Eliza Hamilton knows that her sister is exceptionally fond of her husband. It would take an extraordinary fool not to notice, and Eliza is no fool. She's seen the way Angelica looks at Alexander- seen the way that her eyes would follow him across the room and how she would dash up to him to share her latest idea or advice.
Eliza Hamilton also knows that her sister and her husband have shared a special bond from the first moment they met. They are kindred souls, both a bit different from the norm, not to mention headstrong, high-spirited, exceptionally intelligent, and they would rather put gunpowder in their tea then back down from a cause they believe in. Put the two in a room together and their conversations could last hours. She laughs to herself when she thinks of them in one of their heated debates about some topic or another, two unstoppable forces of nature clashing in a battle of wills unlike any other.
The newspapers love to gossip about the close relationship between the Secretary of the Treasury and his sister-in-law. Eliza tries her best to avoid reading the libel and to ignore any malicious gossip, because if there's one thing she's learned from being a politician's wife- especially one as scathing with a pen as Alexander Hamilton- it's that any attempt to harm a rival's reputation is fair game, no matter how unscrupulous or far-fetched.
More importantly, she trusts her sister and she trusts her husband. They are the most important people in her life, even though one of them is currently three thousand miles away and the other one is so busy with work that he might as well be. Still, she loves them all the same, and with that in mind Eliza has never worried that anything could come of an unrequited crush and the unfounded speculation of some broadsheets.
One night, Eliza goes into her husband's study. Alexander is out late at an important business dinner, the children are all asleep, and she had been about to do the same when the sound of something falling and crashing to the floor across the hall gives her pause. Quietly getting out of bed and going across to the closed door, she pauses grabbing the handle. The children aren't allowed inside their father's office, and an unspoken agreement between husband and wife has meant Eliza rarely ventures into this particular room herself. Still she turns the knob and enters, stopping for a moment on the threshold and marveling for a moment at the organized chaos that lies before her. Pamphlets about political rivals, calculations of expenses, and proposals for public works are scattered across the desk; sketches of buildings and plans for new ones are stuck to the wall, and the cabinets overflow with books and manuals. Crumpled papers overflow the basket next to the desk and litter the floor all the way to the door where she stands. It's hard for her to ascertain exactly what has caused the noise because in the clutter and disarray it's hard to see what could be out of place.
Among all this disorder one soaring pile of paper on the edge of the large writing desk stands out. She weaves her way toward it and recognizes the scrawling handwriting of her sister on the top page; a quick glance through the pile tells her every letter is from Angelica. The sheer amount of them surprises her, as does the fact that these alone out of everything in the office are perfectly organized and in pristine condition.
Next to the pile is a fresh paper with only three words, a letter Alexander has only begun:
My dearest, Angelica
Eliza reads those words. Reads them again. Slowly becomes aware of her heart pounding in her chest.
This is not what you think it is.
Slowly she reaches over and takes the first of Angelica's letters. She reads every word. Then the next one, and the next, and on and on. Before she even realizes it Eliza is reading every single one and violating the trust and privacy of the two people she loves most in the whole world and she can't stop because she needs to prove to herself that the horrible feeling running through her is unwarranted and uncalled for and foolish.
She reads Angelica's ideas and opinions, her encouragement and discouragement, her restlessness and most of all her longing. She doesn't need to read Alexander's letters to know that they must be full of the same, because why else would he write those words?
My dearest, Angelica
Suddenly she wants to grab that stack of pristine papers and rip them to shreds. But she won't, she can't, because Angelica is her sister and her dearest friend and she loves her more than anything and Angelica wouldn't do that to her, would never go behind her back. She trusts her.
She trusted her.
My dearest, Angelica
The words and the uncertainties they bring burn in her mind long after she has carefully placed back every page, shut the door to the office, and walked back to the bedroom. She sits on the bed and thinks back to that snowy winter evening so long ago when Alexander Hamilton came into their lives for the first time.
Angelica had found him first. When Eliza had looked across the room and seen the two of them together never before had her sister seemed so full of life, so perfectly happy. Eliza- young and naïve and caught up in her own world as she had been that night- hadn't paused to question the fire burning in her sister's eyes when she had called her over to ask to be introduced to the dashing soldier, the fire that continued to burn in them long after Angelica had excused herself and moved to the other side of the room after bringing Alexander and Eliza together. If she had asked, would Angelica have told her? Would she, Eliza, have wanted to know?
Her sister is lively while she is calm, outgoing while Eliza is cautious. Her husband is the same. Compared to the two of them, Eliza has always felt like a bit of an outsider, but until this moment it has never bothered her. Now she wonders; now she doubts.
She lies on the bed and stares at the ceiling. Thinks of that winter night and all the nights since. The worries and the fears that have been circling in her mind over and over for the past hours won't leave her.
What seems like an eternity later she hears Alexander finally arriving home and dives under the covers, trying to feign sleep when he enters the room. Her husband climbs quietly into their bed and wraps his arms around her, drawing her closer to him.
My dearest, Angelica
Eliza lies there in the dark and wonders which one of them would be by Alexander's side if the wheels of fate had spun differently that night all those years ago.
She decides she doesn't want to know the answer.