I gasped, stunned. In a way, it made perfect sense: Mr. Church had come to New York in 1775 to escape his past and to make his fortune in the war, and he’d always intended to return to either London or the Continent, whichever proved more welcoming. He’d no reason to remain now that hostilities from which he’d so profited had ended. For her part, Angelica longed for what she perceived as the irresistible allure of the Old World, and Mr. Church’s promises to take her there had been much of his allure as a suitor. Nor could I question his desire to settle his final accounts from his wartime trading; Angelica had hinted to me that he’d still substantial funds outstanding from having supplied the French army in America.
Yet there was so much more to such a voyage. Crossing the ocean was always hazardous, and even the most experienced of shipmasters couldn’t guarantee a safe passage. I was loath to think of Angelica and her children in peril from storms or pirates, and then to imagine them living so far from us, in another country entirely. Once they sailed, I might not see any of them for years, or perhaps ever again in this life. She’d three little ones now, Philip, Kitty, and John, and the fourth to come at the end of the year. Before long her older children would entirely forget their aunt Eliza, and the one yet born would have no knowledge of me at all. I’d let myself believe we would all live near one another in New York, as Angelica and I had once dreamed, but now—now that dream was done.
Mr. Church was eager to sail no later than the end of July, before hurricane season made crossings more dangerous. For one brief, final visit, Angelica came with her children to The Pastures. Because I’d no notion of when we’d meet again, I spent as much time with them all as I could, making sure that my Philip, too, was often with his cousins. On the evening before they were to leave us, I took one final long walk with Angelica, our arms linked.
“I don’t wish you to be so sorrowful, Eliza,” she said. Thanks to her husband’s burgeoning wealth, she already looked as if she’d embraced the sophisticated airs of Paris; she wore a pair of sizable purple amethyst drop earrings and a necklace to match, the gold settings glittering in the fading sun. “I’ve wished all my life to visit Paris.”
“I know you have,” I said, unable to do as she’d bid and keep the sadness from my voice. “I’m happy for your sake, Angelica, but I still will miss you. To have an entire ocean between us!”
“We’ll write often,” she promised. “Hamilton has already sworn to write me with all the news that you forget.”
“He will, too,” I said. He and Angelica were avid correspondents, writing often to discuss books and treatises they’d both read as well as the family news I often forgot. Although Alexander assured me my letters were far more dear to him, I didn’t doubt that hers were the more interesting. “His letters are so much better than mine.”
She smiled, and to my amusement, she didn’t disagree. Instead she linked her fingers into mine, and leaned her head against my shoulder.
“I shall miss you, too, Eliza,” she said. “You, and your little Philip, and our dear Hamilton, but most of all you. No woman has ever been blessed with a better sister.”
“Nor I,” I said softly. “You must make certain that Mr. Church doesn’t keep you abroad forever, but brings you back home to us in good time.”
“He won’t keep us in Paris forever, no,” she said, a hint of melancholy in her voice now, too. “But he does wish to reside in London, at least while our children are young. I’d hoped that over time he’d come to view New York as his home, too, but he still longs for England.”
I nodded, understanding. Even a woman as independent as Angelica must bow to her husband when it came to where they’d make their home.
“But perhaps we needn’t be kept apart for long,” she said, willing herself to be more cheerful. “Perhaps rather than me imploring John to return to New York, you should have your Hamilton bring you to Paris. Imagine us together as fine ladies of fashion!”
“I can imagine you that way, Angelica, strolling through the golden halls of Versailles in full hoops and with jewels around your throat,” I teased, unable to picture myself ever in such a role. “I’ll be perfectly content as Mrs. Hamilton of New York.”
“You may be content with such a mundane life, but Hamilton won’t be,” she said. “He’ll never be satisfied with being a mere attorney. I’ll expect him to have replaced Clinton as governor of New York by the time we return.”
I laughed at that. “He swears he’s had his fill of politics, and that all his dreams have been dashed,” I said. “The past year in Philadelphia with Congress has soured him on it, and now he vows to dedicate himself entirely to practicing law.”
She glanced at me slyly. “Do you truly believe that, Eliza? In your heart, and with your head? That your brilliant, mercurial husband will so meekly bow his neck to the yoke of the law?”
I looked away from her, out to where the sun was setting over the hills. She knew me so well, my sister, and she knew my husband, too. Even as I longed for Alexander to be happy with the profession he’d chosen, I’d wondered if such contentment was possible for him. I didn’t need my sister to remind me of his ambitions and dreams for the new government. But then Angelica had also always been drawn to the most public aspects of my husband’s character—the parts that were indeed brilliant and mercurial—and ignored the side of him that was kind and generous and endlessly devoted to Philip and me.
“Alexander will follow the path that he chooses for himself,” I said carefully, a truth we could both agree upon. “For now, I believe that path leads to a law office on Manhattan Island.”
“Perhaps it does, perhaps it doesn’t,” my sister mused. “We shall all see in time, won’t we?”
It was nearly dark now, with the servants lighting the first lanterns near the stables, and reluctantly we turned back. The shadow of The Pastures loomed before us, a reassuring block of warm brick and memories sharp against the twilight sky. It remained the only lasting home that either of us had known so far, and there was good reason why we always returned here, even now as we were about to say good-bye.
Our farewell had begun in earnest.
“Mamma says she’d always believed that her daughters would live within a day’s ride of The Pastures,” I said softly, “and that none of us would ever dare go any farther.”
“She has Peggy and Stephen at Rensselaerwyck,” Angelica said. “That’s not far. Now that they’re married, they’ll never leave the manor, unless Peggy chooses to climb from the window again.”
“Don’t say that to Mamma,” I warned, but still I laughed with her.
“She and Papa will have you and Hamilton in New York,” Angelica said. “True, it’s not Albany, but it’s not so very far away, either.”
“But you shall be in Paris,” I said wistfully. “Oh, Angelica, sometimes I feel that all I ever do is say good-bye to those I love most, over and over and over again.”
She didn’t answer, and in that moment I realized she felt the same as I. The men we loved would determine our destinies along with their own, no matter how we might wish otherwise.
We walked the rest of the way arm in arm, our heads bowed, in sisterly agreement. We said nothing more, nor did we need to.
CHAPTER 14
New York City, New York
June 1784