Eliza
Two years have passed since a winter's ball. It's early November; a chill has already began to set upon Albany.
Today I am at my parents' home, washing heavy winter curtains. My mother and Angelica are beside me, running the curtains through the freezing water.
"How's Alexander, Elizabeth?" My mother stops running her hands through the curtains for a moment.
I pause to think for a moment. I haven't thought about Alexander for a couple of weeks. He is stationed in Manhattan, and we haven't had much time to talk. "I would assume he's okay. General Washington has him posted in the city. Why?"
"Just curious, my dear." She doesn't say anything else besides the occasional criticism or light-hearted joke.
Angelica and I are in heavy, simple gowns. We wear petticoats that create warmth so that we don't feel the chill. Lately, I haven't been feeling like myself. It could be the November rain, or it could be my own mind folding in on itself. My family members begin to abandon our project-claiming that letting the curtains soke will reap better results-so I finish up, drying my hands on my apron. I take my bonnet off. My hair falls around my shoulders as I shake it out of my bun. Angelica doesn't say much to me anymore except for the occasional good morning or how are you. It makes me sad, as 18 months ago she would sit in my room and talk of my sweet Alexander, of whom I have become obsessed.
I shouldn't say obsessed; but the boy does something to me that others cannot. At this point, I believe that I have found my soulmate. Whether or not we are to be married, however, is an entirely different issue. He needs my father's blessing, my mother's approval, my sisters' okay, et cetera, et cetera. Essentially, Colonel Hamilton must complete the Tasks of Hercules to become my husband. In some ways, I benefit from this. In others, I am completely left in the dust.
Angelica looks at me for a moment, a reddish color invading her cheeks. She mutters something to herself, then goes to leave.
"What did you say, Angelica?" I call, only slightly condescending. I know something is wrong.
"Nothing, Elizabeth," she continues to walk away, not bothering to explain herself. I sigh to myself and walk upstairs to my bedroom.
On my desk sits at least twenty letters from Alexander. On most of them he took careful time with his words, and in others he scribbles and scrabbles and I can barely read his words. Both sides of him are my favorite, because they are both part of him.
I lift one up to the light pouring in from my bedroom window. The parchment glows and his handwriting curls and twists. I miss him so much…
In the next couple days, life crawls. The only thing that changes for me is how cold the air feels when I step out, as well as the fact that I twisted my ankle on some ice while in town.
I can't stop thinking about Alexander. He has written in a while. I fear that something bad might have happened to him… I'll push that aside. Alexander is a fighter. He can take care of himself. I think these things as I wander down the block of stores in Albany. Then, a spark is igniting. I can go see him in Manhattan! I run back home, flinging the door open.
My mother is in the kitchen, adding some more wood to the fireplace. "Eliza! Is everything okay, dear?!"
"Mother, may I go to Manhattan this weekend?"
My mother rises, moving closer to me. "Why?..."
"I," I can't bring myself to say it, especially to my mother. Embarrassment courses through me, my cheeks flushing. "I miss Alexander, mother."
Catherine Schuyler doesn't say anything back. She laughs directly in my face. "You miss him! Eliza, he isn't even yours yet!" The statement feels like a blow to the chest. My mother is right. Alexander doesn't bother to speak of marriage, less so when he even can talk to me. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to keep myself from screaming out.
"We are still courted, mother," I inhale deeply, trying to steady my speech. "He hasn't written, and I'm worried about him."
Catherine moves back to her fire. "He will write when he is ready. Men are simple creatures, Elizabeth. Now go on to the drawing room. I believe your sister could use some company."
My sister. Peggy has not been at the house lately, and Angelica is, well, Angelica. "Which one, ma'am."
My mother shakes her head disappointedly. "The elder one."
I feel as though I may faint, but if I deny my mother I may be put down and never wake again. I walk into the drawing room, the old floorboards creaking and crackling under me.
"Angelica?"
"Hello, my dear sibling," Angelica is sitting on a sofa, gazing longingly at the leaves that covers the lawn, banister, and street. My sibling stares at the leaves, their colors. "How are you?"
I am scared to approach her, scared to reproach. I take a chance. "I'm okay, you?"
Angelica is not here. She is far, far away. Her voice is so disconnected from her body that I am sure that someone else occupies my sister. "I'm just fine, dear. Come sit."
I move beside my sister. I am in my signature blue, she in her peach; the skirts of our gowns morph together in one jumble of fabric. She pushes a piece of hair behind my ear, tracing my jawline with her finger. She is wistful; tired, fragile.
Not my Angelica.
"Have you been conversing with your beau?"
She must not have heard our conversation in the kitchen. "No… I'm worried about him."
Angelica turns toward me more. "I wouldn't be. I'm sure he's fine. In fact, I invest much confidence in him. He is a fighter, Eliza."
I sigh, turning to face the window again. "You're right. I'm being foolish." As our conversation ends, I know now that my sister has become the leaves she is so fixated upon. She has fallen.
Suddenly, Peggy Schuyler comes rushing into the room. She is holding mail, and lots of it. She rushes over to me, dropping one in my lap. "Eliza! Your dear Hamilton calls!"
"Pardon?!" I can't process the words while ripping the envelope. There is a seal on the front, and the words spring at me.
Angelica reads over my shoulder. Words of passion and love. Words of stark, intense love; I can't bear the thought of being apart from him any longer.
I bring the letter close to my chest. I giggle wildly, kicking my feet back and forth.
Angelica turns to me, stark in her glance. "Be careful with that one, love," she whispers. "He will do what it takes to survive."