Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(17)

Peterson grabbed the handkerchief and waved it in Church’s face for a moment before his hand fell and he stuffed it in his pocket. Publicly humiliated, he shook Alex off and stormed away in a huff, the butt of his cane striking the floor hard above the music.

“Oh dear, that’s going to do beastly things to Mama’s floor,” Peggy lamented.

Eliza turned to Alex. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“It is an honor to come to your defense,” he said with deep sincerity, his heart hammering under his uniform.

“And I must commend you on your restraint. An ugly situation could have grown much uglier had you not shown such decorum.”

Alex smiled. “Those are the kindest words I’ve heard all evening.”

Eliza looked as if she was going to take them back, but she held his gaze and didn’t look away from him. He wished he could tell her how he really felt, but somehow he understood it would not be welcome at this juncture. Alex stepped back with a gentlemanly bow, watching Eliza walk away on the arm of the British major.



HOURS LATER, THE party finally came to its end and Alex retreated from the ballroom only to run into Rodger, General Schuyler’s valet, under the stairs. The servant offered to help him to his accommodations for the evening.

“If you’ll follow me, sir . . .” Rodger turned to the back door and headed outside. Alex realized with a start that he really was going to sleep in the barn tonight.

Rodger guided him across the slippery gravel paths by the light of a single flickering lantern whose glow was swallowed up by a heavy clinging fog coming from the river. The dim light made it that much harder to negotiate the gravel, which rolled like marbles beneath his shoes.

The interior of the lofty barn at the foot of the hill was no less cold than the November night outside and reeked of a pungent mixture of manures: horse and cow and pig and sheep and chicken. Rodger led him down the barn’s center aisle to a ladder whose upper reaches were lost in the darkness of the rafters. He pointed upward, indicating that Alex’s bed lay somewhere up there.

“With the house so full of guests, Mrs. Schuyler was unable to find a spare blanket, but there’s plenty of hay,” Rodger said without sarcasm. He’d seen worse. “The boys will be in to milk the cows at dawn. That’s about three hours from now. Perhaps one of them will give you a ladle or two before you have to be on your way.”

Alex nodded wearily.

“Oh, and before I forget, I was told to give this to you.” Rodger handed him a note folded with cloth. Without another word, the valet turned and made his way back down the aisle.

With a start, Alex realized it was his handkerchief—the one that he had surrendered to Eliza Schuyler earlier that evening, the same one she had tucked into her bosom. It smelled like her perfume, and he inhaled its sweet scent, bringing it to his nose, just as a scrap of paper fluttered out of it.

In the dim light of Rodger’s retreating lantern, he saw a few words in a flowery woman’s handwriting:

Wait for me. The hayloft. After the ball.

Alex stared at the note. A midnight assignation? In the hayloft? With Eliza Schuyler? Was he reading this correctly?

He looked around, as if the note writer might be nearby, but just then Rodger opened the barn door and stepped outside. When the door closed behind him, the last of the lantern light disappeared and Alex couldn’t see past his nose. And it wasn’t just the rafters that were dark. The entire barn was pitch-black. Thankfully he’d put a hand on the ladder to hold himself steady, or he didn’t think he’d have been able to find it, and would have had to sleep beside whatever animal occupied the nearest stall.

But after a couple of swings with his foot, he found the first rung and slowly started to climb, somehow managing not to fall. The whole time his heart was beating in his chest at the thought of that marvelous girl making her way up to join him. He wasn’t aware that he’d reached the end of the ladder until he found himself tumbling forward into a surprisingly soft and deep pile of something he assumed—hoped—was hay.

While he was excited about the possibility of seeing Eliza again, he was also too tired to care about the indignity of a colonel and aide-de-camp to General Washington being forced to sleep under such circumstances, and burrowed deeper into the hay. The sweet smell of straw filled his nostrils, and his body heat began to warm his little cocoon.

She would be here soon. It was after the ball. What would he say to her? So she had succumbed to his charms after all! And that strange, withering look she had given him after the incident with Peterson had belied a hidden affection! She had understood what was in his heart all along.

And now she was on her way.

He fought sleep, waiting.

And waiting.



BEFORE LONG IT was morning. When he awoke, he found himself staring into the eyes of the most colorful bird he’d ever seen.

It was a rooster with brilliant plumage of blue and red and golden feathers, and it came at him with beating wings and talons extended. Alex barely made it out of the loft with his eyes intact.





More Than Two Years Later





8





Reconnaissance


Deserted Road

Rural New Jersey

February 1780

The deeply rutted road was frozen, aggravating the bumpy pace of Eliza’s wooden-wheeled carriage. With every detour the coachman took, she bounced up and hit her head on the low roof, landing in her seat with her bonnet knocked askew. She tightened the ribbon strings for what felt like the twentieth time. After six hours of this she didn’t even consider tucking in the loose wisps of her hair.