-A week?! I have to be in New York for a business meeting.
-I'm sorry, sir, but it will take time to repair the ship. The storm damaged it badly. I suggest finding a comfortable place, because we will be stuck here for a while.
George takes off with a sight. He has so much work to do in New York, but instead he is here, in this godforsaken island. He roams the streets without any aim, when he notices a woman struggling with two buckets of water.
-Let me help you, Madam – he takes the heavy buckets.
-Thank you – she smiles at him and his heart suddenly starts beating faster – I live nearby, if you would be so kind as to carry them to my house.
-Of course. I'm George Washington.
-Rachel Faucette. What are you doing in Charlestown, sir?
-We got into a storm on our way to New York. Had to stop here. I'm looking for a place to stay while they repair the ship.
-Why don't you stay at my house? I have a room to rent.
He takes the offer. Rachel is a wonderful host, and while she cooks dinner they chat. She is so lively and has an opinion on everything. George can't help but compare her to Martha, her silent, obedient wife who always just agrees with him. He tries to dismiss those dangerous thoughts. He is married. Martha is a lovely woman, and Rachel is just being a good host, nothing more. He retires to his room early. He is just getting ready for bed when there is a knock on the door. He opens it and the view takes his breath away. Rachel is standing there, with a candle in her hand. She is only wearing a nightgown, her long dark hair frames her face. The candle light illuminates her and he has never seen such beauty.
-I just came to ask if you needed anything.
He is undone, lost in those brown eyes, so he steps forward and kisses her. Rachel just smiles and blows the candle out. They spend the whole week in each other's arms, only getting up to eat. George feels guilty when he thinks about his wife, but he forgets all his worries the moment her body is on his. He hopes that a storm comes, or the repairs take more time, just so he can spend another day with her, but when the week is over he has to board the ship. They say goodby with one last kiss.
-I'll write – he promises, but they both know it's a lie.
When he returns to New York Martha is at the harbor, waiting for him. He hugs her, and promises himself that he will never again look at another woman. He tries to forget about Rachel, busying himself with work, but he can't escape his dreams. Six years pass. He finds himself in Charlestown once again. His feet carries him to the familiar path to the little house downtown. He just wants a glance at her, just to hear her voice once again. A small boy is playing in the garden, building a castle from mud.
-Hey boy! Does Rachel Faucette live here?
The boy looks up and George just stares at him. He knows those eyes, they look back at him every time he looks into a mirror.
-Yes. She is my mom.
-How old are you, son?
-I'm five. My name is Alexander Hamilton.
Five. He left six years ago. That can't be. The door opens and she walks out, carrying a basket. Their eyes meet. She looks a lot older than she should be. Her hair, full of grey, and life has left its mark on her face, but she is still beautiful.
-Alexander, go play somewhere else.
-But mom, I'm building a castle.
-Go, now.
She watches as he runs away, then turns to George.
-What are you doing here?
-Is he mine?
She crosses her arms.
-And what if he is?
-You should have told me.
-You never wrote.
He can't defend himself, because it's true. He had a son, and he didn't even know about him.
-Let me take him with me. I can give him a good life.
-No. You don't get to come back after six years to take my son from me. He is mine!
-Then let me at least help you.
-We don't need your charity.
-He told me his name is Hamilton?
-James Hamilton. He was foolish enough to believe Alex was his. Premature birth, my ass. I thought he would marry me, but that's what I get for lying, I guess.
-Rachel, please, let me help.
-Go away, and don't ever come back. We got this far without you, we will manage.
She turns around and slams the door. George wants to stay, but the ship doesn't wait. Another ten years pass. Martha and he never have children. And as becomes more and more unlikely, he thinks about his son more often. How old is he, how he looks. When he is sixteen George goes back for him. He is old enough by now to make a decision for himself. No one needs to know the truth. He can became his patron, help him get through school. He hastens his steps as he hurries to the house. He is going to see his son. An old woman is sitting in front of the house, peeling potatoes.
-Good morning! Does Rachel Faucette still live here?
-She died, four years ago, God bless her soul. Yellow fever.
-What about her son?
-Alexander? The boy moved to New York, two years ago. Why are you looking for them, sir?
He doesn't answer, just turns around, and runs away. Finding the boy in New York proves impossible, and as the years pass he becomes reconciled to ever seeing him again. Then the war comes, and he shoulders a ton of responsibility. He needs someone to lighten the load. General Greene recommends him.
-Loud-mouthed, and too smart for his own good, but brave and loyal. He stole British cannons.
-Send him to me.
That night there is a knock on his door.
-Sir? General Greene said that you asked for me.
He looks up and freezes. The eyes are his, but everything else is Rachel.
-What's your name, son? – his voice is trembling.
-Alexander Hamilton, sir. Have I done something wrong?
It's him. The odds that he would ever meet him were close to zero, but here he is.
-On the contrary.
He hires him right there. The boy is brilliant and foolishly brave. He reminds George of himself, when he was young. He cherishes every minute he spends with him, getting to know his son. But Alexander wants to do more than write. He begs him to let him fight, but he says no every time. He can't lose him, not when he just found him. When he hears that Lee was in a duel he doesn't even wait for his man to finish the sentence, he rushes there. All he can think about is Alexander, injured, bleeding. He is so relieved when he sees that it was Laurens, not Alexander who dueled. Then he gets angry.
-Hamilton, meet me inside.
-Son...
-Don't call me son.
-You can't just duel everyone who says something you don't like to hear. Our allies in the south will hear about this, and won't be happy.
-I couldn't let him talk about you like that.
-I don't need you to defend me. It's not your job to stand up to every bully.
-Then let me fight in the war. Give me a batallion to command. I'll prove to you what I can do.
-No.
-If I don't fight in this war, I'll be the same nobody I was before. If you would let me, I could be someone after the war.
-Or you could die! Your wife needs you alive, son I need you alive!
-Call me son one more time!
Alexander's eyes are full of tears. George wants to hug him, to tell him the truth, but he can't, not now, not ever. The people need a leader they can look up to, a legend not a human being. He would ruin everything if his affair got out.
-Go home, Alexander.
They win. Alexander is as brilliant as a politician as a soldier. He rises quickly, and George watches him with a father's pride. Now he can't tell him the truth, he would ruin not only his reputation, but Alexander's, too. Everyone would say that he only achieved anything because of his father. They wouldn't see the talented young man for who he really is, only as the president's bastard. So he keeps quiet, no matter how much he wants to confess. One day Alexander's son accompanies him to work. His grandson.
-Philip, say good morning to the General.
-Good morning, sir!
-How old are you?
-I'm five!
-Your father must be really proud of you.
-Dad, can you pick me up?
George pats the boy's head, then leaves, before they can notice the tears. Because no matter how many wars he wins, how many times he is elected as president, he will never get what he truly desires: Alexander, calling him father.