I, Eliza Hamilton. Susan Holloway Scott
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Название: I, Eliza Hamilton
Автор: Susan Holloway Scott
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Биографии и Мемуары
isbn: 9781496712530
isbn:
“He is,” I agreed uneasily. Papa had never been one for guile or trickery, but I couldn’t see where all this was leading us. “We spoke of the war.”
Papa smiled. “I expected so,” he said, “for war is much on his mind, as it would be for any officer. Although speaking of war is hardly the way for a gentleman to win a lovely young miss.”
“He wasn’t trying to win me, Papa,” I said, rankling a bit at that “lovely young miss.” Among the three of us sisters, Peggy was the beautiful one and Angelica the most clever. I was somewhere in the middle, exactly where I’d been born, pretty enough and clever enough. But Papa insisted on praising my appearance whenever he’d the chance, as if repetition were sufficient to make me over into Venus herself. He meant well, I know—he always did—but still I wished he’d recognize my other qualities, too, the ones my sisters didn’t possess, such as how well I could ride a horse, or how skilled I’d become at managing the household affairs with Mamma.
“Gentlemen don’t always make their intentions apparent at first,” Papa continued. “I saw the attention he paid toward you.”
How many times this night had I blushed? “I assure you, Papa, that our conversation was entirely innocent of—of any intention.”
Papa’s smile faded. “I am glad of that,” he said more seriously. “I wouldn’t want you to consider an attachment to him.”
“Oh, Papa!” I exclaimed with dismay, my cheeks growing warmer still. “After a single conversation?”
“I am serious, Elizabeth,” Papa said. “Colonel Hamilton is a young officer with much to recommend him. I liked him very much. He is entirely devoted to the cause and to this country. Perhaps too devoted. According to His Excellency, the colonel is brave to the point of being reckless in battle—the first to engage and the last to leave the fray.”
Sadly, I couldn’t argue with Papa, not after all Colonel Hamilton had said to me earlier. Liberty or death, indeed.
“I’ve seen it before in other young officers,” Papa continued, “and to my sorrow I’m certain I shall see it again. While courageous, even admirable, such men do not have long lives as soldiers. He’ll return to Pennsylvania tomorrow, and I fear that will be the last we’ll see of him. I would be surprised if he survives to his next birthday.”
“Yes, Papa,” I agreed softly. I wished that what he’d said wasn’t true, and I wished even more that we all lived in different, more peaceful times.
“Yes.” There was sadness and regret in Papa’s face as he doubtless remembered all those other brave young soldiers, now lost, who’d served with him. “You can understand why I caution against him, Elizabeth. There are plenty of other young gentlemen in the world for you. Perhaps they may appear less dashing or less handsome, but they will be steady by your side, and love you more than glory or fame. That’s what matters most. It’s late now. Time for you to find your bed.”
He kissed me on the forehead, and added a fond pat to my shoulder as I turned and slowly climbed the stairs. He was a wise man, my father, and wanted only the best for me. I knew that. I was always grateful for his wisdom and guidance, as any daughter would be. He’d been right: most likely I would never again meet Colonel Hamilton in this life. Forgetting him should be easy enough, just as he would forget me.
But still, I added him to my prayers that night, exactly as I’d promised, and as I drifted to sleep I thought of how he’d smiled when he’d called me Betsey. . . .
CHAPTER 2
Morristown, New Jersey
January 1780
I think every family must have a habitual matchmaker—a sister, aunt, or grandmother (for of course matchmakers are by nature female) who devotes her every waking minute to contriving the perfect pairings for those she loves best.
In our family, the title belonged to my aunt Gertrude Cochran, my father’s sister. She was herself happily wed to an amiable and well-respected physician, Dr. John Cochran, who was currently serving not only as the personal physician to General Washington, but also as Surgeon General of the Middle Department, as appointed by Congress. In her way, my aunt was serving, too, traveling with her husband wherever the army might take them. Most recently they had settled in to winter headquarters in the town of Morristown, in New Jersey, not far from the city of New York.
From my aunt’s letters, this was not nearly as odious—or arduous—as one might think. While my mother had shuddered and feared that Aunt Gertrude must be huddled against the winter winds in some mean tent, in truth she and Dr. Cochran had been granted a pleasant house with every convenience for their use. They were situated not far from His Excellency’s headquarters, and were often invited there to dine and share in other entertainments. I’d several friends who were already in Morristown, too, ladies who were staying with relations and happily being courted by at least a half dozen gentlemen. It all sounded quite merry, and my aunt wrote long letters describing assemblies, suppers, and musicales, all attended by gallant young officers.
If her letters were contrived to make me envy her situation, they achieved that goal. Over the last months, the major conflicts of the war had shifted from the northern states to the south, and while this brought more security for my family, it also meant there were fewer and fewer visitors both to our house and to Albany. Last April, my father had finally been exonerated of any wrongdoing in the court-martial he’d requested, but even so, he’d resigned his commission, left the army, and once again taken his place as a delegate to the Continental Congress in Philadelphia. No longer did officers, gallant or otherwise, come to call at our house, and Peggy and I both chafed at the lack of gentlemanly company. When Aunt Gertrude wrote to invite me in December to visit her in Morristown, I nearly leapt at the offer.
In perfect fairness, I must add that there was one more enticement to my aunt’s invitation. Among the dozens of officers she’d mentioned in her letter, one name had stood out as sharply as if it had been doubly inked: Colonel Alexander Hamilton. Whether because of my prayers on his behalf, God’s grace, or the colonel’s own innate good fortune, he was not only still alive, but prospering as a trusted member of General Washington’s staff—the General’s Family, as it was called—in Morristown.
During the two years since the colonel had called at our house, there had been no further words shared between us other than the ones I have described here. We’d exchanged no letters, nor sent messages through others. I knew better than to behave so boldly, and besides, I was sure he’d far more demanding things to do for the sake of the army and the war. He’d become a hero of numerous battles, decorated and lauded for his bravery, daring, and resourcefulness under fire. And yet as soon as Colonel Hamilton had learned of my aunt’s connection to me, he’d asked at once for her to relay his regards, and his fond memories of our only meeting.
She’d done so in her very next letter to me, and had in all the letters that followed. Further, she’d added so much praise for the colonel—his wit, his courage, his handsome face and form—that I’d blushed at her audacity. Aunt Gertrude was not only a habitual matchmaker; she was a brazen one, too.
I was flattered. I was intrigued. I’ll admit to nothing more, even now. I was by nature more practical than many ladies, and I didn’t believe in the kind of instantaneous love that poets praised. I had liked Colonel Hamilton, and I’d thought often of him, and yes, I’d kept him in my prayers each night for the past two years. Apparently, he had liked me, too, СКАЧАТЬ