All for One Read online

  On this particular Sunday he was happy to again see his good friends John and Sarah Jay, who were in town from their farm up in Rye. The two husbands embraced warmly, as did the wives, and John and Sarah met young John Schuyler eagerly. Alex was relieved to see that the sober environment had for once curbed John’s wandering gaze, although perhaps the lad was just hungover—he had not come home last night until nearly three in the morning. John shook hands with the Jays and then quietly took his seat in the Hamiltons’ pew, looking for all the world like he was getting ready to go to sleep with his eyes open.

  “And who is this handsome young fellow?” Sarah Jay asked, leaning over to inspect Gus, who clung to Eliza’s hand but let his eyes roam all over the church, which he had already pronounced the grandest building he had ever been inside.

  “This is Master Augustus,” Eliza said, as though that explained everything.

  Sarah smiled at her. “I can’t help but feel you have some plan in mind that involves this sweet one’s future.”

  “Who? Me?” Eliza said, the very voice of guilelessness. Like Gus, she too was inspecting the church, though her eyes were trained not on the high ceilings or stained-glass windows, but on the bright faces of the congregants coming in to worship. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I see Michael and Prudence Schlesinger. I’ll just go say hello if that’s all right. Come along, Gus.”

  Sarah smiled at Alex as Eliza led the three-year-old to be interviewed by his prospective parents. “Another one of her orphans?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I’ve told her she needs to start a home for them. I daresay that she actually will one of these days. At least then they’ll all be gathered in one place.”

  “Her benevolence is inspiring,” Sarah said. “I do wonder, though, if she spends so much time caring for parentless children because she has none of her own.” Sarah’s face paled as the words left her mouth. “Oh dear. That came out wrong. I only meant—”

  Alex laid a comforting hand on her wrist. “I know you meant no harm, Sarah. We pray that Providence will bless us with a child one of these days. But whether we have one or a dozen, I think that Eliza will always care for those less fortunate than herself. It is just her nature. She took in this orphan, after all.”

  Sarah looked puzzled for a moment. “Oh, you mean you!” She laughed nervously. “She is one of the kindest, most generous souls I have ever met.”

  “Speaking of generosity,” John Jay said now, “would you mind joining me in the rector’s office a moment? Reverend Provoost asked if I would bring you over when you arrived.”

  Alex tried to think of an excuse to say no, but despite his famed reputation for thinking on his feet, nothing came. “Of course,” he said.

  Alex knew what the meeting was about. His annual subscription fee was due. And it’s not as though he wasn’t earning any money. He had more clients than he could handle alone, and had taken on a partner, Richard Harrison, to help with the load. The overflowing receipts reflected his success. But as his income had grown, so had his expenses. Being wealthy wasn’t just a matter of having money, after all. It was a matter of spending it, and hosting six or ten or forty people every week for dinner and drink ran to quite a tidy sum, as did hostess gifts for the many households that entertained him and Eliza, and theater tickets, and tailor’s fees, and let’s not forget taxes. But apparently God—who had, after all, made the world on a tight six-day schedule—liked to receive his rents promptly.

  Reverend Provoost was a rosy-cheeked man in his early forties. Like Alex, he had been educated at King’s College (the now-renamed Columbia). He came out from behind his desk as they entered his office and shook each man’s hand warmly.

  “I must congratulate you and Mrs. Hamilton on the matriculation of John Schuyler. I am pleased to learn that our alma mater is continuing to attract boys from the finest families. New York needs a school to rival those of New Jersey and Connecticut and Massachusetts.”

  Alex didn’t bother to point out that he had not actually finished his degree. “Indeed,” he said.

  “At any rate, discussing your brother-in-law is not why I asked you in this morning.”

  “Ah yes,” Alex said. “You will forgive me. Today’s date had entirely slipped my mind.”

  “Today’s date?” Reverend Provoost said, looking genuinely confused.

  Alex paused. Perhaps the rector hadn’t called him in for his subscription after all. “Oh, nothing,” he said in a nonchalant tone. “What can I do for you, Reverend Provoost?”

  The reverend waved his hand at a pair of plump chairs, and Alex and John took their seats. The reverend sat down behind his desk.

  So this is to be a business meeting, Alex thought. On a Sunday. How interesting.

  “As you know,” Reverend Provoost began, “the church has been raising money since the war ended to erect a new edifice to replace the one that burned down in 1775.”

  Then again, Alex thought, maybe this is about my dues after all.

  “As of now, our primary fund-raising efforts are centered on our pew subscriptions, to which you and Mr. Jay so generously contribute, and a portion of the tithe. But most of the latter money goes to regular church upkeep, salaries for the lay staff, and our necessary charities, while the former, though much appreciated, will not raise enough to build a new church for nearly twenty-five years. Saint Paul’s simply doesn’t have enough pews to raise ample funds off their rent.”

  “You could raise the rent,” John Jay suggested amiably.

  Spoken like a rich man, Alex thought, suppressing a groan.

  “Even if we doubled the rent,” the reverend answered, and Alex did his best not to blanch, “it would still take more than a decade for us to raise the necessary funds. Assuming, of course, the congregation would even consent to such a steep increase.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they’d be only too happy to,” John Jay said. “Trinity is the crown jewel of the New York diocese, after all. The people who worship here want to do so in an environment that is, shall we say, commensurate with their rank in society.”

  It was all Alex could do not to chuckle. Only in America is one’s church a status symbol. God bless us!

  “Your generosity is once again appreciated, Mr. Jay,” Reverend Provoost said. “Nevertheless, the church feels it is within its means to erect a new building in a much more timely manner, and without putting undue financial strain on the congregation.”

  “Indeed?” Alex said. “Do tell.”

  “As you know, the church is in possession of fairly ample amounts of real estate throughout the city. Under normal circumstances, these holdings would provide substantial income. However, the church’s charter, established by the crown a century ago, limits Trinity to an income of five thousand pounds per annum.”

  Jay nodded for the reverend to continue.

  “It’s not a great sum, once you consider the size of the church’s holdings. Were we allowed to charge competitive rents or to sell off some of our holdings at market value, we could easily realize an income of twenty or even fifty times that amount.”

  Alex bit back a “Good God!” Considering his surroundings, he didn’t think it would go over well. “That is a rather different figure,” was all he said. His mouth felt dry, and he told himself to have a drink of water before the communion chalice came to him, lest he gulped it all down.

  “Indeed it is. Not only would it let us commence work on a new church immediately, it would also allow us to greatly expand our charitable endeavors. Nation-building can be a rather callous endeavor, I’m afraid, and our city is clogged with people in need of homes, food, medicine, and education. If Trinity was allowed to earn its fair share of income from its holdings, we would be able to build shelters to feed and house the homeless, establish hospitals to care for the sick regardless of their ability to pay, and start schools that would be open to all.”

/>   Open to all Anglicans, Alex thought, though he didn’t say it aloud. If the church did start building schools, he would make sure they were indeed open to all.

  “We would even be able to erect the orphanage Mrs. Hamilton has been agitating for since she arrived in the city.”

  Alex smiled. “She is at this very moment attempting to find a home for Master Slater with the Schlesingers.”

  “A delightful child and a delightful couple. We have enjoyed having him running around the rectory, and will enjoy it even more when he’s gone.”

  The three men shared a laugh at this.

  “The Schlesingers and Gus are well matched, and well served by your wife.” Reverend Provoost gave Alex a pointed look. “And you, sir? Will you serve your church?”

  Alex sat up uncomfortably. “I would be honored to, Reverend. Only I am not quite sure what you want me to do.”

  Reverend Provoost looked surprised. “But you are the lawyer of last resort. The patron attorney of hopeless causes.“

  Alex wasn’t sure if he was being mocked or not. Well, the rector probably wouldn’t have called him into his office to make fun of him. “Thank you, Reverend, but I’m not sure this is a legal matter.”

  “But I tell you it is, sir!” The rector’s voice grew quite firm. “We want you to break our charter with the state and allow us to control our own destiny!”

  Alex adopted a stolid, expressionless look. “Are you saying that you want me to sue the state of New York in order to free the church from governmental oversight?”

  “I am saying exactly that, sir. The church is supposed to administer charity. But under the terms of our current charter, we’re practically a charity case ourselves.”

  Numbers whirred through Alex’s his head. One hundred thousand pounds a year or more—maybe much more. The income was staggering. And the fee for brokering such a deal would be similarly astronomical.

  “Well, yes,” he said, struggling to keep his voice calm. “I would need to see the original charter.”

  The reverend nodded. “I assumed as much. I have had a copy made for you. Shall I have it delivered to your office on the morrow?”

  Alex supposed it would be unseemly if he walked into Sunday services carrying a box full of legal documents. It was the Sabbath, after all. “That would be excellent,” he said.

  The three men stood up and shook hands.

  “I knew you were the right man to help us,” Reverend Provoost said, taking Alex’s hand firmly in his, then continued to hold on. “You understand, of course, that we are not in a position to remunerate you for your services unless you are successful in your suit.”

  There’s always a catch, Alex thought. “Of course, Reverend,” he said, mustering as much brightness as he could. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable taking money from God’s coffers if I had failed to serve him well.”

  The rector smiled and patted Alex on the shoulder. “Very good then. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to call on me.”

  Alex nodded. “I’m honored that you’ve placed your trust in me. I won’t let you down.”

  He turned to follow John out of the office. But just as he was leaving, Reverend Provoost called after him: “Oh, and Mr. Hamilton?”

  Alex ducked his head back in the door. “Yes, Reverend?” He could have sworn the rector’s smile was teasing.

  “I believe your pew subscription is up for renewal? I assume you and Mrs. Hamilton wish to retain it for another year? The chapel has grown so crowded,” he added, almost mischievously. “We’ve had many inquiries after open seats.”

  Alex smiled weakly. “Of course, Reverend. I’ll have a check delivered to you this week.”

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Hamilton. I’ll see you in the nave.”

  So close, Alex thought as he closed the door behind himself. So close.

  * * *

  • • •

  ALEX MADE HIS way back to the pew in relatively high spirits. He would be out thirty pounds, but the prospect of thousands loomed. As he moved down an aisle, he shook hands with his neighbors and acquaintances and work colleagues and even Aaron Burr, who he was pleased to see had lost even more of his hair. It seemed to have migrated from the top of his head to the bottom of his chin, where there was ever more room for it to sprout.

  “A couple of years ago I had no children,” Burr moaned, running a hand over his nearly bald pate. “Now I have six. How did that happen?”

  Alex wanted to say something about chasing other men’s wives—Theodosia had still been married to a British officer when Burr scandalously began courting her—but he held his tongue. He also refrained from finding an excuse to mention how he had defeated Burr five out of the last seven times they had faced off in court, or that he himself had just landed what might turn out to be the most lucrative case of his career. All he did was lean forward to chuck baby Theodosia beneath her plump chin.

  “I see she’s got a bit of her father in her,” he said in a slightly mocking coo. “More than a bit even.” Nodding serenely at Burr’s confused face—the man wasn’t sure whether he’d been insulted or not—Alex continued on to his pew.

  As he arrived he saw that Gus was no longer with Eliza, but that a young girl was. She looked about seventeen, with fair, though not blond, hair, and dark, rather mournful eyes. John looked as though he were sleeping beside her.

  Alex slipped in next to his wife. “Did you, ah, make a trade for Gus?” he whispered, even as the deacon came in and the congregation rose to its feet.

  “In a manner of speaking,” she said. “This is Emma Trask. She’s going to be living with us now. But—more importantly—”

  Alex had been staring in amazement at Miss Trask, but something in Eliza’s voice made him turn to her. “Yes?” he asked with some trepidation. What was more important than the news that they had suddenly taken in a ward? But the look on his wife’s face was radiant.

  Eliza winked at him.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  5

  Catherine Schuyler Is Never Wrong

  Trinity Church and the Mercer Shop

  New York, New York

  June–July 1785

  It had been in her dream. The letter from her mother—the letter that she had dreamed her mother sent her. The letter that had caused her to wake up with tears on her cheeks.

  When she introduced Gus to Prudence Schlesinger, she saw Prudence’s eyes fill with an ineffable mixture of sadness for her lost child and joy at the beaming face looking up at her. Gus’s gaze held, on the one hand, absolutely no expectations, and on the other, complete trust. As Eliza looked between his face and Pru’s, the single line of cribbed, slightly blotchy script in her dream—for all her natural elegance, her mother’s handwriting looked like a five-year-old’s—popped into view:

  It would please me greatly if you named your son after your father, General Philip Schuyler.

  Just then, Eliza’s mouth dropped open in a gasp. Gus looked up at her as though she were about to pull a candy from her pocket. Pru stared at her with a confused, wondrous smile for a moment, and then her eyes fell to Gus’s face for a longer moment before she looked back up at Eliza and nodded.

  Eliza knew the dream’s letter was telling the truth and explained the cause of her lethargy and morning sickness. She would have to plan a visit to the doctor to confirm this happy news posthaste of course. Besides, only Catherine Schuyler—even in a dream—would feel the need to remind her daughter of her father’s name and rank. Such was the matriarch’s formality, even with her own children. To outsiders, this formality might appear cold, but Eliza knew it was just her mother’s love of ritual and order—to her, the words General Philip Schuyler were filled with thirty years of marriage, with two houses they had built together and filled with eight living children and seven lost in infancy, with a Dutch heritage tha
t came out in little words like schatje (“sweetheart”) and hartje (“my love”), an English spine that found form in a love of courtly etiquette, and an American soul that expressed itself in an uncompromising belief in liberty and individuality. And now, through the magic of dreams, she had delivered the most blessed news of all to Eliza:

  She was going to have a child! A boy! Philip Hamilton.

  Eliza took a moment to collect herself, then knelt down beside Gus.

  “Gus,” she said, smoothing the boy’s hair away from his wide, unlined forehead. “Do you like Mrs. Schlesinger’s dress?”

  “It’s violet,” Gus said. He stared at the dress for an instant, then reached out a hand to touch it tentatively. “It’s soft.”

  Eliza nodded. “And do you like lambs? Mr. and Mrs. Schlesinger have a new lamb on their farm.”

  “Oh yes!” Gus said. “I like lamb! It’s so tasty!”

  Eliza chuckled, looking up at Prudence.

  “How would you like to go and see the lamb on Mrs. Schlesinger’s farm after the service is over?”

  Gus stared pensively at Pru’s face for a long moment, then turned back to Eliza with a doubting expression. “Will you be coming, Mrs. Hamilton?”