Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(33)
“Well, I for one love having picnics down here,” Peggy said. “It makes an occasion of it. It might be less work up at the house, but it wouldn’t be nearly so special.”
“That’s because you’re not the one carrying a child,” Eliza said. “I believe Kitty has gotten bigger every day she’s been alive.”
“That is the preferred direction, is it not?” Angelica teased. “Imagine if she were to get smaller? It would be most peculiar. And might I add, you are not carrying a child, you are merely holding one and can put it in the arms of a nurse at any time. I am carrying a child, and may I say that with each passing day, I grow more and more in awe of Mama, who did this more times than I can count and never let on how truly uncomfortable it is. It feels like Dot has cinched me into the tightest corset and is now trying squeeze a melon in between the whalebone and my ribs.”
“In my day,” Mrs. Schuyler said, “a woman didn’t talk about her condition. It was—”
“Unseemly?” Peggy teased. “Or merely common?”
“Vulgar, I should say,” Catherine said in a serious voice—so serious that Eliza thought her mother was putting on a show. “But what do I know? I am just an old woman of six-and-forty years.”
“Well, if you say ‘six-and-forty’ like a member of Queen Elizabeth’s court, people will think you an old woman.”
“Well, what should I say? ‘Forty-six’?” Mrs. Schuyler shuddered. “What next? Shall I go about town without a bonnet?” She lifted up the hem of her dress until it was higher than the cuff of her summer boot, revealing a few inches of pale pantaloon. “Expose my ankle? Or, I know, why don’t I just adopt a profession? Perhaps I will study law, like Eliza’s Colonel Hamilton, or be a merchant, like Angelica’s Mr. Church, or, hold on, why don’t I just name myself Patroon like Peggy’s Mr. Van Rensselaer!” Mrs. Schuyler chortled wickedly. “You girls with your modern ideas! Always thinking things can be improved upon when the old order has worked century upon century.”
“But has it?” Eliza said. “I mean, if the old order worked so well, then why are we fighting this war? Why don’t we continue to let some king on the other side of the ocean impose unjust taxes on us, and take the better part of our income simply because he happens to be the son of someone who happened to be the son of someone who happened to be the son of someone who—”
“Yes, I think we see where you are going with this,” Mrs. Schuyler interjected. “But these are the sorts of questions men ask, and men answer. It is a woman’s place to maintain a steady keel, so that our menfolk always have a safe haven to turn to in an ever-changing world.”
“Why, Catherine Van Rensselaer Schuyler!” Angelica said. “I never thought I would hear you adopt such a—such a meek position, not just for all women but for yourself! You are one of the most strong-willed, independent, and capable women I have ever known. During the five long years of this war, there have been more months than not when Papa was away and you ran this house singlehandedly, assuming all of his duties in addition to yours. And, I might add, turning more of a profit off the farm than Papa ever did!”
“For shame!” Mrs. Schuyler said, but Eliza thought she detected a submerged pride in her mother’s voice. “I only stepped up as was my duty. What I did was nothing special.”
“Perhaps it was ‘nothing special,’” Eliza chimed in. “But if that’s the case, doesn’t it prove that the female sex is capable of doing anything that males can do? I say they are the ones who are nothing special!”
“Anything?” Mrs. Schuyler scoffed. “Would you stand behind a plow and furrow the fields? Would you shoulder a rifle and march to war?”
“It seems to me that it’s the horse that does the work in the first instance, and the bullet in the second. Neither requires any great feat of manly strength.”
The women fell silent after this exchange, their thoughts all filled with the ongoing siege five hundred miles south, in Yorktown, Virginia. It had been more than a week since Eliza had heard from Alex, and the silence was close to driving her mad. By now, her anger had completely faded, and even her fear had subsided to a dull ache. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t on her mind a hundred times a day. The glimpse of a ribbon that he had worn in his hair could bring him to mind, or one of his old jackets lurking at the back of a wardrobe, or even just his empty seat at table.
But she always tried to steer her thoughts away from him, lest she begin conjuring fantasies about what was happening to him at that moment. Did his silence, for example, mean that the siege had escalated to actual battle, or that the battle was over? Was it possible that Alex had fallen—
No! she said to herself, cutting short this train of thought.
She looked down at the sleeping face of her newest sister. Kitty had been sickly for the first few weeks of her life, and Eliza had been terrified that she would meet the same fate as Cortland, her mother’s last child, who had only survived a few weeks before succumbing to one of those unnamable maladies that so often steal young babes away. She had fretted over Kitty’s bed as if she were the girl’s mother, and though Dr. Van Vrouten declared that none of her symptoms were life-threatening, Eliza’s ministrations had helped ensure that they did not become more alarming. But as Kitty’s health improved, Eliza had been plagued by a new fear: that somehow Kitty’s life had been bought at the expense of her husband’s. She knew it was folly. That neither illness nor God worked in such a way, but the eleven days since she had heard from Alex had been excruciating for her, and she longed to receive word that he had survived the command he had demanded, and not succumbed to the perils of battle as Governor Clinton had so mockingly predicted.