Alex and Eliza--A Love Story Page 11

  “Are you ready for me, sir?”

  “I am that,” said Alex, with a raise of his eyebrow.

  Eliza blushed, and when she hesitated, he took the opportunity to address her again. “Will it hurt?”

  “Only if you let it,” she said sternly.

  “You wound me, mademoiselle,” he said.

  “Colonel, really. It is a mere scratch in comparison to the dangers of the battlefield.”

  “Ah, but I am exposed mostly to the dangers of the inkwell, if you remember.” He was teasing, and the twinkle in his eye was hard to ignore.

  “I do,” she said, now blushing even more furiously. “It was unkind of me and my sisters. Especially as I have heard you have survived several battles since then.”

  “I was lucky,” said the colonel, his face suddenly grave. “The others, not so much.”

  She looked up at him then, met his eyes, and tried to stop her hands from shaking. It was truly frustrating how his presence affected her. She was right to keep him from visiting her. Her uncle kept teasing her that there was no safer place than their home with Colonel Hamilton guarding the post road.

  “Please,” he said, and she looked down once more at his tensely corded arm.

  She felt his gaze upon her, but quickly set her face straight to get to the work at hand. She took firm hold of his arm and drew the rake across his wrist, scoring sharp red welts in the skin, drawing blood. Then she folded the poultice over the little wound and wrapped it expertly in place, finishing it off with a soft squeeze. Only this time, she held the squeeze a fraction longer than she had for the hundreds of other soldiers who’d come before him.

  Alex must have felt it, too, because the doubt dropped from his face and a tenderness crept into his eyes. He put his free hand over hers and left it there.

  “I am glad to see you well, Miss Schuyler. I was worried about you,” he said.

  Eliza gave a brisk nod. “Thank you for your concern, I am fully recovered.”

  “I see, and yet you have not graced us with your presence at the town’s social delights.”

  “Are you keeping track of my whereabouts, Colonel?”

  It was Alex’s turn to blush. “I admit I was disappointed not to see you at Marquis de Chastellux’s ball the other day. Or the dinner hosted by Baron von Steuben.”

  “I have been here, Colonel,” she said simply.

  “Every day? At headquarters?” asked the handsome soldier.

  “Every day.”

  “If only I’d known,” he murmured to himself. “You are more interested in service than sleigh rides, then?”

  “I go where I am needed.”

  “A pity, for Hector pulls a great sleigh,” he said with a sigh.

  At the mention of the horse, Eliza’s interest piqued. “How is Hector? Is he all right?”

  “Right as rain, miss,” said Alex. “Although I have to admit I never expected to feel this way.”

  “What way?” Eliza asked, intrigued.

  “Jealous of my horse.”

  Aunt Gertrude cleared her throat, and the two of them jumped aside, as if caught in something naughty. She looked at Alex and Eliza in amusement. “Are we all done, then? Yes? I suppose that does it, Colonel. Ahem. You may put your jacket back on now, sir.”

  “Indeed, indeed, Mrs. Cochran.” Alex reached for his jacket and was halfway out of the tent before he could button it back up. “I’ll say thank you for your time, ladies, and be on my way. Good afternoon, Mrs. Cochran.” He shot Eliza a parting look. “Miss Schuyler.”

  He pushed aside the tent flap and made to leave.

  “Wait!” said Eliza.

  He turned back, his eagerness all too apparent in his eyes. “Yes?”

  “I like . . . I mean . . . I like sleigh rides, too,” she said finally. “I mean, it would be nice to see Hector again.”

  Alex almost laughed. “Of course. Hector would like it very much. Perhaps in a day or two?”

  She nodded.

  He gave her a small bow and was gone.

  Eliza began quickly gathering up the last of the bottles of white powder, the mortar and pestle, the spatula, and the rake. Her hands felt clumsy as she arranged them in the wooden box they arrived in and stepped back. Thankfully Aunt Gertrude did not notice as she pulled out her key and locked the box.

  “Well done, Eliza. You make a fine second pair of hands indeed.” Aunt Gertrude dropped the key into her velvet purse and drew in the strings with a flourish. “Now, what say you, my dear? Shall the new medical team of Mrs. Gertrude Cochran and Miss Eliza Schuyler retire to the parlor for a well-deserved cup of hot chocolate?”

  14

  A Disease, an Affliction

  The Cochran Living Room

  Morristown, New Jersey

  February 1780

  Mrs. Cochran’s cook was famous for her scones. She filled them with dried cranberries and glazed them with orange syrup, making them sweet, tart, and delicious despite the strict rationing of flour and sugar.

  Fatigued but satisfied from the long day’s work, Eliza sat back in her aunt’s fine parlor chair. Seeing Colonel Hamilton again had produced the oddest thrill, and one she couldn’t help but ruminate on. But she was determined to push all thoughts of him from her mind, even as she could still picture his strained forearm and the muscle underneath, as well as his bright blue eyes staring into hers. So she stretched her legs, resting her heels on the little footstool in front of the fire, and addressed her aunt.

  “I must confess, it is a little hard to believe that the activity we engaged in for the past four and a half days was a medical procedure. It is so simple that it seems more like a child’s game, or a spell.”

  In truth, Eliza did not feel this way at all. When her father had informed the family that they were to be inoculated, she read all about the procedure and knew as much about it as anyone outside of the scientific community. But Aunt Gertrude, for all her singular feminine independence, had a view of the female intellect that was in some ways dimmer than the most chauvinist male’s, and loved nothing more than dispelling what she saw as typical girlish naïveté.

  “Medicine is a bit like love,” she began. Eliza recognized the opening of another of her favorite aunt’s lengthy if genial lectures. “There are the theatrical outer forms gone through by the players—the bandages and injections and extractions, the flowers and love notes and dances—but the real work is always happening out of sight. In here,” she added, tapping herself on the heart.

  Eliza couldn’t help but laugh. She had not been expecting quite this response.

  “I am not sure if you make medicine sound more exciting than it is, or love more dull,” Eliza said, smiling. “But I should think that the biological processes by which immunity is stimulated and the more ephemeral alchemy of love are much related.”

  “Have you ever seen a germ?” Aunt Gertrude asked without waiting for Eliza’s reply. “Neither have I, yet I have no doubt they exist, because I have seen their effects on the body. Likewise I have never ‘seen’ love, yet I have witnessed again and again its transformative effect on human beings.”

  “But a germ is a real thing,” Eliza, who had, in fact, seen drawings of them, protested. “A physical thing, I mean. Whereas, love—love is a feeling. It can no more be caught than it can be inoculated against, because it cannot be contained in powder or paste.”

  “I myself have seen many a young woman catch love from being exposed to the amours of her social circle. And, as well, I have seen many a young man harden himself to love by overexposure to its coarser varieties.”

  “I do not follow your meaning, Aunt Gertrude.”

  “It is like the poultice we have been administering to our brave soldiers. By only scratching the surface of the skin rather than drawing blood, a less potent infection arises. There are many young men who
dally with love or even engage in activities that would be improper for me to describe, and by so doing, harden their hearts to the gentleness that love requires.”

  Now Eliza understood what her aunt was referring to. As the daughter of a general, Eliza had absorbed more of the cruder details of a soldier’s life than even her father would have suspected. She had seen the soldiers staggering in and out of the unpainted house on Whitelawn Street in Morristown, whose occupants numbered five single women. Aunt Gertrude explained that the women were war widows, but Eliza noted nothing mournful in their countenances.

  “At any rate,” Aunt Gertrude continued, “I hate to retreat behind the privilege of age, but permit me to say that one day after you have been married for a few years you will understand what I mean. Suffice to say, love is not a business to be attended to haphazardly, no more than medicine. You must research the matter as you would a disease and make a plan of attack and follow through with all possible rigor.”

  “A disease! An attack!” Eliza exclaimed. “Aunt Gertrude, you run the risk of confirming every assumption about scheming women that the most belligerent bachelor has ever concocted. Oughtn’t love appear of its own accord and on its own terms? Isn’t anything else not love, but mere manipulation of certain social conventions?”

  “Men are already manipulating them, Eliza. We women must formulate our own strategies or risk our entire future happiness on a man’s emotional intelligence. And that, my dear, would be akin to letting one’s horse choose one’s hotel based on the quality of the straw in the stables!”

  Aunt Gertrude ended her diatribe with a little snort.

  Eliza was not entirely sure she followed her aunt’s comparison, but the older woman’s next words put it completely out of her mind.

  “There are still a few more inoculations to perform. We have not yet administered to the officers in General Washington’s headquarters, Colonel Hamilton being the exception. Therefore, first thing in the morning that will be your duty. Dr. Cochran has requested my presence for his rounds tomorrow, so would you be so kind as to attend to the officers yourself? You are certainly capable of it.”

  Eliza was determined to keep her aunt’s respect. “It will be an honor, Auntie. Thank you for your confidence in my work.”

  “You have earned it, my dear.”

  Eliza discovered her aunt’s motivation as they discussed the preparation of a small basket of supplies containing the necessary bottles of inoculum and the tools Eliza would need to administer it.

  “Pay attention, Eliza. No doubt several of the officers will try to tell you they’ve already received the treatment, but if a name doesn’t appear in my record books, it is not so. They may need some encouragement. So hold up Colonel Hamilton’s voluntary inoculation this afternoon as a brave and shining example for the rest of them. Tell the officers it is Dr. Cochran’s orders, which is akin to an order from General Washington himself.” Aunt Gertrude waved her hand toward her niece. “You’re a clever girl. You’ll know what to say . . .”

  But before Eliza could protest, the butler announced that they had unexpected guests.

  And standing in the doorway were none other than Angelica and Peggy themselves.

  “Eliza!”

  “Angelica!”

  “And Peggy, too!” said Eliza, jumping up from her chair to give each of her sisters a warm hug. “What are you doing here?”

  The sisters exchanged a look with Aunt Gertrude, who did not seem a bit surprised to see them. Angelica batted her eyes with forced innocence. “We wanted to help the cause.”

  “No, really,” Eliza said drolly. “What are you doing here?”

  Angelica was only able to keep a straight face for a moment. “Albany is so boring!” she exclaimed. “Mama is always fretting about money, and Papa orders the servants about as though they were troops, and the same four families throw the same four parties.”

  “It’s true!” Peggy assented. “If I have to dance with Cornelius Van der Toothless one more time!”

  Eliza laughed. Cornelius Van der Shoot was a notorious bachelor in his mid-fifties whose fortune was only matched by his inability to get anyone to marry him for it, not least because of the dental issues Peggy’s nickname alluded to.

  “Have you heard the latest?” Angelica chimed in. “He got a new set of false teeth—made out of real teeth! He is chewing with someone else’s teeth in his mouth!”

  “No!” Eliza gasped. “That is too foul!” The sisters fell into each other’s arms in a fit of giggles that went on for several moments. At length Peggy pulled free. “There is also this,” she said in a more serious tone. She handed Eliza an envelope addressed in her mother’s familiar handwriting. “You might want to sit back down, Eliza.”

  Eliza tore open the envelope and caught her breath at her mother’s tortured first words.

  Dearest Elizabeth,

  How it pains me to bring you this news. The burning of our Saratoga estate by that vile General Burgoyne seems to have no end to its cruel spiral into our lives. As much as your father endeavored to revive our precious second home, it has become clear that due to the total devastation of the house and most buildings on the property, the Schuyler finances have been dealt a crippling blow. Indeed we have had a glimpse of what it must feel like to be poor and struggling. Papa says it is only temporary but with so many mouths to feed, a real depression has descended on us all. To that end, my Darling Girl, your loving parents have decided you three sisters would be more satisfactorily engaged this dreary winter in the generous arms of Uncle John and Aunt Gertrude. My heart swells with pride at what a team you’ll make, lifting the soldiers’ morale with your fresh countenances and unblemished hopes. Oh, that I were only young and spry enough to work alongside you—

  Eliza stopped reading, her eyes trembling with tears. But then something strange and wonderful happened. She looked into her sisters’ faces expecting them to fall apart, but instead was surprised to see something she’d never seen in them before: total resolve. They had come to Morristown not in surrender, but to continue the good fight by supporting the brave patriots the only way they knew how. They would stand with Eliza and do the work—sew the torn overshirts, mop the fevered brows, provide inoculations—whatever must be done to help set to rights their broken world.

  “All right, ladies. We’ve all had an exhausting day. We’ll get started on the officers’ inoculations first thing in the morning. But for now? Let’s take the chill off your bones. Come, step out of your furs and settle down next to the fire. Cook has the most extraordinary gift with glazed scones.”

  Aunt Gertrude rang the tiny silver bell, and a shy servant girl appeared with more cranberry scones.

  “Thank you, Louisa,” said Aunt Gertrude with a twinkle in her eye. “I’ll handle it from here.”

  It was 1780 after all, and the vibrant and spirited Schuyler sisters were joining the fight for independence—their proud and unruly young nation’s as well as their own. Plus, each one of them had her own dream to follow, and it was high time to get started.

  15

  Ministering Angels

  Continental Army Headquarters

  Morristown, New Jersey

  February 1780

  The next morning, an arctic chill blew in as Eliza led her sisters up the front walk of the old Ford mansion, appropriated for General Washington’s headquarters. The stately white house sat on an estate owned by a local judge who had died. While the general had use of the master’s quarters, Colonel Hamilton and the other officers slept in the smaller upstairs bedrooms, sometimes two to a bed, and worked in a log office annex by day.

  Would he be there this morning? Remain cool headed, Eliza reminded herself. The thought of seeing Colonel Hamilton again confused and excited her, but she hadn’t had time to think it all through before her aunt bundled her and her sisters out the door, their heads swimming with direc
tions for the treatment.

  As the sisters stepped inside the mansion, a cloud of warm air rolled out with the heady scent of tobacco smoke. Down the hallway they overheard the boisterous voices of men unrestrained by the presence of women. Eliza walked to the doorway, which opened into what had once been the judge’s study, and knocked on the doorjamb.

  “Good morning,” she said. “Dr. John Cochran sent us—”

  Her voice faded as she made out the room’s occupants, a pair of young men hovering awkwardly over a disheveled desk. Loose papers and an inkwell had been pushed in a jumble to one side. The men sprang up guiltily, and it was only as they were straightening their vests and jackets that Eliza realized they had been arm wrestling.

  “That’s funny, Larpent,” the fellow beside the desk said. He was a pale blond youth of no more than nineteen. “Usually it is the man who saves the damsel from distress, but in this case it is you who have been rescued by the arrival of this fair young lady.”

  The other fellow behind the desk was as fresh faced as his companion but thin and soft. A redness of his cheeks revealed that he had been on the losing side of their struggle.

  “Good morning, miss!” The one called Larpent ignored his friend’s jibe. “How may we help you today?”

  Eliza smiled officiously as she walked in the room. “My name is Eliza Schuyler, and these are my sisters, Angelica and Peggy. Dr. John Cochran requested that we administer the smallpox inoculation to the men working in this office today, in compliance with General Washington’s orders.”

  Larpent frowned. “The Schuyler sisters? I had been told that Mrs. Cochran assisted Dr. Cochran in administering the inoculation, Misses, ah . . .”

  “Schuyler,” Eliza said. “As in General Philip Schuyler?”

  The name did the trick for the heavier fellow.

  “Of course, Miss Schuyler, Miss Schuyler, and Miss Schuyler. I’m Corporal Weston. Please give me a moment to collect the men. Where would you ladies like to perform the procedure?”