Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(48)
As they strolled, he told Eliza of his gloom at Laurens’s departure, and the strange vision he kept having of his friend’s death as he wrote out letters of consolation to the families of fallen soldiers. He kept telling himself to change the subject—talk of death and war were not the things to win a girl’s heart—but the words came of their own accord. Though Eliza said very little as he spoke, her step never faltered and her arm in his never shook. More than once, he felt her reach across with her free hand to pat his.
Was he mad? Wooing a girl by taking her to the infirmary? What was he thinking? But Eliza Schuyler did not seem to mind.
Romance during wartime, he thought. In exceptional times, none of the usual rules apply.
Then again, perhaps it’s not the times that are exceptional, he thought. Perhaps it’s the girl.
21
Soldiers and Suitors
C Infirmary
Morristown, New Jersey
February 1780
The C Infirmary was housed in a long stone barn. The structure had been crudely winterized during its conversion, and the roof had been lowered to keep the heat from disappearing into the rafters, but even so, the barn had not been designed for human habitation, and the four cast-iron stoves deployed along its length barely raised the temperature above freezing. Ten cots stretched up each side of the long space, twenty in all, and puffs of breath could be seen floating in front of pale faces.
Eliza shook her head at the sight and pulled a small notebook and pencil from her reticule and scrawled a note.
“What are you writing?” the colonel asked, intrigued.
For a moment she was consciously aware of his presence and felt the quickening beat of her heart, but she took hold of herself and her emotions in order to concentrate on the task at hand.
“Lists! We need more stoves,” she told him. “More stoves and blankets.” She waved a hand at the vast space. “This simply will not do.”
“If anyone can find them, I have no doubt it’s you.”
An orderly dozing near one of the stoves snapped to attention as they approached.
“Good afternoon, Colonel Hamilton!” he barked, saluting. His face was flushed from the heat so close to the stove, his collar undone, revealing a slightly moist neck.
“Corporal Weston!” exclaimed Eliza, delighted to recognize a familiar face.
“You know this man?” Colonel Hamilton demanded, sounding just a bit jealous.
Eliza turned to him, smiling. “Of course. I inoculated him from the pox. What on earth are you doing here, Corporal?”
Weston looked sheepish. “I got a bit ill from the inoculation.”
“I am sorry to hear that, it should pass sooner rather than later. But I have to ask, Corporal Weston, why is your chair pushed so close to the stove? It seems to be rather uncomfortable for you, if the floridity of your cheeks is any measure.”
Weston’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why, it’s the warmest spot in the room, miss! In case you haven’t noticed, it’s winter!”
“Indeed, I have noticed. As have, I suspect, the twenty men who lie on these cots, much farther from the stove than you are.”
“Nineteen, miss,” Corporal Weston said defensively. “One of the beds emptied earlier this morning.”
“Emptied?” Eliza repeated. “You mean, its occupant died?” Her voice was all but an accusation.
“Y-yes, miss,” Corporal Weston answered weakly. “There are three more stoves, miss.”
“And nineteen more patients. Might I suggest that you move one or two of the cots closer to this stove, and find a place to sit that will be less uncomfortably hot? I do so hate to see one our brave soldiers suffering.”
“It takes at least two men to move a bed, miss. I’m the only attendant on duty.”
“I’m sure Colonel Hamilton would be happy to assist?”
She turned to him for the first time since they’d entered the infirmary, brave enough to meet his piercing gaze, which never seemed to leave her face. Why on earth was he looking at her like that? Was that what Peggy and Angelica meant when they said he mooned over her all during dinner? And if so, did he notice that she looked at him that way as well?
“Colonel?”
As if roused from a reverie, he snapped to attention. “Corporal, grab the foot end and be quick about it,” he said, trotting toward the nearest bed. Its young occupant appeared unconscious; a downy peach fuzz sprouted along the edge of his jaw. Eliza watched as Alex tucked the soldier’s blanket around his shoulders and tenderly patted his hand.
“Get some rest, boy. You will need it for the long journey ahead.”
Eliza pulled gently away from Alex’s side and approached the fellow in the next bed. Another pale young face peered at her curiously, having obviously heard the commotion when she came in. Eliza introduced herself, and the soldier said his name was Private Wallace. He was perhaps twenty, but his hand in hers was as weak as a boy half his age.
“How are you today, Private Wallace? Is there anything I can get you?”
“Just the sight of a female face is enough to brighten up the day,” Private Wallace answered.
“Have you no other visitors?”
“None besides the doctors, and they’re so busy they only come once a day, usually.”