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The harmony of birds echoed around the garden as the sun shone high in the sky, creating a sense of tranquillity.
Sitting under the shade of an apple tree, Hamilton, who had been hoping to respond to some of the letters he had been inundated with, felt his lap desk slip from his lap, his quill smudging the words of the letter he was writing as it did so.
He glanced down at the mess of brown hair and the little head that caused the calamity and couldn’t find it within him to be upset.
His little Betsey, as endearing – and tantalizing - as her mother, had her father wrapped around her little finger.
Recovering from an illness, which his beloved wife was now down with, little Betsey had become extremely needy with her parents. Part of him wondered whether she was sensing her own mother’s clinginess with him after the events of the could-have-been duel. His poor Eliza hadn’t been sleeping well since, still anxious that her nightmares might become a reality. She didn’t give him the same space as she did before, needing to be nearby for reassurance. He felt remorseful for the anguish he unwittingly implemented her with, and was sure the lack of sleep and impending feeling of doom had contributed to her catching the illness from little Betsey.
So as he instructed his children to leave Eliza to rest and proceeded to his office, Little Betsey had clung onto his legs in protest, her fists tight with the material of his trousers.
Her soft brown eyes filled with tears as she cried, “But Papa, I want to stay with you and Mama.”
He placed his hand on her head, stroking gently to sooth her, “Mama is in bed, and I have work to do. It’s a nice day, you should use the fresh air to your advantage, it will help to clear your chest.”
“But I want to stay with you Papa, please.” She whimpered.
It was then that the children’s nurse had attempted to intervene, “Come on sweet girl, we can play in the garden and feed the hens.” She attempted.
But as she leant her arm out Little Betsey only wailed and clung onto her father harder, causing herself to be engulfed in a coughing fit.
“There, there,” Alexander patted her on the back, “calm down my love.” Concern etched into his features; he couldn’t bear to see his children indisposed.
Once her coughing subsided Alexander turned to the nurse, “I will take her out for some air myself.”
“Very well, sir” the nurse nodded, going to tend to the rest of the children.
When he looked back down to his daughter he saw a grin on her face; a grin that he had seen many times on his wife when she had managed to get her own way.
He inwardly rolled his eyes at himself as he picked her up into his arms.
“Papa still has work to do, but I will come outside with you as long as you stay quiet so I can concentrate.” He told her.
And his daughter had been quiet, content to be sat on a rug under the apple tree with her beloved father. She had got up a few times, once to run after a butterfly and a second time to pick a flower for her Papa - she had struggled to place it in his hair, so he had helped her by forcing it to sit behind his ear. Satisfied she had leant back against his chest and watched the leaves of the tree above dance in the breeze as the birds flew bye.
Eventually, the serenity of her father’s meticulously planned garden had lured her into sleep, her body leaning to the side and pushing his lap desk off his leg.
Instead of picking up his desk and quill in an attempt to re-write the ruined letter, Alexander left it by his side, looking down at the sweet child in his lap.
He began to think of what could have happened if his wife hadn’t have stopped his planned duel with Burr. Sure, most duels ended respectfully, but he only knew too well the grief and pain that was produced when they did not.
How would his family have coped without him? Part of him believed they would be fine. Eliza was the best of women and she could handle more than most; she had put up with him for 24 years. But maybe he was putting her on a pedestal for grief doesn’t discriminate; even the strongest of all become consumed by it.
And how would his children have coped? Would his Little Betsey have remembered him? He was just 12 when his own mother died and he doesn’t hold any clear memories of her from his earlier years. She was 4 now, nearly 5, old enough to understand that her father was no longer around, but not enough to understand the extent, or to hold onto the memories of him forever. And Little Phil was only two. He would have to rely on his mother and siblings for memories or descriptions of him.
He was interrupted by his thoughts as his other daughter, Angelica, slowly made her way into the garden. She glanced at her father and little sister and proceeded to walk toward the tree beside them, book in hand.
“Come join us!” Alexander called out.
“But you have work to do.” Angelica nodded to his abandoned lap desk.
“I am having a reprieve.” He informed her, “Come, share your ponders with your father.”
Angelica smiled as she walked over to him, “Papa, I really want to finish this book.” She explained.
“Then you may. But indulge your Papa as you do so by allowing me to bathe in the Elysium of my two precious daughters.”
“Okay.” She obliged, sitting down next to his open arm and leaning into his side.
She opened her book - one that Alexander recognised as once belonging to Philip – and began to read.
Alexander swallowed the painful lump in his throat, leaning his head onto hers and breathing her in.
His darling, vivacious Angelica, so consumed with sorrow since her brother’s death that she was sometimes left in a state of severe disorientation. Today appeared to be a good day for her and so he forced himself to stop and relish the moment.
He forgot about the letters, about the meetings he should be preparing for, because in that moment, nothing was more important than his loved ones. He took time to consider them all, both those alive on earth and those he believed were waiting from him in a better place.
It had almost been a comfort to think that if he had have died in the duel he would have been reunited with those he had been longing to see again for so long. More and more precious people were adding to the list as time went on and he found himself sometimes envious of them.
But then he would remember his dear Eliza and children still here on Earth, and how they needed him. Which was also a comforting feeling; to feel needed and loved.
Time passed unknowingly, lost within his thoughts that he didn’t notice his wife approaching.
A soft hand stroked his hair, adjusted the flower behind his ear and Alexander looked up to find her smiling down at him.
“Hi.” She said, her voice horse from illness.
“You should be resting.” He reprimanded.
“I was.”
Alexander nodded, realising he’d probably been outside longer than he’d appreciated.
“Did you bore our poor girls to sleep?” she questioned, glancing towards Betsey and Angelica, both asleep against their father.
“It appears so.” He smiled at their peacefulness.
“Betsey is drooling on your trousers.” She motioned to the little girl lying between his legs as she sat down next to him.
“She’s not the first girl to drool over me and she wont be the last.” He quipped.
Eliza began to laugh at her husband’s remark but was caught off guard by the sudden need to cough.
Alexander winced at the wheezy sound, watching her with concern until she recovered. “How are you feeling, love?”
“Okay.” She let out a shaky breath.
“No better then.” He stated knowingly, placing a hand to her forehead.
She leant into his touch and he frowned, “You still feel warm, did you take the bark like I told you?”
“Yes, love.” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“Well you must try another cool bath tonight if your fever still persists.”
“Alright.” She placated, resting her head on his shoulder.
“I was unaware I had acquired a new occupation as a pillow” he remarked, looking at the three heads resting on him - Eliza and Angelica on either side and Betsey in his lap.
Eliza chuckled, “We can move indoors if you’d like?”
“No, this is quite tolerable. My three girls.” He grinned, leaning to place a kiss on Eliza and Angelica’s heads.
He glanced down at Little Betsey and sighed; there was no easy way to reach her without disturbing the others.
Noticing this, Eliza placed her fingers to his lips. Catching on, he kissed them and his smile widened as she transported the kiss to their little girl’s cheek, stroking it gently and causing her lips to pout in her sleep.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Eliza sighed.
Alexander, looked at her, and realised that he too was happy to be alive. To be able to spend such precious moments with his wife and daughters. To be able to go inside the house they had created and see the rest of his children and watch them as they move into their own houses with their own husbands and wives. He never understood the happiness of being alive before he met Eliza.
So he answered honestly, “My too, my love. Me too.”