Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(5)
Now it was Alex’s turn to fall silent. He could feel his father-and brother-in-law’s eyes boring into him. “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?” John repeated, taking a puff from his cigar. “That sounds rather ominous.”
Alex summoned a breath. “I have decided to ask General Washington for my own unit to command.”
It would not be accurate to say that General Schuyler goggled at him. The old Dutchman was too reserved in both life and command to ever betray his thoughts so openly. Still, there was a discernible straightening of the older man’s spine. The thick wool of his uniform strained a bit, and his voice, when it came, was tight. “Patriotism and bravery are two of the finest qualities a man can possess. But there is a fine balance between zealousness and, dare I say, foolhardiness.”
Alex opened his mouth to protest but his father-in-law—who was also his superior officer—spoke over him, so he held his tongue.
“You have been on the field of battle precisely once,” said the general. “At Monmouth, where it is my understanding from General Washington himself that you acquitted yourself with valor, but also with what amounted to a reckless disregard for your own well-being. Washington said it was almost as if you wanted to die on the field of battle like some modern-day Norse warrior, as if only death by bullet or saber could assure you a place in Asgard.”
“Sir, I can assure you,” Alex began, compelled to explain. “There were no such thoughts in my head. Indeed, if there had been any thoughts at all, I do not remember them. I desired only to drive the enemy off the soil of my beloved country, and gave no regard to my safety whatsoever.”
“This is exactly my point,” General Schuyler said. “The difference between a commander and a soldier is that the commander fights in a cooler state of mind. He considers not just the individual skirmish or even the battle itself, but the course of the entire war, his own place in it, and that of all the men serving under him. If all our commanders fell to the bloody earth with their soldiers in each battle, we would have none left to lead the army. It would be a melee of undisciplined men mobbing about the field to be exterminated by the enemy.”
Schuyler’s words cut Alex to the core. Even General Washington had told him that his bravery at Monmouth was impressive, but his bloodlust to fight until he was struck down had made the general loath to send him back into battle. “You serve your country better intact,” he had said. And in a rare show of personal attachment, he added, “I’d prefer you to live.”
Alex had been flattered, in a way. He knew he was indispensable to Washington’s office. But if the signs were reading true, the war was winding down. If the battle at Yorktown was successful, the British army would be decimated, and it was highly likely the overseas empire would at last concede that the American colonies were more trouble than they were worth, and surrender.
But Alex didn’t care. He had come north as a teenager, brilliant but unworldly, and this country had embraced him and given him a chance to make a man of himself, and hopefully a fortune, too. How could he face his future children and tell them that he had spent the war in a paneled office with a pen in his hand and a warm fire at his back? When his future sons asked him how many battles he had won, how could he answer, “I did not fight. I was a secretary.” His blood boiled at the thought.
“The counsel of very few men is of more value to me than yours, General Schuyler,” Alex said. “And you may be assured that I will keep it in mind, just as I will keep my beloved and precious Eliza in my heart when I make my decision.”
“She knows of your ambitions then?” General Schuyler asked pointedly.
Alex’s words caught in his throat. He could not lie to his father-in-law. “We have not discussed it yet, but I know she will understand. She has your own bravery as a prior example, after all.”
“Hamilton,” John said sharply. “She will be crushed.”
Again, Alex paused before speaking. He knew his brother-in-law spoke the truth. The reality of Eliza’s tears—of her fear on his behalf—had kept him from sharing his plans with her until the last minute. He’d been determined to shield her from the news until it was inevitable, not wanting to break her heart just yet. After all, they had been discussing their own dreams for the establishment of their own home, and this would delay it indefinitely. Putting himself in the line of fire would also mean allowing for the possibility of a final separation between them, and the thought of his dear love as a grieving widow when their story had just begun was almost enough to dissuade him.
Yet—he had to put aside these fears for now. He would have a command; he would be part of this Revolution, if it was the last thing he accomplished.
Finally, he drew himself up straight. “Be that as it may,” he said in the distant tone of a statesman or a commander rather than a husband, “I fight not just for myself now, nor even for my country, but for my wife and the family we will raise, and for the legacy of our name, which is yours as well. You must remember that I have studied war at the side of the man whose genius, bravery, and, dare I say, calculated patience has guided this country from bondage to freedom. If five years under General Washington has not prepared me to lead our brave boys into battle, nothing will.”
General Schuyler said nothing for a long moment. Then he nodded. “I will speak on this matter no more. I do not wish to insult your honor or impugn your motives. And now, my dear boys, we have concluded our business and must rejoin our women. They do get upset when we are late for a party, especially one they are throwing in your honor, Hamilton.”