Although Phillip is Hamilton's only child shown in the musical, he had seven children at the time of his death. This is the story of Hamilton's last night, where he is allowed a moment with each of his children. The names are accurate but their ages at the time of his death are fictional for the purpose of this story. Set right after "Best of Wives and Best of Women." Note: Alexander and Eliza had another son named Phillip right after their first son died. The children will be introduced in this order: Phillip, John, William, Eliza, James, Alexander Jr, and Angelica.
A small smile came upon Alexander's face as he heard Eliza make her way down the hallway into their bedroom. He placed his quill down on the desk and leaned back into his chair as he though about his life. His precious Eliza, his beautiful children, his legacy; he couldn't help but wonder if this impending duel with Burr would end all of this. Leave a note for your next of kin, tell 'em where you been flashed through his mind. He pulled a piece of paper from a drawer and dipped his quill in some ink.
Dear Phillip, he wrote. He gave a small sigh and tossed the paper onto the floor. Sometimes it still didn't feel real that his first-born was gone; how badly he wanted to see him again. He missed how Phillip would sit in the floor of his study and write poetry while he worked on plans to introduce to Congress. He was brought back from his trance and retrieved another paper from his desk; My Dearest, Angelica, he wrote to this eldest daughter. He left a brief note to his child about how much he adored her strength and wisdom for a girl of sixteen, and instructions on how to move forward if he were to fall to Burr.
As he signed the bottom of the page, he sighed and rose. He folded the paper and put it in his top desk drawer, hoping to throw it away later in the day. As he sat his quill down, he heard a small cry come from down the hall. He stretched and made his way out of his office.
He slipped into baby Phillip's room and stood over his crib, gazing down at him. There had been no question about naming him Phillip when he was born, not long after their first born had perished. He reached down into the crib and picked him up, shushing him quietly as he bounced up and down. "It's alright, son," he whispered. The little baby pulled his arm out of the blanket that swaddled him and playfully grabbed his father's nose. Alexander laughed and placed his forehead against his son's. "You'll blow us all away." He kissed his little cheek and placed the now silent baby into the crib and adjusted the blankets around Phillip before blowing out the candle and slipping out of the nursery.
Before he could make it back to his study, he felt a pang of sorrow spread through him. What if this is my last night? He leaned against the wall in the hallway and thought. I have to say goodbye, just in case, he decided and made his way into the next door on the left.
He quietly opened the door and stepped into the room where his twins, John and William, slept. The four-year-old boys each had their own beds, but usually ended up in the same bed by morning. Alexander sat on the edge of William's bed, giving a small laugh as John rolled over, pulling the covers off William. The little boy shivered and sat up, nudging John with his elbow. The other woke up and rubbed his little eyes, neither of them noticing that their father sat at the end of the bed. Just as they began to argue, Alexander stepped in, "It's alright boys, go back to sleep, no need to fight now."
John looked at his father and went to sit in his lap; William followed suit. Alexander wrapped his arms around them and kissed each of their heads. "I want you boys to promise me something," he said softly. "I want you to promise me that you will always be there for each other as you are now. It's rare to find two brothers as close as you two, my brother and I were not close at all, and I do not want you to lose that; it is a gift from God."
"I promise, Father," William said, lifting his head from Alexander's chest.
"Me too," said John, trying to sit up straight to impress his father. Alexander smiled down at them and pulled them close, rocking back and forth until they fell asleep.
After tucking the boys back into William's bed, Alexander decided to check in on Eliza, his twelve-year-old daughter. She was often ill and had been going through another sick spell the past few weeks. As Alexander slipped into her room, he heard her let out a small cry as she tossed and turned in her bed; this was common when her fever was high.
Alexander quickly made his way to his daughter's side, sat down next to her in her bed, and pulled her into his arms. He shushed her softly as he wiped the sweat from her forehead, causing her to stir awake. "Father?" she said tiredly. "I did not wake you, did I?"
"Not at all, darling," Alexander said while smiling down at his daughter. "I was already awake and heard your cries. Are you alright?"
"Yes, Father. Sometimes my fevers cause me to have nightmares." There were many times when Alexander would be working in his study late at night and hear his daughter having a nightmare; he would always slip into her room, pull her into his arms, and hold her there until her slumber became calm, but this is the first time he had woken her.
"I know, love. It is alright; just try to get some sleep. I'm here for you," he leaned down and kissed her forehead, squeezing her tighter as he did.
"Good night, Father," she said leaning into him and yawning. "I love you."
"I love you too, darling. With every beat of my heart," he said while rocking her gently. He said the same thing to her mother when he married her. It took only a few minutes for her to fall back asleep, and Alexander rose carefully, so not to wake her. He bent down, softly brushed the hair from her face, and kissed her cheek before slipping back into the hallway.
Alexander stuck his head into the parlor and looked at the clock above the fireplace. It was a quarter until four; he was running out of time. He needed to leave at four o'clock in order to make it to Weehawken before the sun rose. He exited the parlor and quietly walked down the hallway, into his son, James', room. He was surprised to see James sitting on his bed, with a candle lit next to him, writing in his journal. The fourteen-year-old boy was so engrossed in his work that he didn't even hear his father come to his bedside. His eyes shot up as Alexander sat down at the foot of his bed and began to explain himself, "Oh Father, I just had a thought and need to write it down. I don't normally stay up this late, but- "
"It's alright, son," Alexander chuckled. "I just saw the light on and I wanted to make sure you were alright." He dared not tell his son the real reason he was in his room when he could very well see him at the breakfast table in a few hours. "What are you writing?"
"Just a letter," James said as he tried not to blush.
"A letter to whom?" Alexander raised his eyebrows and gave a small smile. "Would it be that girl that you always walk home from the park?"
"Yes, Father. Her name is Rose, and she lives a few blocks down the road."
"Do you write her letters often?"
"Once a week. I can talk to her better when I write it down. Does that make me a coward because it is hard for me to tell her how I feel to her face?"
Alexander smiled at his son and said, "I hope not, because that's how your mother and I fell in love: letters. You're not a coward. You're my son, and I'm proud of the man you're becoming." He rose and patted his son on the cheek, took the journal from his hands, and blew out the candle. "Get some sleep, son," Alexander said softly while pulling the covers over James.
He chuckled at his son's naivety as he stepped into the hallway and quietly went to his son, Alexander Jr's, door. He snuck in and crossed the room to his son's bed but did not find him there. He glanced around the room and saw him curled up in an arm chair in front of the fireplace, sound asleep. Alexander knew why: his son had always been a timid boy and he liked to sleep with as much light around him as possible. He had finally stopped creeping into his parents' bed every night just a few months before.
Alexander smiled as he made his way to the fireplace and picked up his little boy. Alexander Jr. seemed startled and woke up with a panicked look in his eyes.
His father shushed him softly and said, "It's alright, Junior, I'm here. Nothing is going to hurt you."
The little boy rubbed his eyes and said sleepily, "Oh sorry, Father; I didn't know it was you. I thought I heard something earlier, that's why I was by the fireplace, and-"
"Don't you worry about that, son. I'm here," he said as he laid his son in the bed and pulled the covers over him.
Alexander Jr. settled himself in bed and asked his father, "Will you stay with me until I fall back asleep?"
"Of course, son." Alexander smiled and looked down at his little name-sake. He stroked his hair and sang softly, We'll make it right for you, and you'll blow us all away. Someday, someday…yeah, you'll blow us all away. By the end of the lullaby, the little boy was fast asleep. Alexander bent down, kissed his little forehead, and slipped back into the hallway.
As he made his way towards Angelica, his eldest daughter's, room, he heard the clock strike four. He lowered his head in disappointment; he really wanted to see all his children before he left for Weehawken. The letter he left in his study would have to be enough.
Alexander went to his office to retrieve his glasses from his desk. As he picked them up, he noticed the top drawer of his desk was open. He looked in and realized the letter he left was gone. Before he could look for it, he heard shuffling come from the doorway. He looked up to see his daughter, Angelica, standing at the door with red eyes, holding the letter.
"Angelica, it's not-"
"Don't, Father. I already read this. How could you do this? You could die!" She interrupted him. Alexander went to her quickly, pulling her into the room as he closed the study door. He didn't want the rest of his family to find out.
"Angelica, why are you up at this hour?"
The sixteen-year-old wiped a tear from her cheek and let out a small laugh. "Father, subtlety has never been your strong-suit. I heard you moving about the house and knew something must be wrong. Then I found the letter you wrote to me; Phillip left the same kind of note to mother before he was killed." She began to sob, and Alexander pulled her into his arms, stroking her hair as he held her. "Father, please don't do this. This family cannot take another loss," she said through her sobs into his shoulder.
Alexander pulled away from her to look into her brown eyes that were exactly like his. He wiped her tears from her face and stroked her cheek with his thumb. He sighed and softly said, "Oh, my dear. I must do this; please understand. I am not trying to throw all of this away, I am doing it in order to keep all of this. This is about honor, my love. About standing up for what's right."
"You've always been good at that."
"So are you. Don't lose that; it's what I love most about you, darling." Angelica hugged her father and he felt the fear in her grip. He kissed her forehead and whispered, "I love you with every beat of my heart."
She pulled away and sniffled, "I love you too, Father." She retrieved his coat from the rack by the door and helped him put it on.
"I'll make you proud," he said as he pulled her into one final hug and kissed her cheek.
She smiled at him, "You already have."
Without another word, Alexander left the house and stepped out into the misty, morning air to row across the Hudson at dawn.