The Hamiltons: Part 3

Alexander Hamilton paced back and forth in front of his wife's bedroom door and wished that it would all just be over already. His mother-in-law had told him that Eliza was a healthy young woman and that all was going well. If anyone was an expert on pregnancy and childbirth, it was Catherine Schuyler. The doctor and the midwife had said pretty much the same thing but none of this sage wisdom had done anything to make Alexander worry any less.

How could he possibly believe that all was well when Eliza was screaming and groaning from what sounded like the torments of Hell?

Alexander continued pacing and tried not to think about any of the countless numbers of things that could go wrong.

He and Eliza had decided on the name Philip for a boy and Angelica for a girl. Alexander had to admit that he was hoping for a boy and had expressed so in a letter he had written to Eliza back in October:

"...You shall engage shortly to present me with a boy. You will ask me if a girl will not answer the purpose. By no means. I fear, with all the mother's charms, she may inherit the caprices of her father..."

The bedroom door opened after what seemed like an eternity and the midwife stepped out.

"Congratulations Colonel Hamilton," she said, "You have a son."

"How is Mrs. Hamilton?" Alexander responded.

"Come and see for yourself."

Eliza was sitting up in bed, looking exhausted but otherwise well. She held a blanket wrapped bundle in her arms. Alexander came over and pulled back the blanket slightly to see what was inside: a red, pinched, little face.

"May I present your son, Philip Hamilton," Eliza said, "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?"

"We did well, didn't we?" Alexander responded.

"I did most of the hard work."

He bent over and kissed her and then lovingly stroked the ruddy down on Philip's tiny, delicate head.

"Welcome to the world, Mr. Philip Hamilton."

The first thing Eliza did when she returned from Philip's funeral was write a letter to Joseph to break things off with him. This was partially to spare her family yet more pain and disgrace and partially to punish herself. As much as she might heap the blame for Philip's death on Alexander, she could not help but feel that the guilt was partially hers. She had hardly behaved better than Alexander had. They were both adulterers who had let their child pay for their misdeeds.

Eliza could think of nothing more tragic than the sight of poor Phil laying in his coffin, so young, so handsome, and so full of life and potential wasted. He would never get to live up to the ambitions that he father had for him, or marry the love of his life, or have a family of his own.

All day, she had been trying to hold herself together. Throughout everything that had happened to her, she had managed not to break down. She had kept her composure as people mocked her for her straying husband, then called her every name in the book because of her affair with Joseph. But Philip's death had been close to too much for her.

Now the funeral was over and she could be alone. She plopped down on her bed and began to weep like a young girl who had been jilted by her beau.

Her grief and self-pity was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Come in," she said, thinking it was her maid or one of the children.

"Eliza, can I speak to you," Alexander stepped in, invading her private sanctuary.

"Go away!" she sobbed, "Leave me alone."

He looked around the room and noticed that she had an unsealed letter on her desk.

"Were you writing to Ackerman?"

"So what if I was?"

"If that bastard doesn't leave you alone, I'll take him to court for criminal conversation."

"If you must know, I'm ending my relationship with him. But this changes nothing. After the mourning period for Philip is over, Angelica and I are traveling to Europe. She has plenty of acquaintances in London and I'm sure the Lafayettes will receive us in Paris. We're going to take Angie with us. The change of scene will do her good and maybe we could marry her off to Lafayette's son."

"And what am I supposed to do here?"

"Take another Maria Reynolds into your bed for all I care."

"Eliza, I can't live like this anymore! I just lost Phil and I don't think I could bear losing you as well."

"You should have thought about that at the beginning of this whole sorry mess. Go away, I can't stand looking at you!"

He did not listen to her but rather went over to the bed and sat by her side. She began to cry again and he took her into his arms and softly kissed her hair.

"My sweet Betsey," he murmured.

She melted into his arms and yielded to him as eager as she had as a young bride.

Alexander woke up the next morning to the familiar sight of Eliza sleeping next to him. Maybe he would never get over Philip's death, he did not see how anyone could get over such a thing, but if it brought him and Eliza back together, there would be a silver lining to this tragedy.

Eliza woke and stirred and yawned and stretched.

"Good morning, love," Alexander said.

Startled, Eliza covered her naked body with the bedsheet to try to prevent unfavorable comparisons to the slim-waisted, perky breasted young Mrs. Reynolds.

"Please, go away," she said.

"What's the matter?" he replied.

"Nothing, go away, please!"

"I won't go away until you tell me why you took me back and are now pushing me away again."

"I thought I needed what happened last night. I was grieving for Philip and it felt good to have someone's arms around me. It was a moment of weakness. You should know all about those."

"I've never gone to bed with someone I was angry at."

" I don't have the energy to be angry at you anymore. I believe that you truly are sorry and I guess I forgive you but..."

"But what?"

"I don't love you anymore, perhaps I never did. I was infatuated with the man I thought you were but you failed to live up to expectations. Maybe I slept with you last night because I wanted to regain what I once felt for you but I couldn't."

Alexander solemnly began to put his clothes back on. Eliza, whose heart had become stony where he was concerned, felt some pity for him.

Over the next couple of months, they focused on moving their household uptown to their new home in Harlem. This was the house that Alexander had dreamed of building ever since he married Eliza and started a family with her. He named it The Grange, after his family's ancestral estate in Scotland.

Alexander also found that things between him and Eliza were improving; she could at least bear his presence. One the day they were supposed to move, he asked her if she would like to take one last turn with him in the garden.

It was a gorgeously crisp fall morning both warm and golden and shadowy and chilly. The trees were changing into their fiery autumnal hues. Alexander and Eliza shuffled their way through piles of brown, dead leaves as they walked through the garden, arm in arm. He chatted about inconsequential domestic details and she gave a polite nod every once in a while.

She had grown thin and frail and looked wan and tired. He lead her around the garden as if she were an invalid trying to regain their strength. This was all that was left of the vigorous woman who loved long walks and hated idleness that he had married.

Eliza turned to look at her husband. His hair had gone grey and he now needed spectacles. The ginger-haired young firebrand she had fallen in love with was growing old.

They were both not as young as they used to be.

"I'm with child again," she said when she finally spoke.

"Eliza, that's wonderful," Alexander responded, "Perhaps this is this new start we need."

"I don't want a new start, I want things to go back to the way they were before."

"I know, my love, but that's impossible. All we can do is pick up the pieces and move on."

"Let's go inside, it's almost time for us to leave. Our new house awaits."

The last born child of Alexander Hamilton and Eliza Schuyler was their sixth son. They named him Philip after his late brother and called him "Little Phil."