Page 7 of My Dear Hamilton
Chapter Six
February 1780
Morristown, New Jersey
I MET HIM DURING the worst winter anyone could remember, and in the darkest hour of the war, during a year that would see the literal blotting out of the sun and make us wonder if it were the end of days. No one could remember such a winter, so cold that one couldn’t write a letter except by the fire or the ink would freeze. The river iced over so solidly, even at the widest part, that the British could wheel artillery across it. No ship could come in or out of any port. And the young officers in my military escort were forced to stop every so often to knock shards of ice loose from the wheels of the coach, wary of catching a glimpse of the king’s soldiers.
They had good reason to be wary, for I carried a letter from my father to General Washington. There was also the matter of my traveling companion, a fair and feisty beauty by the name of Kitty Livingston, my cousin and childhood friend. Kitty was the daughter of New Jersey governor William Livingston—one of the most forceful and influential men of the revolution, perpetually on the run from the British, who desperately wanted to make an example of him. And there had recently been, at the Livingston family home, Redcoats pounding upon the door at midnight, forcing their way in at the point of bayonet, demanding that the governor’s daughters betray their father’s hiding place—which they steadfastly refused to do.
“I was certain they’d burn the house.” Kitty’s breath puffed steam into the air as she nestled closer to me beneath a quilt. “Though, God forgive me, at this moment, I’d gladly see Liberty Hall engulfed in flames if only to warm my feet near the conflagration.”
If God wouldn’t forgive her, I would, because the coals in our foot warmer had burned out. But I told myself to endure it because I was soon to see my sister.
It’d been nearly three years since Jack Carter spirited Angelica away to Boston. Now my brother-in-law’s business dealings—which I never sufficiently understood—had brought him back into service as a commissary. Angelica had written that he’d been sent on a foraging expedition, and that, in the meantime, she was with the army in Morristown. Where I was determined to join her.
Given that British raiding parties skulked everywhere along the Hudson, throwing torches into homes, courthouses, and churches along the way, I expected my mother to balk at the idea of my journey. But the revolution was still, for us, a family affair. My aunt Gertrude, whose husband, Dr. Cochran, was George Washington’s personal physician, invited me to visit, with a pointed reminder that Washington’s officer corps was comprised almost entirely of well-educated bachelors from good families, in dire need of brides.
I was more interested in the knowledge that they were also in need of nurses.
And so I went.
When our coach came to a stop we heard a watchman call, “Who comes there?”
Standing upon a muster ground of muddied slush, an irritated sentry all but encased in ice demanded our papers. And when I leaned out to see him, I was greeted with the welcome sight of smoke billowing from a tavern chimney amidst a little cluster of peaked roofs. The tavern gave us hope of a warm drink, but when the sentry saw the direction of our eyes, he said, “Don’t bother. They’ll slam the door in your faces.”
That’s when I noticed the dark glances of the townsfolk trudging past. Startled, I asked, “They’re Tories here in Morristown?”
“Aye. And they’re just sick to death of us, miss.” The sentry pointed down the lane. “Your kin are staying less than a mile that-a-way. Your sister, Mrs. Carter, is already in camp.”
Angelica . The thought of her alone was enough to warm me. And my excitement was rewarded when, before our coach even came to a full stop in front of a neat little white house with a picket fence half-buried in snow, my older sister flung herself out the front door. We both cried at once:
“Angelica!”
“Betsy!”
Thereupon we flew into each other’s arms and squeezed so tightly we could scarcely breathe for the sweet pain of it. I couldn’t stop looking at her because she had become, it seemed, even more beautiful as a consequence of motherhood, her bright black eyes shining over an elegantly long nose that was pink just at the tip.
From the doorway, stout Aunt Gertrude fussed, “Let’s get you girls in out of the cold before you catch your deaths!” She ushered Kitty, my sister, and me inside a small front parlor where a corner fireplace blazed with the most welcome fire I’d ever seen.
Meanwhile, Angelica kissed my cold cheeks again. “You must tell me everything straightaway. Whether Peggy has learned to discipline her tongue, or Mama bought any elegant dresses, or if Papa’s gout has returned, and if our brothers are becoming little men. Or even if Jenny has learned to powder your hair without making you sneeze. I must know.”
I wanted to tell her everything straightaway, but I could scarcely feel my fingers or toes. Thankfully Aunt Gertrude made some warmed cider to thaw us. Apologetically, she also offered some sorry-looking biscuits. “The best that can be done with mealy flour, a few raisins, and the last of the spice.”
The biscuits were dry, but Kitty and I gobbled them up as if they were the finest of pastries. Then we were pleased to present some precious supplies. Flour, cheese, and salt—the latter of which, my aunt told us, was more valuable than gold. As our aunt went through the packages, Angelica put my adorable infant niece into my arms, while her little boy played peekaboo about Kitty’s skirts. I cuddled the baby close, inhaling her milk scent and feeling beneath my breast a stirring. How might I feel to hold a little creature like this in my arms, knowing she’d be mine to keep forever? If I was to live as a spinster, I’d never know.
And it seemed as if my kinswomen had hatched a veritable conspiracy to keep that from coming to pass. “As soon as you’ve warmed yourself, my dear, we must see your gowns,” Aunt Gertrude said. “There won’t be much time to make necessary alterations if we don’t start upon them at once. Surely you wish to be in fashion when you meet the most eligible bachelors in the Continental army.”
Clearly, she was addressing me, as Kitty was never out of fashion, and I must’ve looked dismayed at the idea of sorting through ribbons and lace because Angelica broke in to say, “If men were not so blind, Betsy could beguile them in buckskin or burlap. But men are truly the most bumbling of creatures. To get their blood up, you must wave a bit of ribbon and lace before them, like a matador.”
We had a good laugh at that, but Auntie protested, “They’re not rutting bulls, they’re gentlemen . And I’ll have you know, Betsy, when I told a certain Colonel Tilghman that you were coming, he said he’d be very glad to see you again.”
I very much doubted he meant it.
When I was seventeen, Tench Tilghman served with my father as an Indian commissioner, and the Iroquois had proposed to the mild-mannered Maryland officer that he take an Indian bride. Later, at a picnic that followed, our lady friends had teased him about this unmercifully. Hoping to divert their mean-spirited sport, I’d managed to humiliate him and myself by blurting that I’d volunteer to be a bridesmaid if Colonel Tilghman should, in fact, wish to take an Indian wife.
At the time, I believed that he took me for a simpleton. Now I was sure of it because my aunt went on to say, “He told me that you’re the finest tempered girl in the world.”
I groaned, my cheeks burning, for it was precisely the sort of polite thing a man might say about a simpleton. “He thinks I’m addle-headed .”
Knowing the story, Angelica laughed. “My poor sister and her good intentions.”
“Well, you are addled if you don’t take the opportunity to reacquaint yourself with Colonel Tilghman,” Aunt Gertrude said. “He’s an upright patriot from a very fine family.”
“A Loyalist family, though.” Kitty sighed, as if that ruled him out. “It is rather a wonder that Washington trusts him and keeps him so close. I cannot imagine the pain of being at such odds with your own relations.”
I couldn’t imagine it either. That night I slept with my sister and her babies in a canopied bed that took up most of the little front guest room with its corner fireplace. And as we curled round each other for warmth, I felt content as I hadn’t in years. The scent of Angelica’s hair, so familiar and comforting. The way she whispered stories in the dark that made me laugh—prompting our uncle to thump on the wall in the next room to hush us.
I felt a little guilty when, the next morning, Aunt Gertrude was bleary-eyed at a hurried breakfast. And I was nearly too nervous to eat, because it was time to meet George Washington.
***
T HE BUSTLING HEADQUARTERS at Ford Mansion was only a quarter mile away. Unfortunately, there was so much snow that even with soldiers piling it into mountains on either side of the road, snow shoes were required. Which meant that we were disheveled and a little out of breath when we finally reached the large white house atop the hill where Washington’s tall, powerful bodyguards demanded that we give the secret watchword.
Which, fortunately, we knew.
Aunt Gertrude was a little sour at being suspected, considering that she came often to visit Mrs. Washington and the guards knew her well. “I assure you that there aren’t any deadly knitting needles in my basket.”
But Angelica was thrilled, or at least a little flattered, by their zealotry. “Well, I think it was very handsomely done, gentlemen. After all, women can be dangerous, too, and important to the entire American enterprise. Our revolution is already remaking everyone’s way of looking at the world, and you are very forward-thinking fellows.”
With a blush at her compliment, the guards allowed us entrance to the house, where we tromped up the stairs to the door. We would’ve liked a moment to straighten our hair and our ribbons and make ourselves presentable. Which was why, I suppose, we were so startled when the icy door flung open, and a short, plump little woman with dark brown eyes appeared in the doorway.
Given her plain white cap, brown homespun gown, and bespeckled apron, I might have been forgiven for having confused her with the housekeeper. But whence from her lips fell a soft southern drawl, I knew better. “Why, come in from the cold,” said Martha Washington, drawing us into the comfortable circle of chairs before the fire.
Though she was nearly fifty, and a bit snowy haired, she was still handsome, albeit very plainly dressed for such a grand lady as I considered her. One of her Negro servants fetched us a steaming pot of sassafras tea while I presented to Mrs. Washington a little gift of lace cuffs.
“Oh, these are so well made,” she said. “Very fine work. I shall treasure them.” But no sooner had she thanked me than did she return to knitting a pair of socks. “A clean, dry sock is a luxury for the soldiers. There’s always so much to be done for them...”
“All the more difficult with everyone so crowded together,” Aunt Gertrude said, her eyes lifting to the cadre of young officers coming in and out with papers and satchels.
Mrs. Washington nodded, her hands never stopping at their work. “The general likes to keep here in this house his little military family. His aides all bunk together. If I go a day without mending something for one of them, I’m astonished, but I can scarcely complain, given how hard they labor.”
“I’d be happy to be put to work,” I said, reaching for a basket of mending by her feet.
“Well, aren’t you a sweet girl,” Mrs. Washington replied. “But I cannot imagine you came to camp for a life of drudgery. I daresay a number of gentlemen will be glad for your company, my dear girls. Amongst them, colonels McHenry, Tilghman, Harrison, and Hamilton, who—”
She was interrupted by the sound of chairs scraping on the floorboards as my sister and aunt quickly rose to their feet. Kitty and I were slower to stand, and then we saw the tall Virginian who commanded our attention—and our armies.
At the sight of George Washington in full uniform, wearing tall black riding boots and a black cape, my fingers went nervously to straighten my tousled, half-frozen hair.
Meanwhile Kitty, who’d once requested—and received—a lock of the great man’s hair as a token, clutched at the pendant that held it, her usual sophisticated demeanor all aflutter. I would never have been so bold as to ask for a lock of the man’s hair, so I had nothing to clutch but my sister’s hand.
Washington bowed to us and, upon a curtsy, I retrieved from my cloak and delivered into his hand a letter of introduction from my father. But he didn’t open it. “You need no introduction, Miss Schuyler,” Washington said, glancing at Angelica, who remained, as was her way, perfectly composed. “In the short time she’s been with us, the enchanting Mrs. Carter has already painted such a good portrait of her sensible and saintly sister that there is not an officer amongst us who would not know Elizabeth Schuyler on sight.”
Hearing him say my name, I flushed and went speechless. Not even Angelica’s encouraging squeeze of my hand could seem to make my tongue untie itself. Finally, I managed to murmur, “We’re glad to have arrived safely, Your Excellency.”
If Washington noticed we were swooning from the excitement of his presence, he didn’t let on. “T’was wonderful of you to have braved the journey. Can I expect the pleasure of seeing your father soon? Schuyler’s perfect knowledge of the resources of the country, his good temper, and his sound military sense make me wish, above all things, that he would join us here.”
To hear Washington speak so warmly of my father emboldened me. “I’m sure Papa would hasten forth at your summons, Your Excellency.”
Papa had refused to take up his old command, but I wondered if Washington’s public show of confidence would change his mind. And I was delighted when Washington gave a slight smile that didn’t show his teeth. “I shall give some thought as to how to bring your father to my side. In the meantime, young ladies, we shall expect your company at the forthcoming dance assembly. When the officers learned that we were to have a visit from such toast-worthy belles, they pooled together the funds to host a proper winter’s ball, complete with a French dance master. You must attend. I insist.”