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641 pages, Hardcover
First published April 3, 2018
Worse than that, he made me despair of the traitor in him, too. For though Alexander Hamilton did not betray his country, he did betray me. And now, I struggle with whether love or hate burns more intensely inside me.
But then, as a young woman contemplating marriage, the Arnold situation was a stark reminder that to marry a man was to share his fate and be vulnerable to all his decisions and mistakes.
________
An entire generation was growing up in a world without sure principles by which to live in peace. And I couldn’t help but wonder, would my own son, after what he’d seen in the streets, come of age believing that there was no way to solve any problem but with a club or a pistol?
________
He wanted some answer of me. Some reply. But I was too much in a daze. Too lost in a barrage of brutal imaginings.
Did he kiss the back of her neck, the way he kissed mine? Did she smell of sweet perfume or a lustful feminine musk instead of milk and sweat and motherhood like me?
Hamilton finally rose and pressed his forehead to mine. “You must say something, my angel. If only to condemn me for the sinner I am. You must say something.”
But I said nothing at all. Because words were his weapon; silence was mine. And he couldn’t win an argument if I didn’t start one.
________
I knew my husband regretted this woman. I also knew most wives overlooked infidelity. Only a select few divorced. But in New York State, adultery was the only grounds upon which a woman could seek a divorce. And I will not say I didn’t flirt with the thought at night, in our now very cold bed.
But to what end? It wouldn’t undo the pain. And who would I be if I wasn’t Alexander Hamilton’s wife? Weeping into the kerchief Monroe had pressed into my hand while offering comfort and strength, I felt as much a stranger to myself as Hamilton was now to me. I scarcely spoke to my husband, beyond that which was necessary for the children’s sake. And I felt too exhausted to care for my own dignity.
________
But I wasn’t the one to subject them to such a possibility, so I said, “I wouldn’t wish that. Yet, in trying to cure you of your fear of abandonment, I’ve somehow convinced you that you may do and say anything, and your Betsy will stay loyally at your side. I convinced myself, too. But I think it better, in times like these, for us to acknowledge that marriage is a choice, one made, every day, anew. And trust me when I say I don’t know which choice I shall make come morning.”
________
In the midst of that peaceful, country field, he stopped me with a hand upon my elbow. “You forgive me?”
“For everything. With all my heart.” I reached for his hand, which he took and squeezed like a drowning man.
And yet he didn’t look convinced. “You say this only because you want to die at peace with me. But what if we live? Can you live with—” He shook his head and swallowed, as if remembering our last quarrel. “Can you choose each morning to live with me in forgiveness, despite what I’ve done?”
What had he done, after all? He’d put his hands on another woman. He’d taken momentary pleasure in guttural breaths and animal spasms. Yes, Alexander had done violence to my feelings and to my pride and to our wedding vows. But it all seemed so transient, so temporal now. For whatever wrongs he’d done me, he’d also given me a happier life than I’d believed myself destined for. He’d opened my heart and my mind; he’d taught me to think and to see injustice where I’d not seen it before. He’d taught me to stand for righteous causes. I could do more.
And if I lived, I would do more.
But first, I forgave my husband. Because I was a Christian, because I loved him, and because I must never allow Maria Reynolds to define us. “I do so choose to live with you, Alexander Hamilton,” I said, as if it were a wedding vow. “In forgiveness and grace and love, so long as we draw breath.”
________
“Do you know I offered to give up my ambitions and leave government for her? Theodosia wouldn’t have it. Now she’s gone and ambition is all that’s left.”
I should’ve heard the threat in those words. But at the time, my heart filled with such pity for his agony that I took the liberty of squeezing his hand—never dreaming that same hand would one day inflict that same agony upon me.
________
“I am not mad.”
“No?” I asked, thinking his behavior erratic. To prove it, I held up three different scribblings I’d found on his desk. “What do I see here? An essay in defense of the Jay Treaty that you wrote for the papers under one pen name. A second, written under a different name in which you anonymously praise yourself for writing the first. And then a raving third, pretending to add to the imaginary choir! It’s madness.”
________
In truth, it went on for days as Alexander worked on the address, scribbling words and crossing them out.
Eventually, he removed the line to which I objected. That and many others, taking into consideration my suggestions, leaving me awed with the magnitude of the masterpiece. I knew, even then, that the Farewell Address was a moving and worthy tribute to the United States and its people. A plea for unity. A statement of purpose and guidance for the nation George Washington helped bring into being.
And because of Alexander Hamilton, I had the great and everlasting fortune to be a part of its shaping.
________
To his litany of horrific consequences, my father added, “And if your mama was innocent . . . as she surely was . . . then to insult her with an accusation would make me the vilest of knaves. I should consider myself condemned to hell-fires if I treated your mother with such rank suspicion—a woman who entrusted herself to me, risked her very life to bring my children into the world. A woman who defended my lands, served as wise steward over my household, and blessed my life with her wisdom, friendship, affection, and love. Such ingratitude would damn me in the eyes of myself and my god.”
So, he would not ask, I thought. He would never ask. My father, like the mathematician he was, had added it all up—the sums of love and happiness and disappointments in a marriage—and come to the conclusion that it didn’t matter.
________
All my life I’d taken comfort from religion, but these words offered me no solace, and from my mouth came the keening of a wounded animal, a ghastly howl of despair. My cheeks streaked with salty tears, the skirt of my delicate pink dress stained with acrid sweat and dried blood, I was overcome with a desire to smash everything in my path—silver mirrors, blue china, crystal wineglasses. To sweep off the elegant tables all my sister’s goblets, candlesticks, and trinkets that held no worth in a world without Philip.
But I was stopped by the sight of Alexander hovering, shattered, over the deathbed of our boy, and the absurd thought that I couldn’t endure to see one more thing broken . . .
And because my husband was shattered, I couldn’t endure to see him.