Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(47)

“Somehow I take it you are not here to invite me to a sleigh ride,” she said with a hint of smile.

Alex shook his head as the door opened behind them, and a maid entered with a pewter cup. He crossed to a chair and waited till Eliza had taken a seat before he, too, sat down. Louisa brought them each a tall drink of cider, poked the fire, then asked if there was anything else needed.

“No, thank you, Louisa. You may go.” She waited until the maid was gone before speaking again. “I am sorry to say that my aunt and uncle are not at home. Dr. Cochran is attending to the troops, and my aunt is, as always, acting as nurse and assistant, and my sisters are out at the moment.”

Alex spoke frankly. “I did not come to see them.” Then, fearing he was insinuating too much, he said, “Colonel Laurens left yesterevening. I thought you would like to know.”

“Oh! That is too bad. I know you are dear friends. Did he take the marquis with him?”

“No, General Lafayette remains among us, though he will be off soon. There are rumors of British activity in coastal Connecticut, and he is going to investigate.”

“Ah. So you will be left quite friendless and bereft!”

“Not entirely bereft, I hope,” Alex said, staring directly into Eliza’s eyes. But his gaze must have been too intense, for she turned away suddenly and reached for her embroidery. He saw now that it wasn’t a ring for a pillow sham but rather the sleeve of a uniform she was working on—she was sewing on an insignia of rank.

“You give so much to our troops,” Alex said now. “If there were decorations for noncombatants, you would be the first to receive one.”

“I fear I do not do nearly enough,” Eliza said. “Especially since coming here, to a strange town where I have not the network of friends and acquaintances to tap for resources for our boys.”

Alex knew that he should tell her that what she did was more than adequate, but something held his tongue. At length he spoke.

“You will forgive me, Miss Schuyler. I am afraid I do not know why I came here this afternoon, but I could not help but want to see you. I think I wanted . . . consolation?”

“Colonel Hamilton? Have you lost someone dear to you?”

Alex thought of Laurens walking away, and the number of times he had written his name in the place of one or another fallen soldier. “I hope not,” he said.

“Colonel Hamilton?” Eliza said again, concern etched all over her gentle face. It was a face he could imagine waking up to every morning, and in his dreams, she was always there.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Schuyler,” Alex said. “I—” He broke off. Then a thought came to him, unbidden: “Have you ever been to the infirmaries?”

Eliza knew what he meant. “You mean the wards? Where the soldiers recuperate? I am afraid I have only been to the examining rooms when I helped my aunt administer the inoculation for the pox.”

“It is a difficult thing to recover in the coldness and anonymity of a hospital as opposed to the comfort and familiarity of one’s home. There are no books, no mother or servants, no little brothers and sisters to distract one from the boredom or the pain. I think that our soldiers would appreciate it very much if they had a visitor every now and then.”

Eliza looked taken aback at first, and then chagrined. “Of course! And here I am sewing on silly little epaulets that turn an ensign into a lieutenant and a lieutenant into a . . . major? Did I get that right?” As the daughter of a general Eliza knew the insignia well, but she felt the need to be a little self-deprecating. She continued: “I shall make arrangements with my uncle to visit them as soon as possible.”

“Yes,” Alex said. “That is, I was thinking—perhaps I could take you there now?”

“Oh!” Eliza said, then “Oh!” again. “Of course. Just let me put on something warm.”

She stood up and only then did Alex notice that she was wearing a simple woolen dress: warm, if one were inside, near a fire, but hardly suited to the freezing weather.

He stood up, too.

“I’m sorry, I’m being stupid,” he said. “I should have written and given you advance notice. We can do this another day. Tomorrow or—no, tomorrow I have to drill. Friday, then—”

“Nonsense,” Eliza said. “If the truth be known, I am half crazy with boredom. Peggy has been spending all her time with Stephen, and Angelica is off who knows where. While Aunt Gertrude and Uncle John are off saving lives, I am left here for six or eight or ten hours at a time sewing epaulets on sleeves. Please, I beg of you: Put me to real use.”

Alex waited while she slipped from the room. She was back some fifteen minutes later. It was unclear to him whether she’d changed her dress or not, but now she was bundled beneath several layers of coat and shawl and hat and gloves. He did see that she had replaced her silk slippers for a pair of sturdy leather boots with a pointed toe and tiny heel.

“I am ready for the fiercest storm,” she said. “Please, lead on.”

It was only when they were outside that Alex realized he should have commandeered a buggy for this trip. The nearest infirmary was half a mile away, and though Eliza was dressed for the weather, he had only his greatcoat and tricorne. From chest to knees he was snug, but his exposed neck and poorly shod feet immediately felt the nip of the cold. Yet when Eliza crooked her elbow to accept his, all thoughts of the cold vanished from his mind, and he set off toward the infirmary at a leisurely pace, half hoping the journey would never end.