Hearing Church boast now about how he could have killed a man, Angelica set her cup down so hard that I feared it would crack, and strong black tea sloshed over both sides. For she, like the rest of us, had learned of her husband’s duel only after the fact. And the fright of having so nearly been made a widow, in complete ignorance, still set her nerves on edge.
“What if you had killed him, Jack?” Angelica asked.
No one in our family seemed poised to answer that question—least of all my unrepentant brother-in-law. And over our teacups, Peggy and I exchanged a look, both of us knowing from childhood experience not to tangle with Angelica when she was in this mood. But as my newborn daughter mewled like a kitten in her cradle, I was emboldened to remind everyone of our blessings. “Let’s just give thanks to God that no one was hurt. Not to mention that we’re all together to enjoy a respite in this beautiful countryside.”
“A respite that would’ve been even more enjoyable if you’d named your new daughter Margaret,” Peggy piped up, both changing the subject and professing jealousy that we’d named our first daughter after Angelica but none after her.
“I’m afraid I favor the name Elizabeth,” Alexander replied with a wink. “But perhaps the next one . . .”
“The next one! And to think I once feared Betsy would be a spinster. You’re like rabbits, you two,” Peggy accused, quite heedless of the agonized cringes this elicited from my sons and the chorus of snickers from their cousins. Especially Angelica’s twenty-one-year-old Flip and Peggy’s eleven-year-old Steven—where they stood, still admiring Church’s pistols in the open portmanteau.
Reaching to pat my husband’s knee, I said, “Since the gentlemen of the family have been so fixated on guns, perhaps you might take the boys into the woods and bring us some ducks for supper.”
Alexander looked as if he wished to protest but called for his new hunting dog, an overeager spaniel that answered to the name Old Peggy. That’s when my Philip joked to his aunt, “You have a Hamiltonian namesake after all.”
Peggy gave an indignant sputter that sounded quite like the curly-haired mongrel—eliciting howls of laughter from all of us. “My nephew is a rogue,” Peggy said, affectionately ruffling Philip’s dark hair. “Be gone with you to fetch our supper.”
Then Alexander marched off into the forests of Harlem with a fowling piece in hand, my brothers-in-law and our boys all trooping behind.
“Do you see how Church swaggers about like a daring boy of eighteen?” Angelica hissed when they’d gone.
To soothe her, I said, “You were once charmed by Church’s daring.”
“That was before I loved him,” Angelica replied, taking me quite by surprise. “When we eloped, that was just the seedling of love. It’s taken years of careful tending, pruning, and cultivation to come to full flower. Though, if Church had gotten himself killed in a childish duel, I should doubt the whole enterprise of love altogether!”
Peggy dramatically rolled her eyes. “Oh, how would it have looked if he’d refused Burr’s challenge? It’s the way men defend their personal honor.”
Angelica seethed. “It’s never personal with Burr. Tell her, Eliza.”
“It’s true,” I said, in the familiar role of mediator between them. As improbable as it sounded, Burr was, and had always been, wryly amused with life, taking it all for a game.
“Burr only cares about his political reputation,” Angelica said. “Now, thanks to my husband, that sly self-seeker can boast that he didn’t flinch when a bullet came close enough to wing a button off his coat. He’ll tell that story every chance he gets while campaigning for Jefferson in the upcoming presidential election. And mark me a fool if Burr doesn’t win the vice presidency for himself.”
“Heaven forfend,” I said, glad Alexander wasn’t present to hear this prediction, for it would have sent him spiraling into a rage.
What I wanted was to celebrate with my sisters that we were all together. The three of us. Our children playing together outside. Our husbands good friends. Just as I’d once dreamed we’d be.
So I did my best to soften Angelica’s temper until the three of us were laughing together as we did when we were girls. “I’ll call her Lysbet for short,” I said to Peggy of the new daughter in my arms. “And I am sorry, Peggy. I wanted to call her Margaret but my husband is still persuasive when he desires something.”
She snorted. “Oh, and I’ll bet he knows just how to persuade you, too. No doubt it involves his—”
“Say no more!” I said, laughing despite myself. “There’s an innocent babe here.”
Chuckling, Peggy smoothed her hand over Lysbet’s downy hair. “Call her what you like. It’s just good to see you happy again.”
I was happy, I realized.
The advantage of the Reynolds scandal was that I no longer had anything to hide. I found satisfaction in my work—and in Alexander’s. For on the Fourth of July, we’d toasted the state legislature’s passage of a law establishing the gradual abolition of slavery. And shortly thereafter, Alexander had taken me to scout a property he meant to buy for our home—a high, wooded place not far from the river.
The country still feared an American war with France—with that tyrant, Napoleon Bonaparte. But with Washington and Hamilton at the head of our armies, we could be in no safer hands.
* * *
Doctor, I die hard. But I am not afraid to go.
—GEORGE WASHINGTON
December 1799
New York City
George Washington’s passing shook the very foundations of the country. Few men on earth had done more to earn eternal rest than the former president, but we were left like children frightened to face a world without him. Even Alexander, though he was loath to admit it.
Nevertheless, like a grieving son, my husband went to Philadelphia to march in a somber funereal procession in honor of his fallen chief,
