Chapter Text
Rachel Faucette Hamilton (1763-1768)
“It’s a silly waste of money,” James complained behind Rachel as she scrutinized the titles of books for sale on the back shelf of their local store. She ignored him. His last job had brought enough to comfortably afford food and supplies with a little left over. They could afford just one book.
She’d been trying to save up for more than a year, ever since Mrs. Emra had pulled her aside when she was picking Alex up from his lessons one day. “He repeated the whole Decalogue in Hebrew today,” the elderly woman had marveled. “I’ve never seen such a talent for words and languages in one so young.”
The selection of books available was eclectic: a volume on medicine, one collection of poetry, a history of the far east. Alex would probably happily read any of them, but none of them seemed right. At the end of the shelf, she spotted a tattered volume, the title nearly worn away from handling. She pulled the book off the shelf and opened it to the title page. A single volume of Plutarch’s Lives. She scanned the rest of the books briefly, looking for any other volumes. Well, they couldn’t afford a set anyway, she consoled herself when she found no others.
“This one,” she told her husband, handing him the worn volume.
James frowned. “It’s been read to death,” he noted. “At least pick one of the newer ones.”
Rachel shook her head. “This one,” she repeated. “He’ll love it.”
James shook his head, turning the book over in his hands, but he stepped over to the counter to make the purchase nonetheless. When he’d finished the transaction, he handed the book back to her. “I still think it was a frivolous use of money,” he said as they made their way back to their little rented cottage.
James was a good man, and Rachel knew he loved Alex dearly. But her baby boy was too cerebral a creature for her very practical husband to understand. He spent much more time with Jamie, building tree forts and teaching him how to shoot.
“It wasn’t frivolous,” she told him firmly. “It’s for his birthday. And, anyway, it was an investment.”
James gave her a skeptical look.
“Our son is going to be a great man.”
~*~
“You need to calm down, sweetheart,” Rachel sighed, dipping a blood soaked rag back into the pink stained water. Alex was crying so hard he couldn’t properly draw breath. His nose was bloody and his temple and eyes were turning black and blue already. His sobs had little to do with the physical injuries, however.
He was clutching his tattered book in his hands—the Plutarch volume she’d purchased more than a year ago. A group of older, local boys had found Alex reading it. Not only had they beaten him for the curiously intellectual behavior, but they’d ripped out pages and stomped it into the mud.
The little bell over the door to their shop jingled. Rachel sighed, pressing a kiss to the eight-year old’s tawny hair, and stepped out to greet their customer. She was surprised to see Jamie standing at the counter, clutching mud-covered papers in his hands.
“I keep telling him not to draw so much attention to himself,” Jamie commented. “It’s bad enough, with Papa gone....”
Rachel closed her eyes briefly to push away her grief. It had been her decision to move the boys back to St. Croix. The longer they stayed here, the more she doubted it had been the right one. James hadn’t been able to get enough work to sustain their family on Nevis, and after a disheartening and difficult winter determined to set off in search of work elsewhere. He’d promised to write, and send money if he could, but Rachel didn’t hold much hope of ever seeing him again. His first stop, however, had been St. Croix. Nevis was so small and lacking in financial and educational opportunities that Rachel determined a move to be to her family’s best advantage. She had relations there, at least, her sister’s family. She and James traveled together with their two boys on the ship back to her nightmarish past. James had kissed her sweetly and paid her a sad, apologetic smile before walking away at the docks. Here in St. Croix, where everyone knew her sordid past, she could no longer pretend to be Mrs. Hamilton, and the boys lost the luxury of assumed legitimacy. She had hoped that the greater opportunities would outweigh the costs, but the longer they stayed here, the more she realized her error.
Jamie laid the dirty, torn pages on the counter. “I thought, maybe, you could fix the book if I found the pages,” he said, addressing the rough wooden floor.
Rachel forced a smile. “That was very thoughtful,” she praised. Jamie glanced up and gave her an uncertain smile in return. She leaned over the counter to kiss his dark hair, then nodded her permission for him to go back outside, as she was sure he was itching to do. He immediately slipped back through the door.
She collected the pages, brushing her hand over them. Perhaps they were salvageable, with some dedicated work, she considered. She stepped back into the store room. Alex was still sitting in the little wooden chair where she’d left him, gazing at his book with hitching breaths, blood dripping steadily from his nose.
“Look what your brother found,” Rachel said, holding up the pages for him to see.
He looked up, his eyes filling with tears at the sight of the ruined pages.
“Hush, sweetheart,” she cooed, crouching down in front him. “We can fix it. We’ll clean off the pages and sew them back inside. It’ll be good as new.”
“Really?” he asked through another hiccuping breath.
She nodded. If it was the last thing she did, she would fix that book.
~*~
Rachel smiled at the serious, determined expression on Alex’s face as he studied the accounting books for their shop. He was muttering under his breath and moving his finger along the page. What other ten year old would give up precious free time to help balance the books of their parent’s shop, she wondered, gazing fondly at her son.
Alex glanced up at her, his brow furrowed in confusion. “This doesn’t make sense,” he told her.
“What doesn’t, darling?” she asked, coming closer so she could look at the books over his shoulder.
“There’s money missing,” he said. “Here,” he pointed to an entry, then dragged his finger to draw attention to another. “You drew money, but you don’t record buying any product for the shop.”
It was Rachel’s turn to frown. She ought to have known he would notice. If there was one thing her boy knew better than words, it was numbers. “I’m setting that money aside,” she told him, petting his hair.
“We need more inventory,” he said. “You should use it to invest more into the shop.”
“I have something much more important than the shop that I wish to invest in,” she replied.
The little store she’d opened in desperation when she’d first moved to St. Croix was beginning to turn a healthy profit. They were hardly wealthy, but they could live comfortably. At first, she’d used any excess to buy more books to satisfy Alex’s growing curiosity. Poetry by Alexander Pope, Machiavelli’s The Prince, and various religious texts now dotted the shelves of their cramped living quarters. As she watched her son devour the texts, she slowly realized he needed so much more than what she could give him on this little island.
If she was very careful, if she saved every shilling, she might just be able to send her brilliant child to the school he deserved, far away from this miserable backwater.
“What could be more important than the shop?” Alex asked her.
She beamed down at him, and said simply, “You.”
Alex gave her such an utterly perplexed look that she laughed. “I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep, my darling boy, but I’m hoping to set enough aside to send you to school.”
“School?” he repeated. He said the word with remarkable reverence, as though repeating something from the gospel.
She nodded. “A good school, somewhere far away from here. Perhaps New York.” Mr. Beekman and Mr. Cruger, the suppliers for her store, both had strong connections to New York society. If she had enough to pay, they might be willing to quarter Alex and give him proper introductions.
His eyes grew wide, staring back down at the shop books with absolute wonder.
“You’ve been blessed by God with a great mind,” she told him seriously. “You’re going to do great things, Alexander. Amazing things. Just like the men in that book you hold so dear. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”