I ran into the house to tell the servants to watch the children and then left with the judge.
Although he drove the horses hard, the drive seemed interminable, with every minute another chance for me to fear for Alexander. I tried to concentrate and pray for him, but my fear was so great that my mind would not keep still. I thought of all the times that Alexander had almost come to this point, but hadn’t, all the times he’d demanded satisfaction but had stopped before a fatal confrontation. My thoughts kept racing back to our son’s terrible death, and I resolutely tried again to pray that I wouldn’t find my beloved husband in a similar state.
At last we came to the home of Mr. Bayard, director of the Bank of New York and another of Alexander’s close friends. We were shown to an upstairs bedroom, and at once I saw it all for myself, no matter what pretty falsehoods the men would tell me.
Alexander was dying. He had always preferred the truth in all things, and this, then, was the most difficult truth he’d ever forced me to accept. They’d cut away his clothes and bandaged his side, but still there was so much blood, his very life spilling away. His face was as pale as old parchment, his arms contorted and restless with pain while his legs remained too still beneath the sheets.
Yet he knew me, and smiled as soon as he realized I was there. At once I broke down and began to sob, sinking into the chair beside the bed.
“My own dear wife,” he said. “Please, Eliza. Don’t distress yourself.”
“How can I not, my love?” I said, overwhelmed. “When I see you like this . . .”
“I am sorry for that,” he said. “It’s not how I’d wish you to remember me.”
“I’ll remember you in more ways than I ever can say.” I touched my fingertips to his brow to smooth his hair back from his forehead, his skin sticky and warm with feverish pain. “Oh, my love, I cannot bear to lose you like this!”
“You will,” he said. “You will, for the sake of our dear children. Remember, Betsey, that you are a Christian, and let that be your comfort.”
He closed his eyes and winced as fresh pain sliced through him. I drew my fan from my pocket, and fluttered it gently over his face to cool him, the only physical comfort I could offer. Dr. Hosack—ah, another old friend!—was in attendance, and I looked to him.
“Is there nothing that can be done to ease his suffering?” I pleaded.
Somehow the pity and sorrow in the doctor’s respectful expression made everything worse, and fresh tears spilled down my cheeks.
“I have given him sufficient laudanum to dull the worst of it, Mrs. Hamilton,” he said softly. “He has asked to remain lucid, and I have obliged.”
I nodded in agreement. Words had always been my husband’s joy, and he would want their use as long as he could.
“My love,” he said without opening his eyes. “When we first met, you said you’d pray for me.”
“I did,” I said, my voice breaking. “I still do. Oh, my dearest!”
But he’d drifted out of consciousness, or perhaps into the laudanum. It was like that the rest of that day, and all through the night. He’d rally and speak as clearly as if he were his old self, then the pain would pull him back. So many friends came to bid him farewell and many to pray, and he greeted them all by name, an agreeable host to the end. Bishop Moore from Trinity Church gave him holy communion for the final time, a solemn ceremony that brought my husband great peace. My sister Angelica came, too, so inconsolable that she could scarcely speak.
I never left Alexander’s side.
On the second day, he weakened precipitously, and the periods when he drifted away were more frequent. He no longer possessed the strength to move, and he spoke only with difficulty. I had been reluctant to have our poor children here, not wanting this sorrowful sight to be their final memory of their father, but on this day I relented, and had them brought to us. It was as agonizing for them as I’d feared, and all seven wept bitterly. Each in turn bent to kiss him in farewell, and I held Little Phil so that Alexander’s lips could press against his downy cheek. At last I bid them stand at the foot of the bed, clustered so that he might see them together one last time.
With great effort he opened his eyes again. He did not speak, but I knew from his expression—oh, most excellent of fathers!—that this was the most painful reminder of all he was leaving behind.
The day was so long, and yet time moved too fast. I’d never have guessed I’d so many tears to shed. For nearly twenty-five years, he’d been the other half of me, my constant support, my beloved husband, my dearest love, and I could not fathom what my life would be without him. I held his hand to the end, and told him again and again how much I loved him, and always would.
But love was not enough to hold him back, and at last, in the afternoon, he slipped away.
He was gone, and I was lost.
EPILOGUE
New York City, New York
August 1804
And now I’ve come back to where I began.
As much as I longed to die as well to join Alexander, I didn’t. As broken as I was with grief and loss, I survived. For the sake of our children and my husband’s memory, I continue.
Nothing has been easy. They tell me that the funeral was the most impressive in the city’s history, and the public grief deeper than even for General Washington. My husband would have been surprised to see how well loved he was.
I hadn’t the strength to go myself; my first raw grief was so harrowing that I feared I’d lose my wits. When I read the final letter that Alexander had written me the night before the duel, I did not believe I could bear my loss. But though God will test us sorely, He never gives us more than we can bear.
And I will bear this. I’ve too much to do for it to be otherwise. Already my husband’s enemies have begun to take the luster from his memory, to use him as a scapegoat for their own flaws and errors. It’s easy to blame someone who can no longer defend himself.
But they haven’t reckoned with me. I will make sure my husband and his achievements are not forgotten. I will see that he receives all the honor that is his due, and that he will always be remembered by the country he loved and served so well.
I, Eliza Hamilton, will do that: for the best of husbands, the best of fathers, and the best of men: my Alexander.
AFTERWORD