Sharing Hamilton

Chapter One

Maria Reynolds

Home of Congressman Jonathan Dayton, New York, December 20, 1790

Where is he? On tiptoe, craning my neck, I searched the crowded room for Alexander Hamilton. I never forgot our first meeting . . . our gazes locked...time stood still. Oh, for a glimpse of those violet eyes.

“Maria!”

I jumped. My husband’s eyes blazed as h e draped my cloak over my shoulders. “We’re leaving.” He steered me toward the door.

             “James, what are you—” We dashed into the frosty evening to our fancy carriage—hired for tonight.  I slid inside, shivering.

            “Home, post haste,” he ordered the coachman and climbed in next to me.

I caught my breath. “James, what happened in there?”

            He cleared his throat, his jaw grinding. It chilled me more than the cold seat seeping through my skirts. “We’re leaving town and not coming back. When we get home, start packing.”

            Fear clutched my heart. “What have you done now? Cease your nattering and tell me what happened,” I demanded, past politeness. “Why must we flee this time?” My voice rose to a desperate shriek.

            He drew a deep breath but still wouldn’t look me in the eye. “Jon and I were discussing our business venture—”

            “Which business venture? Keeping track of your schemes makes my head spin.” I flattened my palms to my throbbing temples.

            “The land parcels in Ohio. Our words got heated. I questioned his honesty in handling my half of the investment.” His voice faltered. “Before I could blink, he challenged me to a duel.”

            I fell back against the cushion as if struck.

            “I have no intention of dueling him,” he declared. “Ah’m too young to die on a field of honor. Hence, we are leaving town.”

            “James, you—” I wished I could spew forth ‘coward’ or ‘weasel’ but I never spoke to my husband in this manner. “You cannot run from a challenge. He will find you, surely.”

            “Not if we reach the Pine Barrens of New Jersey by tomorrow nightfall. We have three days to abscond,” he mumbled, gazing through the window. “I need return this vehicle, purchase a cheap one and a decent draft horse—”

            I interrupted, “And do you plan for us to hide in the Pine Barrens indefinitely?”

            His shoulders relaxed and he tugged at his lace collar. The rise and fall of his chest slowed as he settled into the seat. “Of course not.” He shook his head. “We’re going to Philadelphia.”

            “By God, that is over two hundred miles away!” My fingers curled into fists.

“And a fine place to thrive, as say all the folk I know there.” He turned to face me. “My crony Sam Bass discovered abundant opportunity for advancement. Charles Olton reported the class barriers are not so high. There’s hope of hurdling them.” He waved a hand as if this move were across the road. “Hence, I shall flourish there.” He returned his gaze to the darkness outside.

            I leant forward and grasped his sleeve. “And Jon won’t find you hurdling over all these class barriers?” I challenged.

            He glanced my way, brow cocked. “He’ll not follow me there. He’ll die in the bed he was birthed in. But for us, we shall explore the new frontier. Then mayhap later on, we kin move west.”

            He’d plotted all this between shirking on a duel and dashing into this carriage. Exasperation planted a fiery ball in my stomach. Although we’d moved four times in three years, for economic reasons—nonpayment of rent, joblessness—never had we fled two hundred miles. Fighting my anguish, I wondered . . . hmm, this move could add a spark to my life.

            I didn’t realize until late that night what that spark was.

            Philadelphia, the Nation’s Capital…

…the new Treasury Secretary, Alexander Hamilton, lived there.

Eliza Hamilton

Mon., December 20, 1790

I preened like a fairy princess draped in my new crimson gown of brocade adorned with Brussels lace and pointed bodice. Specks of powder dusted my rolled hairpiece, my cheeks rouged like cherries on alabaster. My flash fawney, a string of pearls and earbobs, completed the ensemble. Posing at the looking glass, I twirled. The skirt whooshed as it swirled round me. After spending all day chasing tots, I became a debutante again.

I looked forward to this holiday soirée at the home of Jon Dayton, one of Alex’s friends from the Congress. Our coach pulled up to his door as a man and woman dashed into the coach in front of us, far grander than ours. The man looked like James Reynolds. Is that his wife or one of his doxies? I wondered as it rumbled away.

            A servant ushered us into Dayton’s parlour. As we mingled, the delightful strains of a string quartet floated through the air. “There he is.” I gestured to Alex as I spotted Jon wandering the room alone. Hunched over, he puffed on a cheroot.

            “There you are, my good man.” Alex halted the congressman.

            Jon gave us a shaky smile. “Good eve, Alex, Eliza.” He bowed first to Alex, then to me.

“You appear distraught.” My husband placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder in almost motherly concern.

            Jon’s darting eyes and fidgety hands warned me. Uh-oh, something is amiss. He took a deep breath, wiping sweat from his brow. “Sorry. My mind is elsewhere. I must tell you, as my most trusted friends—” He released a sigh. “I’ve challenged a man to a duel.”

            I lifted my fan to hide my gaping mouth. “Saints above, Jon, who?” Alex asked him.

            “J—Jimmy Reynolds,” he stuttered getting the name out, as if he could not believe it himself.

            “Reynolds?” Alex shook his head. “I just saw him leave. Why, you’re closer than most brothers. What brought this on?”

            “You know Jimmy and his Scots temper—sorry, no offense—we entered an argument, it grew hostile, and we’re to meet at the Weehawken riverbank Friday next. Alex, I must ask you—will you be my second?”

            Raw panic shook me. Dear God, why couldn’t Jon ask Aaron Burr? He was everybody’s second. I glanced about but didn’t see Burr among the guests. “Alex—” I clutched my husband’s sleeve, tracing finger marks in the velvet. “I want you nowhere near that dreadful place.”

            “I shall be honored, Jon.” He faced me, his eyes stating, silence, little wife. Anger drew my lips tight.

            After Jon excused himself, I turned to Alex. “Oh, poor Maria. I wish I could console her.” I still seethed with anger at my husband, but at least he wouldn’t be the one dueling. “She’s a bright girl from a respectable family Why did she settle for the likes of James Reynolds?”

“Who knows what attracts one to another?” He shook his head. “Since James lost his bid for the Continental Congress, he’s been branded a loser in our circles. Let’s hope he loses the duel, too.”