Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(33)
“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 na?veté.
“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.”