Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(16)
Alex was shocked. “I do not know what to say. It is perhaps the finest gift anyone has ever given me since Governor Livingston brought me to North America.”
“Well then. I know not who will prevail in the coming battle, but I do know who the handsomest pair of officers will be. And as my father said when he taught me to play cricket, it is not whether you win or lose, but how you look when you take the field.”
“Do not jinx it,” Alex said, unwilling to take his eyes from the gorgeous horse in front of him. “I have not received my commission yet.”
* * *
IT WAS SOME three hours before Alex actually met with the commander in chief of the Continental forces. There had been the new horse to see to, for one thing—Alex could stable it with the army’s other horses, but he had to make sure that the grooms knew this was a private animal, and it was not to be requisitioned by some scurrilous lieutenant who might fancy a finer ride than the war-weary mounts the army provided. Alex wanted to freshen up as well and change out of his damp shirt. Then, too, Laurens refused to let him out of his sight until he had shared at least one tankard of ale with him: “It will calm you,” he said jovially, “and besides, General Washington will be in his office till late. There is no danger of missing him.”
The sun was low on the hills to the west of Newburgh when Alex finally made his way to Hasbrouck House, a one-and-half-story Dutch stone farmhouse that had been provided to General Washington. An orderly waved Alex through to an inner vestibule, where a closed door made of heavy, plain maple planks separated him from his fate. He took a deep breath and knocked with a rap he hoped was not terribly intrusive, but still confident and decisive.
A pause, long enough that Alex considered knocking again. Then a gruff voice called: “Enter.”
Alex pushed the door open carefully. He had not been in this office before, and he didn’t know what lay on the other side. Heaven forbid he should slam the door into General Washington’s desk and start the meeting off on the wrong foot.
The low-ceilinged room beyond was smaller than the general’s office in Morristown, and much more rustic, but the desk was still some feet away, and after entering the room and closing the door behind him, Alex placed himself before the general, and waited for him to look up from his papers.
Washington was well-known to make his subordinates wait on him for sometimes twenty or thirty minutes while he finished a routine task, but he was apparently not in the mood for such theatrics today. He stowed his pen immediately and indicated a ladder-back chair opposite his desk. “Colonel Hamilton. Please, have a seat.”
Alex resisted the urge to stick his fingers in his ears to see if they were stuffed with wax. In the five years Alex had worked for him, Washington had never said “please” to Alex, let alone invited him to “have a seat.”
However, as the general continued to stare at him expectantly, Alex nervously made his way to the chair and eased himself into it, as if it might collapse beneath his weight. The rush caning was a little on the thin side and the back was uncomfortably straight, but nevertheless it held.
“I have reviewed the document you placed into my hands at our last meeting,” Washington said. As always, his words sounded formal. But they also sounded so much like him, that to anyone familiar with the general, it was hard to take offense. Alex was not given to flights of fantasy where his commander in chief was concerned, but on the rare moments he had allowed himself to imagine Washington as a boy, or alone with his wife, Martha, he could not picture “George” choosing his words with anything less than meticulous care.
The document Washington referred to was a letter Alex had written, but in the general’s voice rather than his own. Alex had written hundreds of such documents during the course of the war to which the general had affixed his signature. The only difference was that all those other letters—letters sending men into battle or pulling them away from it, to the gallows or giving them their freedom—had been written at Washington’s direction, whereas this one was entirely of Alex’s creation. Which is to say, after years of asking the general to give him command of his own battalion, he had simply written the promotion into existence.
It was an ultimatum of sorts, and Washington knew it. If he didn’t sign, there would be no more business as usual. Alex had long since served his tour of duty and could resign at any moment. As Eliza had said, he would forfeit his salary and his pension, but there was no legal preventative to his departure.
Alex knew it was a bold move, which is why he’d delivered the paper right before he went away for leave. Washington did not like insubordination or cockiness, however he admired self-determination. He’d had a month to stew over it and cool whatever anger he might have felt when he’d first read it. Alex had taken the fact that he hadn’t received a letter telling him that his services were no longer required as a good sign. Nevertheless, the general displayed a consummate poker face. He could be preparing to promote Alex to lieutenant general or throw him in the brig.
“You are aware that General Cornwallis has quartered nearly nine thousand British and German troops at Yorktown?” asked the general, leaning forward and placing his hands flat on the desk.
Alex wasn’t sure what to say. He himself had passed on this intelligence to the general some time ago. He nodded, then stirred himself to speak. One did not merely nod at the commander in chief of the Continental army.