It was at one of these dinners that we were reunited with the Marquis de Lafayette. Having just negotiated the end of a mutiny in the Pennsylvania Line, he returned to headquarters and broke the sour mood by hugging—and even kissing—everyone.
I was startled that General Washington, a very formal man who did not like to be touched, allowed the marquis this familiarity. Then Lafayette treated me to the same exuberant greeting. “Mademoiselle Schuyler—or shall I say Madame Hamilton, now?” he asked, kissing both my cheeks.
“Marquis,” I said, smiling.
But before I could decide whether I was meant to return these kisses, Lafayette withdrew and wagged his finger at me. “I’m afraid I have a quarrel with you. I invite you to camp some years ago. You refuse me. Yet, for Hamilton, here you are. I would take offense did I not so much approve of your choice.”
“As do we all,” said Colonel Tilghman with a polite smile.
Seemingly caught off guard by the warm sentiment of his friends, Alexander flushed.
Even as McHenry called, “Speak for yourself, Tench. If you’d seen Ham strutting at his wedding, you’d know he doesn’t need a thing more to swell his head.”
Before I could flush at what might have been Mac’s innuendo—and in front of the Washingtons!—Lafayette unveiled a crate of champagne he’d acquired from somewhere and smuggled into the house. “Since we could not all see the wedding, we celebrate tonight, oui?”
Quietly, from his end of the table, General Washington said, “A capital idea.” And that was all the approval the younger men needed to pop the cork and start pouring.
“May I propose a toast?” Colonel Tilghman asked from where he was seated beside Mrs. Washington. Tench didn’t wait for an answer but rose to his full height and raised his glass. “To our Little Lion,” he said to Alexander, respectfully and with genuine fondness. Then turning to me, he added, “And to the finest tempered girl in the world. A perfect match. May it endure and prosper with our country. With my blessing and unalterable friendship.”
His graciousness moved me, and I hoped Tench might one day find a woman to love him as he deserved. I tipped my glass to him in return, hoping he could feel my good wishes before we drank. And then it was all laughter and merriment.
“Congratulations, my boy,” Washington said to Hamilton with a fatherly tone, and my husband seemed not quite certain how to take it.
Perhaps to ease the moment, Tilghman continued, “We all knew your husband was a gone man for you, Mrs. Hamilton, the night he forgot the watchword.”
At the reminder, Mac roared with laughter, recounting details Alexander never told me. “He’s lucky he managed to wheedle it out of that boy who lived at headquarters or the guards would’ve let him sleep in the snow.”
Grinning, Hamilton protested, “I was determined to keep what little dignity I had left! I had to pretend I’d just been testing the guardsman.”
Even Mrs. Washington chuckled at this, shaking her head. And the toasts continued long after the Washingtons went to bed.
“Thirteen toasts,” Hamilton insisted. “One for each state!”
Mac raised his glass, his Irish brogue more pronounced with every raised glass. “Here’s to the four hinges of friendship. Swearing, lying, stealing, and drinking. When you swear, swear by your country. When you lie, lie for a pretty woman. When you steal, steal away from bad company. And when you drink, drink with me.”
“Huzzah!” we cried until all thirteen toasts were made.
I still remember the international brotherhood of that night so vividly. The French Marquis de Lafayette. The Marylanders, James McHenry, Tench Tilghman, and Robert Hanson Harrison. The Connecticut Yankee, David Humphreys. And Alexander Hamilton of the West Indies.
My husband told me they were the only real family he’d ever known, and now I saw that they were a family. What’s more, I felt privileged to be included. At our wedding, I’d sworn that my people would be Hamilton’s. But now I said another silent vow that his people would also be mine.
* * *
“MY DEAR, I must pay you a compliment,” Mrs. Washington said.
We sat together, huddled by the fire as cold whistled through cracks in the weathered walls, great piles of mending at our feet in baskets. I’d been wondering how we’d ever make a dent as my fingertips stung from working the needle through the coarse cloth when her words drew me from my thoughts. “Oh? Whatever for?”
I thought she’d praise my stitchery, but instead she said, “You’ve made our Colonel Hamilton very happy. I wasn’t sure anyone could.”
Pride stilled my hands, for she’d known my husband for far longer than I had. “You do me a kindness—”
Just then, shouts erupted from outside and footsteps pounded down the staircase. General Washington ran past us, out the doorway, and his flight set my heart into a thunderous beat. His Excellency was so measured in all things that his alarm sent us following him out the front door into the biting afternoon.
I braced myself for any possibility—mutinous soldiers, perhaps even a British attack! And with all the general’s aides, including Alexander, dispatched on errands. But I never expected to see the adjoining shed afire, hungry flames consuming the wall closest to where the enslaved laundresses worked over a campfire. Nor did I expect to see General Washington single-handedly heaving three enormously heavy washtubs of water upon the blaze before it spread to the house.
Not knowing what else to do as the bodyguards came running, I rushed to get more water, but Washington already had everything smothered—only smoke and black scorch marks remained. Then the general
