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For the past months, she has been keeping herself occupied, if not with little Philip, then with social services, and if not with charity work, then with knitting socks for the brave American soldiers fighting for the nation. Only sometimes she would look at the ring on her finger and remind herself that she was missing a piece of her soul. Alex has been flooding her with letters, she wondered when did he have the time to write so many words. Beautiful ones, heartwarming promises of a blissful future before them. He’d complain about how rarely she was writing him, and she had no courage to tell him that she was, in fact, writing quite a lot. It just never seems good enough for him. And each time she’d sit and take the quill she’d feel the tears watering her eyes. Because the truth was, she missed him. Yes, she was aware that he was fighting for the nation, building a foundation for future generations, that it was the most glorious duty a man could have, but she missed him in the most selfish way possible. She missed the warmth of his body against hers in the cold mornings, she missed his laughter, she missed his voice when he’d read her Shakespeare’s love sonnets, she missed teasing him to write his own ones, and she missed looking at him getting ready in the morning. Truth be told, he was absurdly handsome, and he knew it. And he was supposed to be back by the end of the week.
She was sitting in the rocking chair next to Philip’s crib. He’s been teething, and she had to fight the curses that danced on her tongue as he cried – no, not cried, screamed – for the whole night. The sun was slowly rising, lighting up the nursery, and he finally fell asleep with the most innocent expression on his little face, and she couldn’t help a smile. The older he was the more similar he became to Alexander, and there was something comforting in seeing her dearest Hamilton’s countenance in this little boy.
Dear old Lottie walked into the room, interrupting the silence. ‘Mrs. Hamilton, there is a man awaiting you in the parlor,’ she said with a soft smile. Eliza wasn’t quite sure what was more surprising – a visitor at such an ungodly hour or the fact that Lottie smiled. ‘I’d advise you to rush, he seemed rather impatient.’
‘Do you know who is that?’
Lottie shrugged. ‘A soldier.’
Her heart skipped a beat. A soldier awaiting her in the midst of dawn could mean only one thing – something bad happened to her dearest Hamilton. She jolted of the chair, and without thinking it through rushed down the stairs, leaving Lottie huffing something about the good old days when women respected themselves and their visitors enough to at least change from their night attires.
She ran into the parlor, praying to be wrong. She couldn’t lose him, not when the war was just over, not when he promised her a future together. Not when their son was born and just learned the word papa. She should’ve written a letter about that the second he said that.
The boy was sitting on the sofa, turned back to her. His shoulders were hunched, and even in the dim light of the rising sun, she could see the dirt covering his coat. He seemed particularly thin, she thought, imagining the bony arms.
He got up at the sound of her steps and turned back to face her. A gasp escaped her lips as she saw the beloved visage. He seemed exhausted, and maybe even sick, but he was there, standing in front of her in one piece.
‘Betsey,’ he started, his voice weak and shaky. ‘My dearest Betsey.’
She rushed to him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and hid her face in his chest. He caressed her hair and pressed a long, tender kiss to the top of her head.
‘I was so scared,’ she whispered. ‘Lottie told me that there was a soldier waiting for me, I thought you were hurt, or even… even…’
He pulled her closer. ‘I’m sorry. I meant it as a joke. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t you dare ever do this again. I’ll forgive you this time, but only because I missed you and I believe that you are just muzzy from the ride,’ she finally raised her head and pressed a kiss on his chin. ‘You must be exhausted, love. I’ll ask Lottie to prepare you a bath, and maybe something to eat, and then you’ll rest for a bit, does that sound alright?’
He just smiled. ‘You don’t seem particularly well-rested too.’
‘Your son has been keeping me up for the past few nights,’ she smirked. ‘He takes after you.’
‘Now that is just cruel, Betsey,’ he kissed her again. God, how she wished for the kiss to last forever, to just stay in his embrace and never part. ‘But yes, I could benefit from a bath, thank you.’
She let go of him and brushed her lips against his cheek one more time before she left. He sunk into the armchair, resting his head on its back, trying not to fall asleep waiting for her. She came a few minutes later and helped him back on his feet. He just kept smiling as her hands were touching his body through the thick material of the uniform, at the quick kisses she was stealing while they walked upstairs. He missed her. Every single letter he would keep in his breast pocket, close to his heart. Tilghman kept joking about this, but nothing could make him stop, as this was the closest he could get to feeling his darling Betsey’s warmth.
‘Alright, General, we need to undress you,’ she whispered, trying to move as quietly as she could. He wondered if it was genuine care about her family's sleep, or did she just want to have him to herself for as long as she could. ‘Would you like me to join you in your ablutions, dear?’
She reached to unbutton his shirt, but he stopped her with a gesture. ‘I’d rather… I…’ He bit his lower lip. ‘I think I need some time to myself. Would you mind waiting for me outside?’
‘Oh,’ a quiet sigh escaped her lips. But she forced a smile and kissed him again, trying to seem unbothered. ‘Yes, of course, darling. I’ll go check if there are any cinnamon rolls left, the ones you like so much. And maybe tea would be nice, huh?’
He nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’
She said something about him having nothing to be sorry about and left. He turned the key and began to undress, first the coat, rigid from the dirt and sweat, then the shirt and breeches. He looked in the mirror. His ribs were sticking out, and he was bruised all over. And while the bruises would fade eventually, and he was more than sure that the Schuylers won’t let him stay as thin for long, there were also scars. Huge, ugly ones. The one on his left thigh, stretching from his knee up to the hip, from falling off his horse right at a metal pipe. One on his rib cage, from a British bayonet. And his hands were scarred too. The hands his dear Eliza loved so much were covered in tens of tiny scars, some from the cold, some from wood splinters, some he wasn’t even sure about. He knew she’d ask, and the only thing he wanted was to forget. To never show her the ugliness he was left with, not only spiritual but physical. Watching the scars made him feel sick, so he just got into the tub, letting the hot water ease the tension in his sore muscles. He scrubbed his skin with soap, and at least the dirt and sweat residue came off, but the scars stayed, no matter how hard he wanted them to disappear. He heard her steps outside and rinsed himself, then got out. She left him a fresh towel and a nightgown, which he immediately put on, relieved that it covered his body.
She was waiting for him in their bedroom, with a tea tray filled with at least four kinds of pastry and a few more solid options. She looked perfectly beautiful, the sun rays framing her profile with a warm glow, hair falling down her shoulders.
‘You look better,’ she smiled softly, pushing the tray towards him.
He reciprocated the expression and sat down next to her. She took a cinnamon roll, ripped a piece, and put it in his mouth.
‘You don’t have to force-feed me, Betsey,’ he chuckled. ‘Believe me, I could eat a horse right now. With hooves.’
She kissed him again. ‘Well, you seemed to like it. And I missed you. What do you want next?’
‘Spinach mini quiche, please.’
‘One spinach mini quiche for General Hamilton coming right up,’ she said, raising her hand.
By the time they finished his cheeks were hurting from smiling. It felt good after all those months of constant fear and uncertainty. She cleaned everything up and forced him to lay down, and as he was settling in bed he heard her asking Lottie to keep his return from her family because he needed rest. And she wanted to just be with him for a while. Alone. He smiled to himself again – the puzzle was solved, she didn’t care about the Schuylers in the slightest, she just wanted him. He could forgive her this act of selfishness, he thought, as she slipped under his quilt and whispered something about finally sleeping in a warm bed.
‘Aren’t you hot? I think I gave you a woolen shirt, maybe you should take it off?’ She asked before he closed his eyes.
‘No,’ he answered a bit too quickly to sound natural. ‘I’m fine. Just sleep, Betsey, come here.’
She rose her right brow and pressed her lips together. He knew that face, she was doubting his words. ‘Well, then maybe you should at least unbutton it?’
He shook his head. ‘Can we just sleep?’
She sighed but didn’t press further. He felt his lids shutting, and as she stroked his hair, his breath even out. He woke up sometime later, he wasn’t exactly sure how long was he asleep, but she wasn’t there anymore. He looked around the room and found her sitting on the windowsill, holding Phil in her arms and showing him something outside. Her voice was soft and quiet, and Phil was laughing along. He was such a big boy, already holding his head straight.
‘Hey,’ he said, smiling.
She turned back. ‘Look, Pip, it’s Papa,’ she cooed. ‘Do you want to sit with Papa and let Mama finish her coffee?’
The boy squealed, and she brought him to bed. ‘Who is this, Pip?’ She asked with a smile.
‘Pa-pa!’
Hamilton felt his heart melting. Of course, he was aware that for Phil these were just meaningless syllables, but God, it was such a wonderful feeling.
‘Yes, Papa. Come here, my little boy,’ he whispered through a tight throat.
Eliza placed him in his arms. ‘It’s been a long time since he last saw you, honey, he may be fussy.’
He just tickled Pip’s belly. The boy laughed, and it was the most pleasant sound he had ever heard.
‘Pa-pa!’
A tear streamed down his cheek. Eliza wiped it with her thumb. ‘I told everyone you’re here, they want to see you.’
He took her hand and kissed it. ‘Well then, I should go, shouldn’t I?’
She raised a corner of her mouth. ‘Only if you feel up to it, darling.’
Phil started sucking his finger. ‘I do. I missed them too, you know, I missed my family.’
A smile lit up her face. It was beautiful how her parents and siblings just accepted him as one of their own, and how comfortable he was feeling around them. She knew how much he hated any signs of paternal feelings from Washington, so it made her even happier that he had no resistance from calling them a family.
He put Phil down on the mattress and secured him with a couple of pillows, making sure he wouldn’t fall down, then got up to change the nightgown for something more presentable. She watched as he disappeared into the dressing room and sighed quietly when he turned the key. There was something bothering him, she knew that, and she just wanted to ease his mind, but he wouldn’t tell her. Stupid pride made him absolutely insufferable.
It took him a while, but soon he walked out, fully dressed and with his hair finally looking presentable. She noticed that his shirt was crookedly buttoned, so she reached to fix that but he took a step back, turned to the wall, and fixed it himself.
She embraced him from behind. ‘What’s wrong, darling?’
He tensed. ‘Nothing.’
‘Well, you keep forbidding me from seeing your body, and as much as I respect your privacy, I would like to know why,’ she said, stroking his side. ‘Can you tell me?’
He put her hand on his ribs and pressed it to make her feel how much they were sticking out. ‘I just don’t want you to see how terrible I look. I know it’s stupid, I’m a vain idiot, but I just… it’s not pretty, okay?’
She made him turn back to her. ‘You know I didn’t marry you for your looks, right?’
He nodded hesitantly.
‘And do you remember what did you tell me when I was pregnant with Phil and kept crying that I was huge and ugly?’
He expected her to be mad at such a shallow excuse for his discomfort, but her voice was still benign and she was stroking his arms.
‘I told you that your body changed because you were carrying our son, and that made you even more beautiful,’ he murmured, staring at the floor. ‘That was different.’
She put her finger under his chin and raised his head, making him look at her. ‘Not that much. You were fighting to make the world safer for our child, Alex, and for us. And I get it, you don’t feel confident showing me whatever happened to you, but I promise, it won’t make me love you less,’ she said, moving her hand to brush a strand of hair off his forehead.
‘Some of these things will never disappear, Eliza,’ he whispered, taking her hand into his and bringing it to his lips. ‘And you fell in love with a beautiful man, what if you decide… I mean… I really don’t want to even think about the war anymore, I wish I could forget, and I wish I didn’t have to tell you about how I earned those scars.’
She stepped closer and made their foreheads touch. ‘Then don’t. If one day you decide you want to tell me, then you will, but I really don’t have to know, as long as you are here with me. Because I love you, Alex, I love you more than anything in this world, and with you, I will love each scar, because they will serve as reminders that you fought for the nation and came back to me. And that, my dearest, is more than enough.’