Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(21)
“I shouldn’t blame your dress, m’lady, as much as my own belly.” He patted his large stomach. “The wife’s shepherd’s pie is too tasty for my own good, I’m afraid. Well. I am at a bit of a loss, I must admit.”
“It is only five miles to Morristown, you say? Mr. Vincent, you’ve known me to walk that kind of distance on a daily basis back home in Albany. Why don’t you ride with Mrs. Jantzen to aid, and I shall come on foot?”
“Your self-sacrifice is admirable, m’lady, but I can see how ill shod you are for such a journey.”
“Nonsense. We Dutch girls rarely even bother with shoes on a day as warm as this.”
“She’s fine, coachman!” Mrs. Jantzen called. “Do please let’s hurry! I’m DYING!”
The coachman shook his head anxiously.
“Night’s coming on, too, and the moon’s waning crescent. One step off the road and I fear it’ll be you who meets her end on this day.”
Eliza could see no other solution, and wished the coachman would get going with things. The sooner she started walking, the sooner she would reach her destination.
Before she could speak again, however, she heard the clip-clop of horse hooves from farther down the road.
“Is it redcoats?” Mrs. Jantzen moaned. “We are killed!”
The British had been confined to the eastern shore of the Hudson River in New York City, but even so, Eliza was tense as she turned on her aching feet and stepped from behind the broken carriage to see who was approaching. A large bay horse was galloping toward them, mounted by a figure in tricorn and dark blue overcoat.
“Never fear,” she said to Mrs. Jantzen. “It is one of ours.”
The soldier’s face was obscured by a scarf, Eliza saw as he approached, no doubt to protect it from the cold. She wouldn’t have minded one herself. The rider was not tall, but certainly not short, with broad shoulders and a perfect, martial posture, wearing a long, slightly curved sword at his waist. The only part of his face that was visible, however, was a pair of piercing blue eyes staring at her—almost, she could have sworn, with amusement.
A voice came through the scarf with a fog of breath.
“Looks like we’ve had an accident.” The mirth was audible in the words as well as visible in the eyes.
“Sorry to say we have,” the coachman replied. “And our precious Mrs. Jantzen has injured her ankle. I wonder if perhaps you could give our Miss Schuyler the use of your horse.”
“Oh, I’d be happy to give the daughter of General Schuyler a lift,” the scarved figure answered. “That is, if Eliza does not object.”
The soldier pulled back his scarf then, revealing a shadow of reddish stubble. Eliza’s hand flew to her mouth.
It was Colonel Alexander Hamilton.
9
Knight in Shining Armor
Not-So-Deserted Road
Rural New Jersey
February 1780
“Slow there, Hector.” Alex inched the big bay closer to the three stranded travelers, bringing him to a precise halt with his nose against his chest. Swinging both legs over his saddle, he landed before them in an elegant dismount.
“The sun will be down soon. We should make haste.”
He dropped to one knee next to Eliza and laced the fingers of his gloved hands together to offer a lift up onto Hector’s back. “A leg up, m’lady?”
An unmistakable quiver of embarrassment and annoyance ran through her but indeed the sun had already dropped behind the trees and darkness was fast setting in. In spite of the frozen cold ground under her delicate cloth shoes, it appeared her wounded pride was enough to make her lift her chin and press on.
As nimbly as she could, Eliza set her feet in the cradle of his sturdy hands in order to allow herself to be hoisted into place. She placed one hand on his shoulder and reached for the saddle pommel with the other as their bodies passed in close proximity. Calculating the full weight of her body, Alex inhaled the edge of her bonnet and found himself caught off guard by a vague whiff of what could only be whale oil.
Eliza settled herself with as much dignity as she could muster, both legs to one side of the cavalryman’s saddle. Gathering up the reins, she clutched at some wisp of control. She looked down into the faces of the two men staring up at her and addressed them through a clenched jaw.
“Now, sirs, I must ask you to kindly turn your backs while I . . . I, I take a moment to, ah . . . arrange myself,” said Eliza. “I’m afraid there’s nothing else for it.”
“It’s a pity but I agree,” said the young colonel, although he didn’t sound at all disappointed.
The two men pivoted 180 degrees in perfect tandem.
The red-faced coachman pulled off his cap and stared straight down into it, a signal he planned to wait as long as this might take. Still strapped across the coachman’s horse like a duffel bag, Mrs. Jantzen swiveled her head to survey the scene. To her right, two men stood staring off into the sunset with their backs to her ward. To her left, General Schuyler’s devoted daughter Eliza was busy hiking her skirts up to her waist, all the while perched atop a sixteen-hand gelding.
“Lord have mercy upon us all!” wailed the incapacitated chaperone. “This must surely be the devil’s doing.”