Chapter Twenty Two
John Laurens
"Where are you going?" Marty demanded as John shrugged on his jacket after an hour or two of relaxation. She looked up from the desk, where she was penning a letter to John's mother.
"I am going for a walk." John replied.
"Oh." Marty glanced out of the window of their room. "It is a lovely night. I believe that I will join you."
"No." John protested quickly. "You should stay here. You have exerted yourself a great deal today, as it is. I would prefer that you relax and rebuild your strength. We will depart for South Carolina tomorrow afternoon."
"Nonsense." Marty's tone grew tight. "The fresh air would do me good."
"Open a window." John was losing time with Hamilton every moment that he remained in the room to argue with Marty. "You will receive the fresh air without the undue burden of exercise."
"Enough of this. I spent the entire party alone this evening. Have you any idea how it felt to be abandoned at an event in which I had no connections? I had to introduce myself to people of considerable esteem throughout the evening. People whom you ought to have been introducing me to. Where were you? Were you with him? Is that where you are going now?" Marty demanded.
John's brows furrowed.
"You promised me," He reminded her, unable to keep the angry edge out of his voice. "You promised me when we discussed marriage that I could live my own life as I saw fit; that you wanted a son and nothing more from me. I have fulfilled my obligations to you, wife. I expect you to make good on your promise to me."
"I was a fool for making such a promise, and you were a fool for believing me!" Marty argued. "You are my husband, John. Is it so wrong for me to wish for a single evening with you? I wish you would tell me about your day, or about your work. I would listen to you talk about the buttons on your jacket if you would only address me! Why will you not let me be a part of your life?"
Angry tears reddened Marty's eyes. Her tears made John feel guilty for his misconduct towards her. That Marty made John feel so guilty further fueled the anger burning in John's chest. John felt as though Marty did not have the right to make him feel guilty for his relationship with Hamilton. Marty was the one who had promised John that she would not behave the very way that she was behaving. John had relied upon that promise when he had married her.
"I am going." He stated, his tone cold.
He did not wish for Marty to manipulate his feelings any longer. He walked out the door before she could say anything else. He shut the door behind him, then walked down the hall towards the stairs at a fast enough pace that, even if she tried, Marty could not keep up with.
There were a few servants milling around the mansion at the odd hour, but no one of any authority. John proceeded out of the mansion without a word to anyone. He moved towards the kitchen, which appeared to be a small stone building just a few paces away from the house.
He opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. It was significantly cooler in the kitchen than it was in the house - the stone walls and open plan designed to keep the building tolerable during cooking hours was now effectively cooling the building without any fires to offset the chill. John wrapped his arms around himself and looked around for a candle to light.
Hamilton was not yet in the kitchen. John had not expected him to be in the kitchen so soon after disappearing with his wife, but he had wanted to ensure that he was in the kitchen, waiting for Hamilton the moment that he arrived. He wanted to spend every moment with Hamilton that he could. He did not know how many moments with Hamilton were in store for him. The war and their respective marriages left much uncertainty. Still, John felt as though they had much to talk about. It had been months since they had conversed beyond the wedding invitation and John's polite acceptance.
John waited for about half an hour. The candle that he had lit was dripping wax onto the table slowly. John spent the time thinking about what he might say to Hamilton. He tried not to think about all that he had said to Marty during their argument prior to his departure.
When Hamilton arrived, his hair was askew and his eyes were alight. John could not help but smile at the sight of him.
"John." Hamilton said his name as if it were a prayer.
He surged forward before John could overthink his next course of action. He placed one hand on the back of John's hair, his fingers carding through John's hair. He then moved forward, pressing his lips - slightly chapped from the winter air - against John's. John hastened to kiss him back. He did not know how far Hamilton intended to go with this act, but he would not discourage him at any point.
Hamilton had not lost his skill in the art of kissing in the time that had passed between them. In some ways, the kiss was better than their last kiss had been. There was an urgency, created by the months they had spent apart, as well as a gentleness, created by the apprehension both men felt about the other's feelings. John could have gone on kissing Hamilton for the rest of his life.
They had sex in General Schuyler's kitchen on Hamilton's wedding night. The utter wrongness of it all sent a thrill through John. John considered, fleetingly, that this might be the last time they had sex. The thought made him appreciate every aspect of Hamilton's body. He took extra care to memorize the dimples on either side of Hamilton's shoulder blades. He scrutinized the way Hamilton's lips parted to draw in ragged breaths. He tried to commit the sound of Hamilton's voice to memory.
He did not want to forget a single moment of it.
As time marched forward and sunrise neared, John and Hamilton were left sitting on the floor of the kitchen, propped up against the cold stone wall. They were in a state of semi-undress. Both of them suffered from goosebumps on every inch of exposed skin. Neither of them allowed those goosebumps to bully them into putting on more clothes than they had to.
"You must promise me that you will move to New York once the war is over." Hamilton said. "We will be able to have nights like this all of the time. I could meet your son after the war. I imagine he will look just like you."
"Not if he is lucky." John tried to joke.
He disliked Hamilton's easy talk of their life after the war. Hamilton did not seem to understand the possibility that there might not be a life after the war. Hamilton still did not seem to grasp how fragile life - including his - was.
"You are handsome, John." Hamilton insisted. He was smiling lazily. John hoped that he would never forget that smile. "I could devote endless hours to convincing you of how handsome you are."
"I would enjoy that." John smiled slightly.
"Once the war is over." Hamilton promised, taking John's hand in his. "Once the war is over, I will dedicate an entire day, once a year, to telling you how handsome you are."
John's smile grew strained. He wished that Hamilton would stop relying on the end of the war as a means of making up for lost time. He wished that Hamilton would cease obsessing over what the two of them would do once the war ended. He wished that Hamilton would focus on what to do and what to say while they were still together.
"I love you." John said.
"I love you, too." Hamilton replied, still smiling.
There were footsteps outside of the kitchen. A glance at his watch told John that it was nearly the hour in which servants of the Schuyler family would rouse themselves and begin to prepare the mansion for another day.
"We should return to our wives." Hamilton remarked, frowning a bit. "They will wake soon."
John nodded.
His stomach ached with dread. He did not want to be separated for Hamilton - not again. Even if Hamilton's vision of their post-war life could come to fruition, their separation would still span for months, if not years. It was far more likely that they would be separated forever. It was nothing short of a miracle that neither of them had perished in their tenure as aides, yet. John did not trust that luck to remain intact to the end of the war.
"I will write to you." Hamilton assured John.
He was smiling brightly, unaware of the likelihood that they would never meet again. A part of John desperately wished to grab hold of Hamilton's shoulders and shake him in the hopes of impressing upon him the reality of their circumstances. The other part of him wanted to keep Hamilton like this: young, hopeful, and completely oblivious to the dangers of their world.
The latter was the side that won out.
"I will write back." John's voice was hoarse as he struggled to withhold his tears.
"I am glad - it will give me something to look forward to." Hamilton said, his voice laced with hesitation and adoration.
They were quiet for a moment. They regarded each other with awkward, faded smiles. Both of them knew that they had to get up and exit the kitchen before they were caught. Neither of them wanted to be the first to move. Neither of them wanted appear eager to leave the other.
"All right." Hamilton made the first move after a few moments.
He pushed himself off of the kitchen floor and grabbed his shirt off of the stool it had been tossed on. He took John's shirt and tossed it toward John. John caught it and began to dress himself as Hamilton did the same.
He tried desperately not to think about the fact that this could very well be his last time sharing this special, intimate part of the morning with Hamilton. Such thoughts threatened to overwhelm him. He was blinking back tears with each passing moment.
"How do I look?" Hamilton asked, turning to present himself to John.
"Very good." John replied, unable to look at him for longer than a few seconds at a time.
Hamilton nodded with a small, self-assured smile. It was a beautiful smile. There was not a hint of sadness in it.
"Well," Hamilton turned to look at the door.
How casually he could confront the idea of leaving, armed with the mistaken but genuine belief that they would see one another again. It was nothing to him to walk out that door. In Hamilton's mind, he and John had endless nights to spend together. This was only the beginning.
John nodded. He approached the door to stand beside Hamilton.
"This will likely be the last time we are able to speak privately until we are reunited again." Hamilton remarked as they exited the kitchen. They received a few curious stares from the servants walking around the property. "As you are departing this afternoon, and I will be surrounded by my in-laws."
"Mm." John agreed noncommittally.
This will likely be the last time we are able to speak privately at all, He thought. Hamilton, you fool. Why can you not appreciate that?
"I am hoping that General Washington will soon grant my numerous requests to join you and your men in South Carolina." Hamilton persisted as they walked toward the mansion. "He believes that General Cornwallis may trap himself along the coast soon. He will need more officers to orchestrate an attack."
John knew that, even if Washington were to grant Hamilton a command, he would not permit Hamilton to join him in South Carolina. It was another one of Hamilton's foolish, idealistic dreams.
"I will look forward to the day your request is granted." He said. He did not wish to be the one to disturb Hamilton's dreams.
As the lie hung in the chilly morning air, John wondered when it was that he had stopped being honest with Hamilton. When both men had been employed at Valley Forge, John could not seem to voice a single, believable lie in Hamilton's presence. Now, he was lying better than a gold-starved merchant.
"This is where we must part ways." Hamilton said as they reached the side door to the mansion. Upon entering the mansion, each man would return to his own respective wife. It would not do for them to be seen running throughout the mansion together.
"Very well." John's voice was growing quieter with each passing sentiment.
"It has been a pleasure seeing you, John." Hamilton spoke as though they were two acquaintances parting ways after a jovial party. It made John's heart ache. "I look forward to seeing you again - hopefully, when General Washington approves my request to command some men in South Carolina."
"I look forward to that, as well." John could barely speak, for fear that he would suddenly burst into tears.
He knew that there would be no reunion in South Carolina.
Hamilton took care to look around for a moment before leaning forward. He could not plant a kiss on John's lips - to do such would be a dangerous risk - but he managed to brush his lips against John's cheek lightly. Such an act could be defended if only Hamilton said that he wished to quietly convey information for John's ears only.
John did not mind a kiss to his cheek instead of one on his lips. In some ways, this act felt more intimate. It felt more final. This was not their typical way of saying goodbye - it was special.
"I will see you soon, John." Hamilton said.
"Goodbye, Hamilton." John said.
Hamilton pushed open the door to the mansion. Once inside, they quickly separated. Hamilton moved for the west wing of the mansion, where his bedroom with Eliza was situated. John moved for the east wing of the mansion, where Marty was undoubtedly skulking in their own bedroom.
John could hear Hamilton's footsteps as he walked. Each step made John's eyes burn. Each step brought Hamilton farther away from him, possibly forever.
John did not care if the war was won. It was a traitorous thought for an officer, but it was his own. He did not care if his father was the president of Congress, or if he was a pauper. He did not care of the child Marty was to bear would be a boy, or a girl. He cared only about Hamilton. He cared that Hamilton survived the war in spite of his own foolishness. He cared about seeing Hamilton's lazy smile at the end of a long day once more. He cared about having someone worth fighting for.
By the time John reached his bedroom, a few large tears had rolled from his eyes and down his cheeks. They splashed on the hardwood floor with reckless abandon. The boards would warp. John did not care.
He opened the door. He wished that Marty would be asleep, or elsewhere.
He was not granted such luck.
Marty was sitting on the bed, still dressed in her nightclothes. Her eyes were bloodshot - whether from a lack of sleep or from anger, John could not tell. Her expression changed as John stepped into the room. It went from one of anger to one of confused empathy.
"Husband, what -?" She started.
John could not bear it any longer. He moved forward, voluntarily placing himself in Marty's arms for the first time in their marriage. He knelt on the floor before her, with his head in her lap. He cried like a child.
He wept for the life he might have had in a different world. He wept for Hamilton, who did not yet know what heartbreak awaited them in some unexpected future. He wept for himself, for he would miss endless days of Hamilton's smiles, and endless nights of Hamilton's love.
"There now, husband." Marty comforted him as best she could. She smoothed his hair down with her hands. "All will be well."
All would not be well.
And so John wept.
Alexander Hamilton
John departed the morning following Alexander's wedding. General Schuyler was kind enough to provide John and his wife with a large breakfast before they left, which Alexander and Eliza attended. Alexander had attempted to make polite conversation with John, but his sour-faced wife seemed determined to block any conversation between them. John did not protest when his wife would answer questions meant for him. Alexander wondered if John felt more loyalty to his wife than he had originally told Alexander.
After breakfast, John and his wife's bags were loaded into the carriage meant to carry John's wife. John's horse was saddled and held beside the carriage. John and his wife observed as their bags were transferred from the mansion to the carriage. They talked quietly among themselves. It was odd for Alexander, watching John interact with his wife in that way.
He had always believed that he and John had been a team. Now, it seemed that John was a part of a different team. It was a team that Alexander was not a part of.
John approached Alexander, presumably to say goodbye. His wife started to follow him. John turned to look at her, his mouth curved down into a mild frown.
"If I could impose upon you a moment of privacy, my dear." He said.
If his wife objected, she did not say so. She cast Alexander a withering glare before approaching the carriage. She allowed Philip Schuyler to help her into the carriage while John spoke with Alexander.
"Be safe, Hamilton." John said with some hesitation. He looked as though he would have liked to say something else.
"I am subject to no dangers other than an occasional papercut. It is you who should worry about safety." Alexander tried to joke.
John smiled slightly, but it was not a genuine smile. Alexander knew the difference.
"I mean it." John said, lowering his voice. "Take care of yourself."
Alexander smiled indulgently. John seemed to believe that he would burst into flames in his absence. Alexander knew that it was affection which drove John's concerns, but at times, it felt patronizing. Alexander did not need to hear John's words on survival. Alexander had survived on his own for nearly ten years. John had been looked after by his father and his father's wealthy social circle - Washington included - for his entire life. John could not tell Alexander how to survive.
"I will." He promised John.
He did not wish to spoil their goodbye with a cold reminder of his survival skills.
John nodded. He observed Alexander for a moment, as though he was trying to memorize his face. When he had satisfied himself, he turned to approach his horse. Several servants stepped forward to help John onto his horse, but he did not need help. He swung himself up onto the horse with his usual amount of grace. It was the sort of grace that could not be learned - the aristocratic were born with it.
Alexander watched in admiration as John kicked his horse forward. The carriage carrying his wife started after him.
After the war, John, He thought to himself as Eliza took his hand in hers. It was warm, compared to the cold winter air. After the war, everything will be as it ought to be.