Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(89)
Alex turned as the crowd parted like the Red Sea to reveal not Moses but Pharaoh, which is to say, the corpulent, gold-clothed figure of Governor Clinton.
“Well, I hope you’re proud of yourself, young man,” the governor said, or spat. “You, who served as the right hand of General Washington himself! Providing aid and comfort to the enemy! You are lucky that I don’t have you strung up. But I’ll see you disbarred from ever practicing law in New York State if it’s the last thing I do.”
Alex stood there, tongue-tied. After the exertions of the day, taking care of Caroline in her weakened condition, the run home, the cheers and smells and jostling, and Eliza’s painting. Eliza . . .
He turned to his wife, and grabbed her hand.
“Always hiding behind a woman’s skirts,” Clinton jeered. “That’s what they’ll say about Alexander Hamilton in the history books, if they bother to record him at all. First, he uses the plight of a silly barmaid to advance his own loyalist cause, and then, he runs home to hide behind his wife, whose family name is far more distinguished than his own will ever be. I expect Philip Schuyler will be none too pleased when he learns what kind of man you’ve hitched yourself, too,” he said to Eliza directly.
Alex tried to open his mouth but still his jaw refused to move. Governor Clinton glowed and shook like a torch in the breeze threatening to set his house on fire, yet after a full day of brilliant debate in court, capped by a scintillating final argument that had, as someone said, moved people to tears and applause, Alex found himself unable to think of a single word to shut up this ugly boor.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to.
“Why, George Clinton!” Eliza said in a voice that was less angry than amused and belittling. “My father has counted you as a friend, or at any rate a colleague, for more than thirty years. If he knew you were speaking to his daughter in this way, he would call you out!”
Governor Clinton smirked. “I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Hamilton,” he said in the least sincere voice Alex had ever heard.
“Oh, shut up, you horrible toad,” Eliza said, her voice less agitated than nonchalant, as if Clinton were not worth the trouble. “I care not a whit what you think of me, and neither does my husband. Now, you listen to me. This man whose hand I hold and whose ring I share put his life on the line for this country over and over, and for anyone to call him a traitor is not only laughable but traitorous in itself. The United States of America is not what you would have it be, sir,” she continued. “Nor is it what I would have it be, or Alex, or anyone in this room. It is a shared space and a shared vision, and only when we learn that our different points of view give us a special strength will we tap into the full potential of our unique, united sensibilities. Only then will we make good on the debt we owe to the brave men—yes, and women—who fought for our freedom. And until you can get that through that unruly head of hair, I invite you to shut your mouth—or go stuff it with food, since you are obviously far better at eating than speaking.”
Stunned silence filled the room. Then from the front parlor came the sound of a titter. The crowd turned to see old Pieter Stuyvesant laughing so hard his wooden leg pounded the floor.
“Oh my stars! That is the best show I’ve seen in ages!” And he broke into peals of glee.
Within seconds, the whole house was shaking with laughter. A dejected George Clinton slunk off with his tail between his legs, but somehow managed to end up at the buffet table, where he did indeed begin stuffing his mouth with food.
Alex turned to his wife. “And they say I am the orator.”
“They will say it for the next hundred years, and even more, if I have anything to do with it,” Eliza said. Her face was shining with love and pride. “You won, Alex! You won!”
“Well, it was a split decision, really,” Alex answered honestly. “The Baxter Street building was returned to the Le Beau family, but Judge Smithson ordered the state to pay Mrs. Childress damages in the amount of fifteen hundred for lost investment and—”
Eliza put a finger on his lips. “A victory! You won.”
Alex kissed her on the lips. “We won, my darling. And we always will, as long we stay by each other’s side.”
“Always,” she said with a smile. “Come now, let’s take our bows.” Eliza waved a hand at the dancing, drinking, swirling mass before them. “We’re a hit!” Then she turned to him, and this time it was her voice that was soft in his ear. “But all I ever needed was you.”
In answer, he kissed her again with all his heart and soul, his passion for his wife as keen as on the first day they’d met, and whatever flaws and transgressions lay on the rocky road ahead of them, he knew that she was right: They could meet every obstacle and temptation in their path as long as they were by each other’s side, in love and war, failure and victory, poverty and prosperity, until the curtain closed on their story.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
While this story is inspired by and mostly based on historical fact, the biggest departure of course that anyone can easily discover and point out to the author (but please don’t!) is that Alex and Eliza had children almost immediately after their marriage. So please forgive this young-adult author for wanting to keep them newlyweds for a little while longer and not deal with the reality of children just yet.