I don't own Hamilton.
Chapter Two
Eliza was dead. Alexander should have known that. He remembered telling their children that Mama had died. Philip hadn't understood that Mama wasn't coming home. William had been quiet after Alexander made his announcement. He still hadn't spoken a word. James and John cried together. Alex Jr. was more talkative, for some reason. Angelica (or Annie, as the family called her) who still hadn't recovered from Philip's death only sat there as if nothing was happening. Little Eliza hadn't stopped crying. Alexander wanted to comfort her, but he couldn't bear to speak her name. What man couldn't speak their daughter's name, because it reminded them of their late wife? He was ashamed of himself.
But Eliza wasn't dead. How could she be? He should be the one dead. Not Eliza. Eliza didn't deserve to die. Alexander did.
Before Alexander laid Elizabeth Schuler Hamilton, cold in her coffin. Her dark hair had been braided and laced with flowers. Roses surrounded her. Eliza wore a white dress. She was still so beautiful. Even when she was dead.
Alexander stayed in front of her coffin for the entire funeral. He held her limp hand. Neighbors came by to bring food to the family and mutter their apologies. This bothered Alexander. They weren't the ones who killed Eliza. It had been that fool. That Aaron Burr.
Angelica didn't try to hide her tears. Both of her closest sisters were gone. They were dead. Angelica had always imagined herself to die first. But Peggy had been the first one to die. Now Eliza had joined her younger sister.
Eliza was buried in the Trinity Church Cemetery, next to her mother and Philip. Alexander stood at her gravestone for four hours, wanting to believe that this was all a nightmare. And that in the morning, Eliza would be there to wake him up and comfort him.
But she never did.
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