“Take care,” I warned, offering him the same cloth I’d had over my shoulder. “You know how he can be after he’s been fed.”
He took little William and tucked him deftly against his chest without any concern for his fine dark silk coat. I watched as he walked the baby slowly around the yard, rocking him gently and saying the sort of soft, sweet nonsense that he always did to our infants.
He’d always been an admirable father, and in every way but one, he’d been an admirable husband, too. My heart swelled with love and anguish, a terrible combination, as I watched him with William.
At last he handed the now-sleeping baby back to me, lingering before me.
“Know that I love you more than ever, Betsey,” he said at last, his voice at once both raw and contrite. “That has never changed. You are everything to me, and I could not bear my life without you beside me. I am so sorry that I have hurt you.”
“So am I,” I said, all I’d venture, or could say. I hurt too much for more. “Good day, Colonel Hamilton.”
I do not know what he’d expected of me, but his disappointment was unmistakable as he settled his hat on his head to leave. “Good day to you, too, Eliza. I’ll come for you tomorrow to accompany you to the sloop.”
I watched him leave as he’d come, through the house, and only when I heard the servant close the door after him did I let myself cry again.
*
As he’d promised, Alexander saw me, our daughter, Angelica, and William on board the sloop to Albany. Our son Philip also came to bid us farewell, though I suspect more on account of his sister’s urging than anything else. My two oldest children had remained close, and it pleased me no end to see how devoted Philip, fifteen, was toward his sister, thirteen, and she toward him. He now seemed more a man than a boy, taking extra care to keep at her side, while Angelica in her bright red habit flitted about the dock like a merry little bird, eager for amusement and attention.
As I waited to board, Alexander and I said little to each other beyond what was expected regarding the weather, the wind, and the provisions. As we watched our two older children, I thought proudly of how they both showed so much promise. Now taller than his father, Philip especially today struck me as thoughtful and solemn, and no doubt a bit preoccupied with the studies he’d left behind to tend us.
But as at last we prepared to board the sloop, I realized the reason for his somber mood.
“You already told Philip about the pamphlet, didn’t you?” I said, my voice low so others would not hear. “He knows, doesn’t he?”
He nodded. “It was better he hear of it from me than others at the college.”
I grimaced. “I wish he hadn’t had to hear of it at all.”
“He’s almost a man, Eliza,” he said. “You can’t keep him sheltered from the world as if he were an infant.”
That wasn’t what I’d meant. What I’d wished was that Alexander’s own actions hadn’t demanded the need for the pamphlet in the first place. Philip had always idolized his father, and to discover that Alexander had made such an unfortunate mistake in judgment and virtue must be difficult for him to comprehend. Now, too, he would be placed in the uncomfortable position of having to defend his father against his classmates’ inevitable gibes.
But there was no time to explain that to Alexander, not with Philip and Angelica rejoining us to make our final good-byes. There was a final flurry of activity as the sailors prepared to cast off, waiting for Alexander and Philip to disembark so they could pull back the gangplank.
“You must go,” I said, my heart suddenly racing at the thought of leaving him behind. “It’s not fair to keep everyone else waiting while you tarry.”
“I’m tarrying on account of you, Eliza.” He smiled, squinting at me and into the sun beneath the brim of his hat. “Take care of yourself and my two little darlings, and carry my regards to your parents.”
I nodded, unable to find any words that might express what I felt.
If he took note of my painful silence, he did not say it.
“Good-bye, my dearest.” He swept off his hat and bent to kiss me, not on the lips, but on my cheek. Then like that he was gone and so was I, and the sloop was easing from the shore, and all that was left to me was the sight of him and Philip standing on the dock with their black cocked hats raised in salute and farewell.
*
When Angelica, William, and I arrived at The Pastures five days later, my parents welcomed us joyfully, believing that I’d come simply to present their latest grandchild to them. My second sister Peggy had not been well, and that, too, was another excuse for my visit to Albany.
As I had so many times before, I embraced the chance to walk in the gardens and across the fields and to be alone with my own thoughts. I’d time to let Alexander’s words settle, and to consider my sister’s wise counsel as well. I prayed for wisdom, and for understanding. Most of all, my wounded heart struggled to make sense of what had happened, and weigh it against the love I’d once believed entirely without flaw.
My husband had sinned six years ago. As I walked alone, I thought of all that had happened in those six years, of happy times and sorrowful ones that we had shared. We’d lost one child, but rejoiced at the birth of another. We’d survived an illness that had claimed a thousand other lives. He’d stepped away from the government for my sake, and we’d grown closer because of it.
That was our life together, and that was our love as well. Placed in the balance, how much did our marriage counter the “amorous encounter” with another woman? Was it sufficient to let me forgive him? Was our bond of love and trust strong enough to withstand this break, and be mended anew?
I’d only been at my parents’ house for a few days when Papa sent for me to join him in his library. As soon as I did, I saw the pamphlet open on his desk, and my heart sank.
As can be imagined, he was furious.
“Did you know of this, Eliza?” he demanded. “Have you read it for yourself? Is that why you fled to us here, for sanctuary?”
“I have read it, yes,” I said. “Alexander shared it with me before it was published, and I was—I wasn’t happy.”
“What decent woman would be?” he exclaimed. “That any Christian husband would dare to treat his wife with so little respect and regard, and then to boast of his sin in the press!”
“He is hardly boasting,” I said, defending Alexander in spite of everything. “He simply means to present the truth, so that the public will know that he isn’t guilty of all the treasonous misdeeds that the Democratic-Republicans have accused him of committing.”
My father shook his head, and with each word thumped his fist on the desk beside the pamphlet.