Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(51)

When he sensed she was feeling cold, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and rode his fingertips up and down her elbow to create warmth. He lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, “You are so special to me, my dearest Betsey. And I want you to know it this very moment. Do you think you could ever be persuaded to feel the same toward this poor soldier?”

He had taken to calling her Betsey when they were alone, a name only he called her, and no one else.

“Perhaps one day,” she said. “You have yet to take me on that long-promised sleigh ride, Colonel.”

“Only say the word, my sweet nut-brown maid,” he said, “and I shall make sure Hector will be at your door with bells on. And Alex, please, call me Alex.”

“Alexander,” she said with a smile. “You take too many liberties, just like our congress against the British.”

“My darling, you are the declaration of my heart,” he said, enjoying this game.

“Alex,” she said at last. “It is nice to be with you here, tonight.”

He thrilled to hear the sound of his given name on her lips.

“At the very least, my sister will finally stop pestering me about you,” she said.

“They may pester away, for it is to Peggy I thank that we are here together.”

They stood in front of the bonfire, enjoying its warmth and each other’s.

At the end of the next song, a fellow stepped into the slant of firelight in front of Alex. At first he didn’t recognize the tall elegant figure wearing civilian clothes, backlit by the blaze. In the low light beyond the edge of the bonfire, it was unlikely that Major John André would have been recognized by anyone but Alex.

“Good evening, sir!” said Alex. “And what brings you here?”

Alex took a step forward in the firelight. He noticed the major’s face was flushed and beads of sweat tracked along the swale of his high cheekbones. He seemed to be in a hurry.

“Ah, Colonel Hamilton. And Miss Schuyler as well—what a . . . pleasant surprise! But please, you mustn’t get too close to me. I was merely passing through Morristown only to have been waylaid by a nasty bout of a cold, which I now fear is racing toward pneumonia. I’m out of my sick bed to get to the apothecary for a remedy. Yes, yes, that’s it. And now I really must be on my way. Good evening to you both.”

The major tucked his chin under the scarf around his neck and cut through the crowd enjoying the bonfire. John André stepped out into the street and took a turn in the direction of Whitehead Street.

“Strange,” Alex pondered out loud. “The apothecary is in the other direction. I’ve always admired the fellow for his fortitude of mind. But this time it is as if he’s hiding something.”

He looked down at Eliza, who was pensive. “What is it, my darling?”

“He asked me to marry him once,” she confessed.

Alex stiffened. “Your dance partner. You danced with him three—no, five—times, I remember. I counted.”

She saw the look on his face. “I didn’t say yes.”

“But you were . . . fond of him?”

“A schoolgirl’s crush, that is all.”

He breathed in sharply. A British officer—asking the hand of American aristocracy! But of course André would feel confident enough to ask for Eliza’s hand. He was wealthy and, enemy or no, had family and fortune that Alex lacked. He was ashamed, all of a sudden.

Now it was Eliza’s turn to ask him what was the matter.

“It is nothing,” he said weakly.

“I didn’t want him,” she said.

“But why not?” he asked, unable to help himself. If Eliza would turn down someone as worthy as André, what hope did he, Alex, have of success in his suit?

Eliza contemplated her answer. Walking through the infirmary ward with Colonel Hamilton these past days had shown her a softer side of what an officer must be. The one who cares for his men above all else and is willing to see them honored for their service to the new country he believed in so fervently.

Yes, she had seen Alex’s temper flare over his disappointment with a lack of his own regiment to command, but she saw that as merely the fighting spirit of an ambitious and confident leader. Yet, wasn’t that what appealed most to her about him? A spirit and impetuousness that could match her own and challenge her to better herself in this new democracy? A man who could honor her own values?

Yes, it was true: Once she had been quite enamored of the elegant Major John André. But here and now, for Eliza, all of Major André’s former appeal seemed to vanish in the night air, snuffed out like the pine needles curling orange in the blazing bonfire before her.

In its place, she would enjoy the light dancing in Alex’s eyes and the fire ignited in her heart forever, and told him so.

“I didn’t accept him,” she said. “I fear I am too patriotic to marry against the cause.”

He seemed satisfied with the answer.

I didn’t accept him, Eliza thought but didn’t say, because he wasn’t you.





23





Full Hearts, Empty Pockets


Continental Army Headquarters & Cochran Dinner Table, Part Deux

Morristown, New Jersey

February 1780

Walking on a cloud after another evening with Eliza, Alex had lost all track of time. He arrived back at headquarters well after the evening guard had been posted, a young corporal huddled in the small shelter in front of the Ford mansion. Swathed in a half-dozen blankets topped by an enormous bearskin, the sleepy fellow made some motion beneath the pile of rugs as Alex approached. It might have been a salute aimed at the familiar figure of Colonel Hamilton, but there were so many layers of fabric over the man’s body that Alex wasn’t sure.