It would be, too. We’d only a handful of weeks before our wedding now, and until then, I’d take extra care with every word I wrote to him. I was determined that we’d weather this storm. Our love was strong, and I never for a moment doubted its power, not then, nor ever after.
For he was my Alexander, my Hamilton, and I’d always, always be his Betsey.
CHAPTER 9
Albany, New York
December 1780
“You must be cold there by the window, Eliza,” Mamma said.
“You’ll know well enough when they arrive. Be warm, and come closer to the fire.”
I shook my head, pretending I was warmer than I was as I sat inside the recessed window seat. Even with a large fire in the family parlor’s hearth, winter always crept into the room from the windows and the corners, and it was only truly warm within a few feet from the fire itself. I wore a quilted wool petticoat beneath a wool gown, thick stockings, mitts, and a shawl over my shoulders, yet still my fingertips were so chilled that I was having difficulty holding my needle.
“I’m perfectly at ease here, Mamma,” I lied cheerfully. “The sunlight is agreeably bright for my sewing.”
“What she cannot wait to see in the bright sunlight is her bridegroom,” said my sister Peggy in an exaggerated voice, and without looking up from the letter she was writing at the table nearer to Mamma and the fire. “She wants to see her darling Hamilton.”
“Hush, Peggy, that’s enough,” scolded Mamma. “We are all eager to greet Colonel Hamilton.”
I bowed my head over the tiny bonnet I was stitching for my newest sibling, and pretended not to hear them. Because fresh snow had fallen two nights ago and the Albany road was still covered, Papa had sent his own sleigh to the inn where Alexander and Mr. McHenry were to have stopped last night. Even Papa had been unable to keep from teasing me about Alexander’s arrival, telling me that he’d purposefully sent the sleigh to make sure my bridegroom wouldn’t escape before the wedding.
I’d only smiled then, much as I smiled now. My family could say whatever they wished. Nothing would stop Alexander from coming here, and nothing would stop me from being the first to greet him when he did.
Alexander had received his first army commission as a captain in March of 1776. Nearly five years had passed since then, and he’d not taken a single leave of absence from the army. He had labored without pause, and during the time spent as a member of His Excellency’s Family, he had kept the general’s long hours as well, rising before dawn and working late into the night.
Now, in the last week of November 1780, he was finally stepping away from the Family and the army, and I was the reason. No, I shouldn’t say that: we were the reason, Alexander and I together, and our wedding that would bind us forever as one.
His Excellency had grudgingly granted Alexander six weeks’ leave, and when he had ridden from headquarters at Tappan, New York, only one friend from the Family was permitted to accompany him: James McHenry, the general’s secretary, and a surgeon besides. Foreign-born (from Ulster, in Ireland) like Alexander, Mr. McHenry served without rank as a volunteer, which was perhaps why he was spared for our wedding.
I glanced out the frost-edged window for the thousandth time. November days were short, and with the sun already dipping lower into the sky, I prayed they’d be here soon, and safely.
I leaned closer to the window, blowing a small cloud upon the pane, and with my finger traced two overlapping hearts. I smiled at my foolishness, and as I did, I caught sight of the chestnut team and the sleigh behind it, dark and sleek against the white snow.
I dropped my sewing and raced from the room and into the hall. I didn’t wait for a servant, but swung open the heavy front door myself and stepped outside, forgetting the cold. The sleigh was slowly making its way up the hill to our house, the horses weary and laboring, but all I saw was Alexander, standing in the sleigh and waving his hat to me. I laughed with delight, and hurried down the front steps, my skirts bunched to one side so I wouldn’t catch my heel in my hems and trip.
He didn’t wait for the sleigh to stop before he’d clambered over the side and into the snowy drive, and I ran toward him and he ran toward me. He caught me in his arms and swung me off my feet, and then kissed me with all the hunger of a starving man. There’s an old saying that absence is a general cure for love, but from that moment I knew being apart had only made us love each other more.
“My dearest Betsey,” he said, still holding me tightly. “You can’t know how much I’ve missed you.”
“I can, because I missed you that much, too,” I said breathlessly, and kissed him again.
He made a rumbling noise of contentment deep in his chest. “I cannot wait until you’re mine, my love.”
“Nor I.” I’m sure my entire family was watching us from the windows, and reluctantly I disentangled myself from him, though I kept my hand in his. Poor Mr. McHenry had been left standing beside the sleigh, discreetly gazing out at the river and away from us, and I stepped forward to offer him my hand.
“Good day, sir,” I said. “How glad you must be that your journey is done, and I thank you, too, for bringing Alexander to me.”
“Thank you, Miss Schuyler,” he said, bowing. He was a stocky man with a full, intelligent face and an agreeable manner that made him welcome in any company. “Truth be told, I do not believe I could have kept him away even if I wished it.”
“No, you couldn’t,” Alexander agreed, and the two men laughed, making me suspect that there’d been much discussion between them on that very topic. “Come, McHenry, we must pay our respects to the general and his lady wife.”
“I’m sure you both wish to warm yourselves, too,” I said, turning to lead them up the steps.
But Alexander hung back, gazing up at the house’s tall brick fa?ade. It was an imposing house, and sizable, too: larger than any other in Albany, larger than most in New York and Philadelphia as well. I’d lived there all my life and thought of it as my home and nothing more, but I realized how different a prospect it must be for him.
“Do you recall the first time I was here?” he said. “The last time, too. I was exhausted and spent from riding from Valley Forge in five days, and then being compelled to attend General Gates, and coax him into sharing his troops with His Excellency.”
“Is that where you were?” I asked curiously. “I recall that you were most secretive about your mission.”
“An old secret that has lost all its power,” he said. “But I was impressed that you didn’t pry, the way most women would have. Reticence is a rare quality in any mortal, and yours left its impression upon me.”
“I should hope I possessed more qualities than keeping silent,” I said wryly, amused that that was what he’d remembered of our first conversation.