Summer, 1797
When one feels as though their whole life is crumbling around them, nothing else can be properly felt. Today's journey up to Albany felt less uncomfortable, less tedious, than those Eliza had taken in the past; even though it was no different from any of those.
"Where are we going, Mama?" James asked her as the carriage rolled along the streets.
Eliza had closed all the curtains. Even if it made the inside of the carriage dark and possibly morose, she was glad. She needed to shut the world out for a moment. For the present moment, she needed the world to be just her and the children.
"Grandfather and Grandmother's," Angie answered. "That's right, isn't it?"
"Yes sweetheart," Eliza replied. Her daughter was just asking for the little ones. Philip and Angie understood, and possibly Xander, but Eliza knew James and John didn't know what was happening.
Mercifully, they did not seem to suspect anything bad. She hoped that going up to the Pastures would keep them sheltered from the storm that was about to come their family's way. She wanted them to know what had happened, and simultaneously wanted them to stay innocent forever.
She knew that would never happen, but when they could no longer stay in the dark, she wanted to make sure they understood the gravity of the situation; she would let them decide whether or not they personally wanted to forgive their father, but they needed to know how serious the situation was; not a minor misunderstanding that everyone would've forgotten about in a few weeks' time.
"This will be fun," Xander squealed happily.
Eliza gave her first genuine smile in a long time. "I think so too baby."
"Miss Schuyler?" the Schuyler's family butler sounded surprised when he opened the door to her and the children.
Eliza found herself happy to hear her maiden name. Up here at her childhood home she was always 'Miss Schuyler' but right now it meant something. She couldn't bear to be Mrs. Hamilton right now.
"Were we expecting you?" he continued.
"No," she shook her head. "No you weren't. This was a rather last-minute trip."
She had been so desperate to leave – to get away from Alexander – that she hadn't sent a message to her parents, but she hoped that they would be receptive to the unplanned arrival of not only her but also the five children.
"We can stay, can't we?"
"Of course you can," a voice came from the floor above. Her sister.
Cornelia walked down the stairs and hugged her tightly, then moved on to hug her niece and nephews in turn. Even Philip, trying to be stoic and not let his emotions show, melted into his aunt's embrace.
Twenty-one and gorgeous; Eliza hadn't seen her second youngest sister for quite some time. She hadn't seen any of her siblings in quite some time. Her brothers were too busy to visit much, though they did send letters often enough, and it was much the same case with Peggy.
And, of course Angelica was in London.
She exchanged more letters with Angelica than with any of the others, but she was the one she saw the least. The last time they'd also been up here. The last time had been back then.
Eliza shook her head. Cornelia was here, which was more than anything that had happened in a while; and today that would be enough.
Eliza didn't bother unpacking any of her bags. She just left them by the door, and sank down onto her bed.
Philip and Angie had noticed their mother's distress, and immediately took up the task of occupying the younger children. Kitty, younger than Philip by only a few months, and almost more a sister to them than to Eliza, had joined them.
Meaning there was one less thing for Eliza to worry about.
But at the same time, that fact really didn't change anything.
She needed to be alone right now; and yet it still felt wrong to be all by herself in a room like this one.
It was her childhood bedroom; but despite that, she'd spent many nights here with Alexander. The war and their financial situation prevented them from getting their own home right after they were married.
Philip had been born here. Most of her first pregnancy had been spent here with her mother and sisters.
But not Alexander.
She hadn't thought about that fact for years, and when she had thought about in the past, she had not dwelled on it for more than a moment. But now she couldn't stop thing about it.
Why was he barely around during that time? Was the war a strong enough reason? Even though his passion for the war had been infectious, he had been genuinely sad each time he had to leave her. And things had changed after Philip was born though. She'd thought.
Now she wasn't so sure.
She wasn't sure of anything.
Eliza didn't see her parents until dinnertime. If either of them were surprised about Alexander's absence, they didn't say anything.
Nobody said anything; but Eliza knew that everyone had heard the news. It was rare that anyone – including her family – looked directly at her.
She tried not to take it personally. Despite it, Eliza knew how much her family loved her and would stand by her, even if that meant going against Alexander. She told herself it was simply because they didn't know what else to do.
She wished she knew what to tell them; what could she say about how they could show their support that wouldn't end with either her breaking down crying, or screaming loud enough to wake the dead.
The fact that she couldn't made her feel guilty.
But she was so broken, and she felt so tired. It wasn't that difficult, all things considered to not let it get to her; and it was easier to just ignore everyone and avoid the world.
The sideways glances aside, she needed that.
She so badly wished Angelica was here. She was so close to her older sister. In some ways she was closer to her sister than she was to Alexander. Angelica wouldn't avoid her gaze. Angelica would know what to say and what support to give, even if Eliza couldn't articulate it herself.
The same was true for Peggy, but she was otherwise engaged. Eliza hoped she would visit at some point though.
But more than anything, she wished for Angelica. When her husband was the source of all this pain, her sister would undoubtedly be the one who could take it away.
"What's this Ma?" James asked one morning. At three, he was so curious that he would ask about every second thing he saw.
Eliza looked up and saw he was holding a piece of paper, the first in a large pile. She recognised it instantly.
The letters she'd packed for some reason, as unknown to her now as when they first left. She hadn't touched them since they arrived. Maybe she should leave them here when they left, whenever that would be.
"Nothing baby," she smiled at her son as she shook her head; then reached out her hand. "Let's go outside."
She finally picked up the letters that night, before she climbed in to bed.
These letters could redeem her husband.
They could show the world how much she loved him. Whatever he'd said, whatever he'd done, these letters – two decades worth of writings, professing her love for him over and over again – could paint Alexander as someone whom she would forgive.
Eliza didn't know if she could forgive him though. She desperately hoped so; hoped that one day she could look at her husband and see someone who had captured her heart instead of broken it.
But right now, that part of her was buried deep, deep down; covered by layers of disbelief and anger, of hurt and humiliation.
Right now she didn't want to give him the possibility of forgiveness.
She picked up the first letter, written in early 1780 – mere weeks after they'd first met. It was very short, and very formal. She remembered being very nervous.
Despite her family name she had always felt at least a little awkward. Angelica was sophisticated in all the right ways, and despite Peggy's tendency to fade into the background, she was goofy and amusing.
Eliza felt like she had neither of those qualities. In the following years, after marrying, she had become more assured of herself; she knew her strengths, her dreams, her confidence.
But back then things were different.
She was writing to a distinguished member of General Washington's military family. True, he was only an aide-de-camp, but anyone could see he was going places. And every time he so much as breathed, all the ladies seemed to swoon.
And in her case, the latter outdid the former by a very wide margin.
Now, it didn't matter.
All those strengths and dreams, all that confidence, everything, had been shattered.
She slowly held out the letter towards the fireplace, almost like she was teasing the flames. Then she opened her hand, and the letter fell.
The flames rose higher as the paper crinkled, blackened, and eventually turned to ash and disappeared.
It gave her a strange sense of power, and she snatched the next letter and did the same with it.
Soon enough all of the letters she'd written to Alexander in 1780 had been burnt. Then 1781. Then 1782; and by the time she reached the letters she wrote him in 1790 she was numb to it all. She'd stopped even looking at the paper.
It was only when she picked up the letters dated to 1791 that she paused. It was only for a moment, but long enough to see a flash of what she'd written:
my sweet darling,
She paused. This was the year it happened.
She'd written him these words while she was staying at this house – possibly sitting in this very room – while he was kissing another woman. Kissing her, undressing her, leading him to his bed.
Their bed.
And he hadn't held back from letting the world in there too.
How could you fit something as big as the entire world into something as tiny as a bed?
It shouldn't be possible; unless it broke somebody's heart.
She threw the letter into the fire before she could think about it any longer, then aggressively picked up a large pile of paper and threw it to the flames; then another, and another, and then another. All of the letters from 1791 were surely burning, vanishing from the world more and more as the seconds went by.
The world would never get to know how much she had loved Alexander. It would wonder about her feelings until the end of time.
Her husband had opened the door to let the world in; but now she had closed it.
Autumn, 1797
"Eliza?"
Eliza didn't move when she heard the knock on her door. She was silent as it cracked open, and only when the person spoke again that she turned around.
"Betsey?"
She looked up and there, standing at the doorway, was Angelica.
"I didn't know you were coming," she whispered.
The last time she'd seen her sister, she'd been right here, all those summers ago, when it happened.
"I came to make sure you're alright," Angelica replied.
"You know?" she asked, only to berate herself a second later. Of course she knew. Maybe the news of her husband's affair wouldn't reach the rest of the world the same way it had spread across the country, but there was no way Angelica wouldn't know.
"You came as soon as you heard, didn't you?" asked Eliza.
"Yes," Angelica nodded. "And I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying here in New York with you."
"You are?" she gasped. "Why would you do -
"To help you."
"I loved him," Eliza sobbed, then paused. "I love him. I do, but I don't know who he is
anymore."
All this time without him hadn't helped. In all the weeks spent here she hadn't remembered any other details, or gained a new perspective, or anything of the kind. She did not for a moment regret leaving for this impromptu trip, but as a result she seemed to know her husband even less.
"He's an Icarus," Angelica said sadly. "And he's flown too close to the sun."
"It was our lives," Eliza screamed. "Our private, personal lives."
Angelica sighed. "Unfortunately, people always want to look into private affairs. They'll always make the personal political. Especially where people like Alexander are concerned."
"But why did he…?"
She wasn't expecting an answer from her sister. Because there wasn't one.
"I knew women loved him," she sniffled. "What did they call him? Little Lion?"
Angelica nodded, but hearing this confirmation didn't change how Eliza felt. She didn't feel worse, but she certainly didn't feel better.
Angelica's arrival was wonderful, and she felt like she was breathing easier. But the pain wasn't going to disappear. For anyone.
The image of her husband right before she and the children walked out the door came to her mind. He had looked…broken, and thinking about it now, she felt satisfied and devastated at the same time.
She still loved him. With all her naïve, trusting heart.
"I could see how he charmed them and, well, I can understand why," she continued. She probably sounded a little less miserable.
But only for a moment.
"But I never imagined…"
Talking to Angelica felt cathartic. But it also felt as if Alexander was hurting her all over again.
Like with my other Hamilton fics (including this story's companion fic) I've included the Schuyler children who were absent from the musical, and taken a few liberties with the children's ages to better fit the musical's timeline.
That one line from Eliza's letter is entirely fictious, as we obviously have no surviving records of anything she wrote to her husband.