Chapter Text
July 1808
At eight years old Betsey stood in the corner of the parlour in The Grange, staring into the white marble eyes of her mother’s beloved bust of her father. They always seemed similar, yet somehow completely different to how she remembered them. She often wondered how much she should rely on her sketchy memory, for she was so young the last time her father’s eyes met hers. Yet, the memory was so intense, ingrained in her mind so deeply that she knew it must be real.
She had few vivid memories of her father, having been just four when he passed. Sometimes a smell or a sound would bring something back to her; a firm hug or the smell of her father’s favourite pie. Yet such memories tended to lack any concrete images. She never saw her father’s face, but she remembered the feeling of having her father’s arms around her, the way warmth spread through her body making her feel contented and safe.
Other times an image would come to her. An expression on her father’s face, or her mother patting his shoulder as she moved past him, but they came and went so quickly that Bestsey struggled to know if they were real of just a fragment of her imagination.
The only memory that had stuck with any real substance had been of that last fateful day. She remembered having some awareness that her Papa was very unwell. People were coming in droves to visit him at Mr Bayard’s house, yet her and her brothers and sister had been kept away.
In her young naivety she believed it would pass and her Papa would get better. He got sick often, but her father was strong and always fought his sickness away, even if it took a while for him to bounce back to his usual self.
It wasn’t until she was called along with her siblings to visit him that she began to comprehend the seriousness of the situation.
They were marched into the room by their Aunt Angelica, who carried little Phil in her arms, and were met with the sight of their mother and father in bed. Her father’s skin was duller than she had ever seen before, and he lay in an odd position, looking uncomfortable with the blankets pulled up to his chin, staring up at the ceiling and not seeming to notice his children’s presence. Eliza sat up in bed beside him, her red-rimmed eyes glancing over the children carefully before placing her hand on her husband’s cheek.
“The children.” She whispered tenderly.
Betsey watched her father’s chest slowly rise and fall with a deep breath, before he used what strength he had left to lift his head up a little so her could be met with the sight of his children.
He took them in, stood in a line at the bottom of his bed, making specific eye contact with each one of them.
Betsey heard one of her siblings sniffle, yet could not tell who it came from, as his eyes slowly made their way down the line. She took tight hold of James’ hand, which dangled uselessly to her right, needing someone to anchor her from running away. Her brother squeezed back fervently and Eliza was glad, for next her father’s eyes met with hers.
They were so bright, the glassiness making them appear even more vibrant than usual. It was strange, considering everything else in the room was dark and dimmed, and so Betsey found herself compelled by them, feeling unable to look away.
The choice was taken away from her however, for a moment later his gaze left hers and his head returned to his pillow, his eyes shutting again.
Little Betsey didn’t want to move, she wanted to stay there and wait for her father’s eyes to open again, but as the rest of the children were ushered back out she felt her brother’s arms enclose around her and lift her up, taking her with him.
Her little eyes furrowed as she looked over James shoulder, taking in the scene for the last time. Her father’s eyes were still secured shut, but her mother’s met hers and just before she lost sight she watched as her mother blew her a kiss in reassurance.
It was a memory she both cherished and abhorred. It seemed unfair that her most prominent memory of her father was of him on his deathbed. At the time she hadn’t fully understood that, that would have been the last time she saw her father, so now that she was older the scene somewhat haunted her even more. And yet, she cherished any memory she had of her father, thankful for any piece of information her memory retained of him.
So, as she stood face to face with the bust, she tried to imagine the exact shade of azure on the marble eyes, wishing someone had captured the colour as she remembered it.
Her eyes stayed on his as she heard footsteps approach behind her. She knew it was her mother instantly; there was something about the gentle way she approached that was like no other, especially in a busy house like theirs. Eliza stopped beside her daughter, taking in a comforting breath as her eyes met with the same place as her daughters.
They stood in silence for a moment until Betsey turned to look at her, noticing her lips slightly upturned in the corners, very similar to the bust’s.
She willed hers to do the same, but couldn’t quite bring herself to do so.
Eliza turned to her and noticed her daughter’s pitiful frown, knowing instantly what the problem was.
“This bust has much likeness to my Dear Hamilton, but nothing will ever capture his vibrant brilliance like ones mind can.” She shut her eyes again, smiling as she pictured his face on their wedding day; a mixture of pure happiness and apprehension for all that may come their way.
“But what if ones mind can’t remember correctly?” Betsey queried, wishing she could see the picture in her mother’s mind.
Eliza opened her eyes and met her daughter’s gaze, “You must trust yourself, my darling. Your father is a part of you, whatever you see in here,” she placed her hand on her daughter’s head and stroked her hair affectionately, “is true.”
Betsey nodded, but it didn’t feel like enough. Despite the fact that it was rare for her father’s name to not be mentioned on a daily basis, she always wanted to know more about him, wanted to remember more about him in the way her elder siblings did.
“I wish I could recollect more about him.” She sighed.
Eliza nodded sadly. She knew it was hard for the younger two to have such few concrete memories of their father. It seemed unfair that they got such little time with him. As much as she tried to keep his memory alive within the house, she knew it would never compare to the real thing and what they had missed out on.
Knowing there was little she could say to mend her daughter’s broken heart, she pulled her into a hug. “We can now only wish to abide by the almighty in hope that one day we shall be reunited with him in a better place for eternity”
October 1811
There had been so many losses over the past 10 years surrounding the Hamilton household, that the arrival of a new Hamilton was more than welcomed.
The journey with her mother and sister to Hudson, where James resided with his wife and new child, had felt like an eternity with the anticipation to meet the new arrival.
Betsey had noticed the way her mother hummed a distant tune under her breath as she occupied herself on route by embroidering a blanket she had made for the newborn, with a soft constant smile on her lips. Her mother seemed somewhat younger, more carefree and less wounded by the world as the ladies made their approach up the river, her brothers left a home with their Aunt to focus on their studies.
When James introduced the tiny bundle to his mother, allowing his wife Mary to place the little girl in her arms, Eliza watched as her mother’s face lit up in awe.
“You sweet child.” She cooed, looking into the round eyes of her first grandchild. “I am your grandmother.” She whispered, as if it were a secret for only her small delicate ears.
Betsey watched the way her mother paused for a moment, her smile was wide, yet she caught a longing in the way she lifted her hand to the pendent around her neck, subtly stroking it for a moment before running the same fingers over the child’s downy hair.
James cleared his throat, seeming to have noticed the gesture also.
“Do you care to hear her name?” He question, moving to sit beside her.
She nodded in reply. “Of course.”
James glanced at his wife, who smiled in response, willing him to share the name she knew was important to him.
“We have named her Eliza.”
Eliza looked up at James and Mary, her smile widening and then tightening as she tried to rain in her emotions.
“Oh” She swallowed down her emotion, rocking the child in her arms as if there were a need to comfort her.
“Your father would be so happy.” She stated, sharing a glance with her son who also appeared glossy eyed.
He nodded in return, remembering the way his father was with Betsey when she was born, calling her name just so he could hear it out loud another time. Eliza had always joked the reason the girl had been so advanced in crawling was due to the fact her father called her name out every few minutes.
“He would have loved to have another little Eliza to dote on.” James agreed.
Betsey felt her heart swell a little, now at 12 years old she was able to understand the importance of sharing her mother’s name and what it had meant to her father. She stood up, moving closer towards her mother to get a better look at the tiny child who shared her name.
“Ah, here is your other namesake.” Eliza cooed. “Come, sit down Betsey.” She instructed, to which James moved out the way to accommodate the younger Hamilton.
Once she was situated next to her mother, she found the small bundle being passed into her arms.
Her eyes widened, to which Eliza chuckled. Whilst Betsey had been around young children before, she had little experience with newborns. The little Eliza in her arms seemed so small she was worried she might break her. But as the child’s dark, bluish-grey eyes met hers she relaxed a little.
It was a somewhat strange sensation, to be staring down at the eyes of a new Hamilton when she had so far only experienced loss. Her chest felt a little lighter as she watched the child tiredly blinking her eyes shut and she wondered whether her mother had missed having such sweet new life around her.
It appeared so, for a mere minute later Eliza took the child back out of her arms, not wanting to let her go for too long, only begrudgingly letting go again when Angelica requested to hold her niece.
In fact, there was little time over the week they spent at her brothers where her mother wasn’t fussing over her new namesake. Mary graciously put up with having her mother-in-law fussing around after them and James bit his tongue when she accidentally (or so he thought) woke the child up from a well-needed nap just because she wanted to hold her.
Angelica also appeared settled during their stay, happily taking up the opportunity to hold the baby in the few moments her mother put her down.
“This reminds me of when Betsey was a baby.” She had stated, remembering a time when their family was complete.
“You were such a great help when she was small.” Eliza agreed, smiling at the scene in front of her.
“I’m surprised you let anyone else get a look in.” James exclaimed playfully.
“Yes, well I had 6 other little angels pulling my attention.” The smile never left her face. “Seven including your father.” She added.
Betsey had watched love and life pour out of her mother as she doted on her grandchild. Eliza was always a very active person, but there was something different in the way she did things now, a new energy that caused a spring in her step.
“This is how Mother used to be.” Angelica has said to her one day as they watched Eliza simultaneously rock baby Eliza in her arms whilst setting the dinner table with the other, animatedly telling Mary about how James was the same as a baby, always needing to be rocked to keep his cries at bay.
Eliza looked to her sister to see her watching their mother with a small smile on her lips. It had never really occurred to her that her mother was ever anything other than she had known. But she could see the difference now; the losses she experienced had caused a gaping hole that was just too wide to get over. She could learn to live with it, walk around the gap, find things to fill it with, but it would always be there, ready to reopen.
So, as they made their journey back down to The Grange, Betsey should have realised the effect of leaving her grandchild and son would have on Eliza.
The moment they pulled out from the jetty, silent tears fell from her mother’s dark eyes, as she looked back at the shore wistfully.
Betsey felt her own wave of emotion tighten in her chest; it had been exhilarating to be around such simple joy, that upon leaving a sense of loss overcame her. She wondered if her mother felt the same every time one of her brothers had left their home.
Scooting across the bench to be closer to her, she rested her head on Eliza’s shoulder, who turned to place a kiss on her forehead.
“At least I still have my little Eliza.” She sighed, rested her head on her daughters.
“I’m not that little anymore.” Betsey rolled her eyes playfully.
“Nonsense. You will always be our baby.”
“Phil is the baby not me.” She retorted, not missing her mother’s use of ‘our’.
“You’re all our babies.” She nodded over to Angelica who looked as forlorn as her mother at the concept of leaving. “Even when you grow old and leave me.”
Betsey paused, she could never imagine leaving her mother, but one day she would have to find a husband and do just that. The thought troubled her, not liking the idea of her mother being alone.
“I don’t think I ever want to leave you.” Betsey shared her contemplations.
Eliza smiled, “Good, because I never want you to leave me either.”
Eliza knew it was somewhat selfish, she should want her daughter to become independent and move away and have a family of her own if she desired it, but she also couldn’t lie to her. Her children were the one last thread she had keeping her going, her last anchor to her husband, and if they were all to leave her, she was not sure how she would go on. So for now she closed her eyes and imagined her future surrounded by her children and grandchildren, her dear Guardian Angel watching protectively over them from above. Maybe one day soon she’d be lucky enough to join him up there.
July 1825
Betsey was twenty-five the day she got married, to a young merchant who she had slowly fallen for. Things were easy with Sidney, they shared a deep understanding that she had never experienced with another before, both of them having lost a parent at a young tender age. He was kind, and warm and secure, and Betsey loved him, but that didn’t keep nagging anxiety and guilt away that consumed her whenever she thought about leaving her mother.
Luckily for Betsey, the anxiety of leaving her mother was something she was able to share with her husband-to-be, who was empathetic to her troubles and did not argue when she stated she wasn’t ready to move out of The Grange.
He was agreeable to her decision, his mother-in-laws courteous disposition and the way she treated him like a son of her own meant he had no reason to disagree.
And so on the 25th July 1825 little Betsey became Eliza Hamilton Holly, wearing a dress her mother had helped tailor and clutching a bouquet with a few roses and tulips from her mother’s garden.
Eliza had approached her afterwards, with misty eyes, to wrap her arms around her in a secure hug. “Congratulations my dear Betsey. May the lord bless you with that same marital bliss as he bestowed upon myself.”
“Thanks Mama.” She hugged her back just a reverently.
Eliza pulled back, before taking her daughter’s elbow and pulling her to the side “Now, my dear, there are some marital matters I believe we have neglected to discuss.”
“Mother!” Betsey exclaimed, feeling the blood flow to her cheeks and wondering why her mother felt this was an appropriate moment.
Eliza almost relished in her embarrassment, remembering the time she was in a similar position, yet for her it was her sister sharing such wisdom. God, how she missed her sister.
“Hush, my dear, I am not going to speak in detail. But I had Angelica to converse with of these matters and you are at a disadvantage being the only girl in the family to marry.”
“Okay, but maybe we could…”
“All I require is that you make sure your husband abides by your father’s creed.”
“Mother!” Betsey gulps, wishing she wouldn’t go on any further.
Eliza raised her eyebrows, “I could go straight to Mr Holly and share this with him if you’d rather?” Eliza was sure Hamilton would have shared such wisdom if he were around to do so.
Betsey blanched, grabbing her mother’s arm, “No, I’m listening.”
“It was your fathers, correct, belief that a lady’s pleasure is more important than that of a gentleman’s. I pray you stand by such expectations and instruct Mr Holly to do the same.”
“Okay.” Betsey agreed, hoping the conversation would quickly be over with.
“Fortunately, as we will be living under the same roof I can observe his devotion to such expectations during the day. However I do not wish to indulge in your nightly matters - for those you must govern his behaviour yourself.”
Betsey nodded in reply, wondering whether she had made a mistake to live with her mother after-all.
Mercifully, the living arrangement suited all perfectly. Eliza was satisfied with Mr Holly’s attentiveness to her daughter, he worked in the city and Betsey helped Eliza with the orphanage now that she had become the director, as well as helping to look after Angelica and the home. Her mother was getting older, and whilst it didn’t exactly slow her down, the additional help was a godsend. She could get lost in her work and campaigning, feeling reassured that Angelica was being well cared for. Betsey helped file all the correspondence her mother received with information of her father. Some days they would relish in stories shared of Hamilton, which even her mother had yet to learn of. It was a nice arrangement, and whilst Betsey and Sidney had talked about finding a place of their own, she knew deep down that she would never be able to give this up.