Alex and Eliza--A Love Story Page 23

  He took a step toward her, and she took a step back.

  “I’ll do it!” she cried, raising it. “Don’t think I won’t!”

  “Oh, I think you will,” he said, taking another step toward her. “That’s what I like about you—you’ve got spirit.” He laughed at his weak pun. “This is going to be fun, breaking you in. Now come, give your fiancé a kiss.”

  31

  Heroes and Villains

  Outside Infirmary C

  Morristown, New Jersey

  April 1780

  The rain had stopped while Alex was at the party, but it didn’t matter. His change of clothes was as wet as the uniform he’d worn during the ride from Amboy. Only his feet were dry, protected in the sturdiest pair of boots that man could make, and his face, shielded by a tricorne that could have withstood an Atlantic crossing. No rain got past that formidable hat, but he had worked up a sweat in the barn, though whether it was from heat or agitation was anyone’s guess.

  Married, he thought. Eloped, just like her sister. It didn’t seem possible.

  He let his boots choose his path. Morristown was gently hilled, and his tired legs skirted the bases and avoided the hills, taking him by more farms than houses, which had been built on higher ground to enjoy the advantage of light, breeze, and view. The great trees that had been left behind when the land was cleared were still leafless but somehow heavier of limb, as their thick sap began to run in anticipation of spring. Their branches cast shadows as heavy as down blankets on the fields and pastures, which lay bare in the moonlight, awaiting the kiss of the plow. The houses were on the small side, but finely made, and sparingly but elegantly appointed with handsome cornices, their chimneys as dormant as the fields at this late hour, though a faint tang of wood smoke still hung in the air. All in all, it was a picture of American handiness and probity, one that filled Alex with pride that he had chosen this side in the war, when he could have just as easily defended the land and traditions of his parents. This continent had put its stamp on him, whether it was the Indies or the northern colonies, making him a person from the New World and an American through and through. If in the future the buildings grew larger and more numerous, Alex hoped that the American cities would never lose this sense of modesty and hardiness.

  As for his own hopes about the newly married Eliza? Gone. All my plans—all my love—undone at a stroke. Married already, and to that cretin.

  A figure emerged from beneath the shadow of one of the great maples. Alex thought to duck away to avoid human congress, but a thin male voice, not yet done with the slide whistle of adolescent tunes, halloed:

  “Colonel Hamilton?”

  He didn’t recognize the speaker until he was closer, however, and the sight filled him with a strange mixture of jealousy and tenderness.

  “Mr. Van Rensselaer,” he called. “You are up late.”

  Stephen was young enough that Alex would have been well within his rights to call him Master Van Rensselaer rather than Mr. Van Rensselaer, to say “up past your bedtime” rather than “up late,” but he wasn’t feeling much like teasing anyone at this moment.

  “As are you, sir. Are you coming from Colonel Living-ston’s party?”

  Alex turned on him sharply, but there was no trace of enmity in the boy’s voice. He was too young to realize that his words might sting. Might make their hearer want to pull his sword from its scabbard and slice off the head of the speaker.

  “Aye,” he said, “Colonel Livingston seems to have commandeered every bottle and every plate of food in camp. Lieutenant Larpent and I went there upon our return from Amboy to get something to eat. Were you there? I didn’t see you.”

  Stephen nodded. “A strange party. The host was never seen by anyone.”

  That’s because he’s off being married somewhere. Although the marriage would have taken place hours ago by now. By now, he was—

  No, Alex told himself. Do not think of it. It is uncharitable of you and will just torment you more.

  “Indeed,” was all he said to Stephen. “Though his guests seemed to have had a good-enough time. I suppose they need it. It has been a long, hard winter, but I fear a harder spring.”

  “So I understand. The war seems to be shifting to the south. You yourself are to lead the Third New Jersey to Charleston, I hear.”

  Alex laughed. “I should be shocked that you know that, given that you are not a soldier, let alone an officer.”

  “I would enlist!” Stephen said defensively. “Papa forbade it, but I went anyway. But when I got to camp the sergeants refused to accept me. They said my father’s money was more valuable to them than his son. Apparently he pays a lot for the privilege of keeping me alive through this war.”

  “You are young, Master Van Rensselaer,” Alex said in teasing but tender tone. “There will be plenty of other wars. You may yet die in one of them.”

  Stephen laughed, his adolescent voice cracking again, and Alex continued: “I must ask, though, how did you learn of my assignment? Although it is not exactly top secret, still, it is surprising that it should have circulated so quickly outside of officers’ ranks.”

  “My fiancée is a general’s daughter and rather gifted at wheedling secrets from even the most reticent men. Not as good at keeping them, however,” he added, laughing.

  “What, your fiancée! Is it official, then?”

  Stephen slapped his cheek. “Look at me! Teasing Peggy for gossiping even as I fall guilty of it myself. It must be the beer,” he added, though Alex smelled no alcohol on his breath. “Well, yes, since the cat is out of the bag: I asked her some months ago, and she accepted me. We are keeping it a secret, though, because I am not yet of age. My father has approved the marriage, but General Schuyler is rather strict about his daughters’ prospects. I think he doesn’t approve that I am not in uniform since I am already seventeen, even though my own father has made it impossible for me to enlist.”

  “General Schuyler is a man of such great honor and wherewithal that he sometimes fails to realize not all men can act with his independence. He will come around.” Alex cuffed the boy on the shoulder in a brotherly way. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Stephen added. “And may I add . . .” His voice caught nervously.

  Alex thought he knew what he was going to say. “It is not necessary, Mr. Van Rensselaer.”

  “Perhaps not. But I would still like to say that I would very much have enjoyed having you as a brother-in-law. We would have made a fine trio, you, me, and Mr. Church. They would have called us the Schuyler husbands, I think.”

  It was a moment before Alex trusted himself to speak.

  “They are a unique set of girls, it is true. Formidable as individuals, but terrifying together. A set of modern-day Furies. But not as vengeful I hope.”

  “And without the snakes for hair, thanks heavens,” Stephen said, laughing. “And look, they have called us to them without our even knowing.”

  Alex looked up, and there indeed was the Cochrans’ handsome home. All its windows were dark save for those in the downstairs parlor.

  “Someone is up late there as well.”

  “They had their own party for—” Stephen’s voice broke off nervously. “Peggy told me it was just her and Kitty Livingston.”

  “Kitty Livingston,” Alex mused. “You know, she was the first American girl I met.”

  “What an introduction!” Stephen said. “I’m surprised you didn’t run back to the Indies.”

  “Indeed. I wasn’t sure if I loved her or wanted to run in terror. She is like the three Schuyler sisters rolled into one, yet she hasn’t the . . . restraint that they have. It will be a strong man who marries her, or else—I say, it seems rather agitated in there.”

  Shadows thrashed about behind the drawn curtains, as if some sort of melee were taking place within.

  “Could
it be the maids, cleaning up the party? Modern girls, you know,” Stephen said. “Anything we can do, they have to do better, just to prove they can—”

  He was cut off by the sound of a crash from within.

  “That is no party!” Alex said, rushing forward. He vaulted the picket fence and ran to the front door, Stephen hard on his heels. His fingers clutched at the front doorknob, but it was locked.

  “Stop!” a familiar female voice called out from within, clearly in distress.

  “Eliza!” Alex yelled. He shook the door, but it refused to open.

  “Let’s try the back,” Stephen said. “Peggy said the servants—”

  But Alex was already running around to the rear of the house. He stumbled through some bush and nearly fell, but soon enough made it around, where he found the rear entrance hanging open. He dashed through, Stephen right behind him. In the kitchen beyond the floor was a treacherous field of broken crockery.

  “My God!” he said to Stephen. “It looks as if a raiding party has broken in!”

  They ran into the hall, where the sounds of feminine agitation could be heard more clearly, and from there into the parlor, where he was shocked to see Eliza thrown back on the sofa, while over her stood—

  “Colonel Livingston?” she said. “Someone is here.”

  Henry turned around with a snarl on his face. “Get out of here, Hamilton. She’s not your concern anymore.”

  Alex was upon him in an instant. Henry tried to gather himself, but Alex hit the taller man with a hard jab to the jaw before Henry could he even raise his fist. He spun wildly and crashed to the floor.

  Alex leapt on him. “You miserable cur,” he yelled, rolling him over and pummeling the splotched face with blow after blow.

  “Alex, stop!” Eliza called behind him. “You’ll kill him!”

  He felt hands on his shoulders. It was Stephen, pulling him back. It was all he could do not to throw the boy off him. Henry made no move to get up now, but merely curled himself into a ball, hiding his face and moaning like a piglet separated from its mother.

  “He deserves to be killed,” Alex said now. “In fact—” He gathered a breath. “Henry Livingston, I challenge you to a duel in defense of the honor of your wife!”

  “My wife?” Livingston barked a laugh. “Not quite yet!”

  Alex turned to Eliza, his heart in his throat. “Is it true?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Is what true?” she asked, mystified and shaken.

  He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he had to know for sure before his agitation got the best of him. “What he just said. You are not yet married. You are still Miss Schuyler, then?”

  “Pardon?” Eliza said. “Of course I am. Why would you . . . ?”

  “That damn Weston,” Alex said. “He was so drunk that he told me you had eloped.”

  “No, that was Angelica.”

  “I thought so, but he repeated it, so—”

  “I always thought Corporal Weston a bit dim,” said Eliza.

  Alex shook his head angrily. “Never mind. You will never have to marry him now. I will kill him before sunrise.” He turned back to Henry and kicked him with a muddy boot. “Get up, Livingston, and meet your fate.”

  “Alex, no!” Eliza said, and he thrilled to hear his name spoken by her so intimately. “He didn’t know what he was doing . . .”

  Eliza didn’t believe her own words, but she was desperate to defuse the situation, lest more violence ensue.

  “That scoundrel knew exactly what he was doing. And he must be made to pay for it.”

  “She’s right,” Stephen said. “You cannot challenge him when he is in this condition. It is not honorable. If you did shoot him, you would be tried for murder.”

  “But I want to kill him!” Alex yelled. “I want to see him bleed to death before my eyes.”

  “As do I,” Stephen said, looking at Alex with great sympathy. “But you will have to wait till he is himself again. Anything else is beneath your dignity.”

  “I care not a whit for my dignity,” Alex said, but he knew Stephen was right.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Eliza said. “I could never marry him now.”

  “You think he will release you from your engagement? You do not know these Livingstons as I do,” said Alex. “If Henry released you, he would be admitting wrongdoing. And his father would never let him do that. William Living-ston would rather have a dead son than a son with a cloud hanging over his head.”

  “But what if he doesn’t die?” Eliza said. “What if you died? He is a soldier, too. He can shoot, too. What if he kills you? I can bear him getting away with this attack, but your death—that I couldn’t bear. Please, Alex.”

  Alex looked down at her, and suddenly, she was in his arms. He didn’t know if she had moved or he did. It was all he ever wanted, all he ever dreamed. She was not yet married. She was—she could still be—his.

  He turned to Stephen. “Throw Livingston out on his face. If he tries to get back in, stab him.”

  WHEN THEY WERE alone, Alex finally spoke the words he had kept inside for so long. “Oh my dearest, it has been torture. I cannot bear the thought of you marrying him! I should have spoken sooner, but I was afraid I was not worthy of you.”

  “My darling,” she said. “Do not despair, I will break it off myself.” She laid her head against his chest. “I’ll run away. You’ll find me, and we’ll elope. We’ll flee to the west and live beyond the frontier. In a cabin or beneath the open stars. I don’t care. Just as long as I’m with you.”

  He tilted her chin up and looked her in the eyes. He had wanted to do this since he saw her in her simple gown in Albany at her mother’s ball. He had dreamed of this moment, and at long last, he bent down and their lips touched.

  It was just a moment, but Alex felt all the fatigue and dampness leave his body.

  He kissed her with all his heart and soul, and she melted under his embrace, kissing him back, so eagerly and so tenderly he thought he would die right there.

  “I will be with you, Eliza,” he said in a husky voice. “Whatever happens, I will always be with you.”

  32

  Best of Aunts and Best of Women

  The Cochran Residence

  Morristown, New Jersey

  April 1780

  The following week passed in a blur of tension.

  Eliza was able to put off the wedding by claiming illness. It helped that Aunt Gertrude was the most well-known nurse in the Continental army, and her uncle, even though he was away, was personal physician to the commander in chief. No one seemed to suspect her claim, and in fact she was so shaken, she couldn’t get out of bed the next day or for days after that. She trembled anytime she heard a loud noise.

  “It is unconscionable!” Aunt Gertrude said when she heard the whole story, a bit embarrassed too many glasses of wine had seduced her to sleep through the entire encounter. They gathered in the parlor a day and a half after the incident to discuss what to do next. “In all my life I have never heard of a gentleman behaving so outrageously. And no word from him still—no apology, no withdrawal of his engagement. Nothing!”

  “He is no gentleman,” Stephen declared. “I have a good mind to call him out myself.”

  “Absolutely not!” Peggy shrieked, causing Eliza to jump. “This assault is terrible enough, but to lose you on top of it!”

  “Nor could I,” Eliza said. “You have acquitted yourself with immeasurable dignity, Mr. Van Rensselaer, but Colonel Livingston has been a soldier these past four years and is bound to come off better in a duel. But even worse, if you were to duel, then the causes of the conflict would receive a public airing, and I simply couldn’t bear that.”

  “This talk of duels is nonsense,” Aunt Gertrude said now. “Boys posturing and preening. This is a simple matter. I shall w
rite Colonel Livingston and demand that he rescind his proposal for your hand. He will have no choice but to withdraw. Honor compels it.”

  But apparently Henry did have a choice—or he had no honor—because less than an hour after Aunt Gertrude had sent a servant to deliver her letter to the Livingstons’ rented house, a note came back in Susannah Livingston’s own hand.

  Dear Mrs. Cochran,

  It is my understanding that some regrettable actions took place night before last when both my son and your niece celebrated perhaps a bit too much on the eve of their nuptials. It is one of the little-discussed casualties of war that the absence of our husbands and fathers lends a certain lawlessness to our households, and in this atmosphere our young people are not as well chaperoned as they would normally be. Henry tells me that when he mistakenly entered your husband’s house yestereve—one white house looking rather like another when one is in a strange town—he was greeted by your niece in rather revealing attire, which he in his impaired condition interpreted as an invitation to behavior unseemly for a lady to commit to words. It would seem, then, that the fault for the altercation lies with both parties, and the most prudent thing for us to do in the absence of either paterfamilias is to put the incident behind us, and proceed with the union as planned. I gather that Miss Schuyler has been taken ill, but as soon as she is well enough to stand it is my fervent wish that the marriage take place, and we allow our young people to get on with the important business.

  Yours very sincerely,

  Mrs. (Governor) William Livingston

  “Of all the—” Peggy was rendered speechless by the note, which Aunt Gertrude read out loud to her and Eliza. “Does she dare to insinuate that my sister is somehow to blame for being attacked?”

  “She does not insinuate it, Sister,” Eliza said wearily. “She says it straight out. Henry is her son, after all. I suppose it makes sense—”

  “Stop,” Aunt Gertrude interrupted her. “Never ever, ever make excuses for a scoundrel. The fault is entirely his, and anyone—even a mother—who defends it is equally to blame. ‘Mrs. (Governor) William Livingston.’ What pretentious poppycock!”