“And I think you should go to bed,” I said, gently guiding her back toward the stairs, “and forget you’ve ever breathed such rubbish.”
Fortunately, she did forget, or leastways never mentioned it again. I wouldn’t have shared her foolishness now except that it proves how thoroughly my new husband captivated my family, enough to make my sister speak so.
But as enjoyable as these weeks of holiday and honeymoon had been, they too swiftly came to an end, as all such diversions do. It wasn’t just knowing that in early January we would leave Albany to return to the army. No, the true end of this blissful time was announced in a pair of letters from Philadelphia that arrived in quick succession.
The first letter came from his dear friend John Laurens, who sorrowfully revealed that not only had Alexander been denied the envoy’s post at Versailles, but that Congress had instead awarded it to Laurens himself, even though he’d lobbied most vehemently for his better-qualified friend. Not knowing John Laurens, I could only secretly wonder how, in good conscience, he could accept the position if he truly believed Alexander to have been the better candidate. Alexander, however, didn’t question his motives at all, and thus I knew well enough to keep my opinion to myself. In the meantime, he put all his hopes into the Russian position, telling me over and over how well-suited he was for it, as if I’d any say in the final decision. How I wished I’d had that ability to make him happy!
Three days later a letter arrived from John Matthews, the congressman who’d nominated Alexander for the Russian post. I was in the hall when it was delivered, and with the letter in my hand, I rushed to the stables where Alexander was discussing horses with Papa. I handed it to him without a word, and at once he excused himself from my father and took the letter out of doors to read. I followed, prepared either to rejoice with him, or offer consolation if the news was not what he’d wished.
It wasn’t. I saw at once from how empty his face became. Because I knew him so well, I recognized this as his blackest despair, and infinitely worse than any other man’s wild ravings.
“Come,” I said quietly, slipping my hand into the crook of his arm. “Walk with me.”
Mute with disappointment, he nodded, and stuffed the letter into his pocket. I led him into the snowy gardens, away from the house and the sympathy of others. His pride would not suffer that, not now. I knew he’d be better served by the bleak austerity of the winter landscape, by bare trees and gray skies that would reflect his humor. Narrow paths had been cleared through the gardens, with only snowy mounds on either side to show where there’d be bright flowers come spring. In silence we walked swiftly, my steps hurried to match his, to the orchards, around the kitchen gardens, and back to what would be roses.
“It has nothing to do with my merits,” he said at last, so out of context that I knew he’d been working entire arguments in his head all the while we’d been walking. “My qualifications were more than enough to meet the requirements of the post.”
“Very true,” I agreed.
“Laurens says it’s because I am so unknown to the gentlemen of Congress,” he said bitterly, his words little clouds of disappointment in the cold air. “I’m certain he’s right. I have no property, no fortune, to give me stature, nor have I a father or other family to support me in the circles who have the power of decision. Whatever my successes, they are empty accomplishments in such a world without the false buttressing of fame to support them.”
“There will be other posts and other positions,” I said, soothing. “You underestimate your true value.”
“I don’t doubt my value to the country,” he said. “What I lack is the reputation that brings my name instantly to mind for appointments. I can hardly gain that reputation by writing letters and making tallies.”
“Your work for His Excellency is important, Alexander,” I said. “He trusts you like no other.”
“He trusts me to write letters for him in French, a skill he clearly regards as without value, else he would have learned it himself,” he said. “All others around me have prospered and moved forward, while I remain to be buried by the same tasks and tedium. But no more, Betsey. I am done, and I’m resolved there must be change.”
Surprised, I stopped walking. “How are you done? You’re not resigning your commission, are you?”
“No,” he said, though the way he said it made me think he’d considered it. “As you and I have planned, I’ll be leaving for New Windsor on Thursday, and you shall follow me soon after. I’ve given my word to return, and so I must.”
I nodded with a certain relief, for this was indeed what we’d planned. He would go ahead by horseback to New Windsor in southern New York, the site of this year’s winter encampment, and I would follow by sleigh with a selection of our belongings.
But he wasn’t done.
“I’ve given my word to return,” he continued, “and so I must. But our marriage has changed me, Betsey. Having you as my wife has given me a fresh determination. I’m no longer content to sit idle and wait for others to determine my future.”
“What shall you do instead?” I asked, hoping I kept the uneasiness from my voice.
His voice, however, was filled with confidence and daring.
“That shall be decided in time,” he said, his eyes glowing with his fervor. “Every indication points to the war ending this year. Before it does, before it’s too late, I must seize my opportunity on the field of glory.”
“But if His Excellency—”
“His Excellency is my general, but he is neither my friend, nor my ally,” he said with a coldness that shocked me. “I can no longer rely on His Excellency or any other man beyond myself. All I need is a field command, and this time I’ll find a way to get that.”
My fingers tightened into the rough wool of his coat. I couldn’t hold him back, nor did I wish to. All I could do was pray he’d find wisdom to match his enthusiasm, and luck to support his ambition and preserve his life. Impulsively he bent to kiss me, and I tasted his determination hot as a fever.
The wonderfully irresponsible romance of our courtship and honeymoon had ended, that was clear. Marriage and being Mrs. Hamilton were going to be much more challenging, and difficult, too. If I prayed for wisdom for my husband, I prayed for strength for myself.
In the coming months, we’d need them both.
CHAPTER 10
New Windsor, New York
February 1781