, “but I assure you that there are far, far more people squeezed into headquarters. The General’s Family, his Life Guard, officers and messengers and diplomats of every color coming and going day and night so that Mrs. Ford must wonder what has become of her household. That’s a true lady-patriot for you—giving over her fine house to His Excellency and half the army, it seems, and living below in two rooms with her own brood of children. There’s nothing more melancholy than a young widow, poor lady, but she honors her husband’s memory and patriotism in the best way possible.”

“How many aides-de-camp does His Excellency employ?” I asked.

“A half dozen, I believe,” Aunt Gertrude said. “They are all part of what His Excellency refers to as his military family, and a close-knit family they are, too, with him of course as the father. But Colonel Hamilton is the one held in highest regard, with the most responsibility. I wonder that His Excellency could accomplish half of what he does without the colonel by his side. That’s Mrs. Ford’s house, there, the large white one before us on the hill.”

It would have been difficult to overlook. The house was large and imposing, nearly as large as our Albany house, and by far the largest that I’d yet seen in Morristown. It was two stories with tall chimneys at either end, and an ell to one side where I guessed the kitchen stood. The doorway was elegant indeed, with a prettily arched door flanked by rich carvings and pilasters, and a half-moon window above and two more on either side. Nearby were a number of rough log huts that quartered the general’s Life Guard, his most trusted soldiers in charge of protecting him, and to the rear of the house were several more log buildings, squat and temporary.

But what I noticed first was the bustle of activity around the house, like a bee skep surrounded by swarms of the busiest of bees coming and going. Soldiers and horses, wagons and sleds and sleighs, and all of them moving briskly on the army’s business. The cold air was filled with the sounds of orders given, of barked conversations, and the jingle of harnesses and the creak of wooden wheels over the packed snow. There were several small fires with men clustered about them for warmth, and bright flags on staffs that proclaimed that this was in fact the army’s headquarters.

We climbed down from our sleigh before the house, and I followed my aunt up the steps to the sentry. Among so many dark cloaks and uniforms, I felt like a gaudy parrot in my bright clothes. I also felt acutely female in the midst of so many men, and though I held my head high and pretended to take no notice, I sensed every eye upon me as I stood there on the whitewashed steps, my skirts swaying in the breeze and the bright ribbons of my hat dancing around my face. I might be short, but no one was overlooking me now.

The sentry recognized my aunt, and mercifully we were soon ushered inside the house. But the wide hallway was likewise filled with men as well as the same bustle, with a scattering of tradesmen and waiters hurrying among them. The Washingtons’ personal servants stood out among the others, for they were all Negroes, and wore the red and white livery of Mount Vernon, His Excellency’s mansion in Virginia. Yet every man, white and black, stepped aside to open a path for my aunt and me to pass, bowing and lifting their hats to us as well. It was respectful, I suppose, especially since I was sure that the word had moved swiftly among them that I was General Schuyler’s daughter, but I was still happy to be ushered up the stairs to the door of the single room that formed the Washingtons’ private quarters.

A neatly dressed black woman in a linen cap (doubtless another of the Washingtons’ servants, who had traveled north with them) told us Lady Washington would receive us in a moment. My aunt sat on the bench beneath the hall window, but I preferred to stand, glancing into the room across the hall. Once another bedchamber for the Ford family, it now appeared to be an officers’ barracks with a half dozen small camp beds, each with its own low-arched linen canopy, and the owner’s belongings stacked neatly beneath. To me it looked more like a children’s nursery than a room for grown gentlemen, and I craned my neck a bit farther from curiosity, amusing myself by imagining the men all tucked snug beneath their coverlets for the night.

“Miss Elizabeth?”

It had been over two years, but I recognized that voice immediately. Startled, I turned about, and there before me was Colonel Hamilton.

He stood with a sheaf of papers beneath his arm, doubtless important orders and letters from His Excellency’s desk, and tucked into the top buttonhole of his coat was a gray and black pen cut from a turkey’s quill. He’d aged since I’d seen him last, more manly, his blue uniform more neatly tailored and his boots polished and gleaming. His hair was sleeked back in a tidy queue that couldn’t quite contain its fiery red-gold, and his gaze was keen with the intelligence—and the warmth—that I remembered. To me he looked like a man who carried great responsibility and trust with ease and confidence, exactly the sort of man a commander-in-chief would rely upon. But then, I’d sensed that when we’d met before, an intangible quality that made me long to trust him as well.

I cannot say how long it took me to make this studied appraisal, for it seemed as if time itself had ceased to matter as I stood before him. Yet somehow I managed to recover my wits, and dipped a quick but graceful curtsey to him even as he bowed to me, and to Aunt Gertrude as well.

“Good day, Colonel Hamilton,” I murmured. “I trust you are well.”

“Very well, Miss Elizabeth, very well indeed,” he said, and I realized he’d been studying me just as I’d been doing with him. “And you?”

“Quite well,” I said, smiling, “and grateful that my journey here is done.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that,” he said. “Travel is never easy at this time of the year. But changes of scenery and diversion afforded by travel must agree with you, Miss Elizabeth. If I might be permitted, I’d say that you are looking not only quite well, but even more beautiful than I recall.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” I said, not objecting at all. The bright colors of my attire had done what I’d hoped, and I pointed playfully at the pen in his buttonhole. “I admire your turkey-standard.”

He frowned, not understanding at first, and then sheepishly pulled the pen from the buttonhole. “I fear that it’s the standard of my lowly position here as a clerk,” he said ruefully, twisting the quill between his fingers. “Hardly the field of glory, is it?”

Too late I recalled how much he’d longed for battle, and chafed beneath his current duties for the general.

“The fields are all covered in snow at present, Colonel,” I said softly, repairing my unfortunate jest as best I could. “It’s hardly the season for glory, and I am sure that the work you do here for His Excellency is of great importance. Spring will come soon enough, and opportunities with it.”

“You are kind, Miss Elizabeth,” he said. His gaze locked with mine, the warmth of it wonderfully intense, and I thought this the finest compliment I’d ever received from a gentleman.

To our right, the door to Lady Washington’s room opened, and her servant reappeared to usher us inside.

“Excuse us, Colonel,” said my aunt as she rose and came to stand beside me, “but as you can see, Lady Washington expects us.”

“Of course, Mrs. Cochran,” he said, stepping back to let her pass, yet still looking at me.

My aunt smiled broadly. “My niece is residing with me at Dr. Campfield’s house, Colonel, between here and the town.”

“I know it well, Mrs. Cochran,” he said with a small bow to her while still not looking away from me.

“If His Excellency can part with you, Colonel, we would welcome you for a dish of tea,” my aunt said with what I thought was remarkable boldness. “In the evening, perhaps, after Dr. Cochran and Dr. Campfield have finished their final rounds. I’m sure they would welcome your conversation.”

I’ll credit my aunt for discretion, for that was neatly done, and I glanced quickly at my aunt in gratitude.

Colonel Hamilton smiled, and from the amusement in his eyes it was clear he, too, realized how deftly my aunt had put a gloss of respectability on her invitation. I’d be there, of course, and the colonel knew it, too, but this way none of us could be accused of being too forward.

“I shall be honored to join the gentlemen, Mrs. Cochran,” he said, bowing. “I shall do my best to attend this evening, if my duties permit.”

My aunt nodded in acquiescence and looped her arm into mine to draw me away with her. “We shall hope to see you then, Colonel Hamilton.”

“Good day, Colonel Hamilton,” I said, sorry to be leaving but realizing it was necessary.

“Good day, Mrs. Cochran, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, bowing. “And perhaps Miss Elizabeth would enjoy the conversation of the medical gentlemen as well?”

I smiled over my shoulder as we entered the room. “Perhaps, Colonel,” I said. “Perhaps.”