We ride swiftly through the dark, moonless night. Angelica had informed me that Washington, Hamilton, Laurens, and Lafayette had all left to put an end to a skirmish that had arisen about twenty minutes away.
She said that there were shots fired, but she didn't know who and how many were injured. I'd asked how many soldiers were fighting to which she'd responded five hundred on both sides.
A British force had attacked a Patriot camp early this evening.
As we ride closer to the camp, I catch sight of hundreds of lit campfires through the trees. The campfires serve as a bright beacon to the camp's location. We'd arrived.
The camp is filthy and muddy. As I lead my horse through the camp, the groans of injured or dying men fill the air, and the occasional scream of someone being amputated from within a medical tent interrupts the drone of groans every few minutes. The smell of decay and gunpowder fills the air.
I swing off of my horse and begin marching towards the headquarters. I'd overheard from a few healthy soldiers that some of the injured were being kept there. My shoes stick to the thick mud with a slurping sound.
I suddenly trip on an arm, and I look down to see wide, unblinking eyes staring up at me from the ground; the eyes of a dead man, I realize as I let out a little scream of horror.
Angelica is beside me in an instant and ushering me along as she says reassuringly, "The quicker we walk, the sooner you can see your Hamilton."
I walk faster through the dark camp after that, the path only lit by the occasional campfire. We finally reach headquarters, and I push open the door, only to be met with louder groans and screams. I scrunch up my nose as I weave through the hundreds of pallets laid out across the floor, my skirts swaying behind me.
Angelica follows close behind.
I search frantically for any sign of Hamilton upon the pallets, having heard from a barely conscious officer that he was in headquarters. My steps quicken when I don't spot him anywhere. I turn towards Angelica, telling her with an almost hysterical voice, "I don't see him."
Angelica frowns as she pushes past me. "He could be in one of the other rooms," she reasons as she beckons me to follow her.
We weave through the rooms, finding in each room pallets upon pallets on the floor, filled with the moans of injured men. We go into one such room, and I spot a familiar flash of auburn hair, covered partly by a blanket, laying on a pallet pushed against the far wall, partly secluded from everyone else.
I let out a gasp as I dash over to him and drop to my knees beside the cot. I put my hands on his face and turn his head towards me. "Hamilton?" I whisper.
His blue eyes blink open before shuttering closed again, and he lets out a low moan. "Eliza? Is that you?" he whispers, eyes still squeezed shut.
I don't know whether to cry with relief or sadness. "It is. It's me, Eliza," I tell him, trying at a smile, even though he can't see me with his eyes closed.
His eyes barely manage to open, revealing the brilliant violet and blue of his eyes. "This is my job as Washington's aide-de-camp. It's not purely writing, you know." He smiles tiredly to show he means it lightly, but then his smile dims as he adds a little breathlessly, "And, well, I thought you were gone for good this time."
I shake my head. "No, I'm back." I brush a hand through his hair, and he closes his eyes again. I glance down to where his hand is pressed against his side. "Where are you injured?" I ask him softly.
"Just my side," he grits out. "Got a deep cut there, probably from a bayonet."
"Have you been seen by a doctor?" I ask worriedly, and he nods quietly, his eyes still shut. I let out a sigh as I ask him quietly, "Why did you have to go fight?"
He wheezes as he opens his eyes again and holds my gaze. "I thought you were gone for good, so-" He stops abruptly before continuing, "It's better to die this way."
I furrow my brow as I say, "Glory? That's what you want? To die with glory?"
He attempts at a smile, but it falters. "It's not such a bad way to go," he reasons in a weak voice. "At least I'll be remembered."
I sigh in frustration. If only I could tell him he will be remembered honorably, but not only for fighting in the war. He's going to create the national bank and our currency. He's going to form the Coast Guard and defend and support the Constitution with all of his heart.
He's going to be the architect of our nation.
And he doesn't know it yet.
Hamilton hisses in a breath as he shifts over to allow room for me on the pallet. I wordlessly lay down beside him, our heads mere inches from each other. I turn my head to face him, and as our eyes meet, all the surrounding sounds become muffled and distant.
His chest rises and falls with every breath. I notice him struggling to keep his eyes open, so I say teasingly, "Just close your eyes."
He must have realized I was copying his words from that night in the bathroom because he smiles tiredly and replies, "Are you trying to get me to sleep?"
I grin at his mimicry of my reply. "I just figured it will make you feel better," I counter lightly.
His answering smile makes my heart melt a little, and he finally closes his eyes as he stops fighting sleep. Soon, my own eyes start to grow heavy and drift close, so I snuggle against his uninjured side and allow myself to fall asleep.
***
When I drift awake, I find myself resting my head on Hamilton's chest, his arm wrapped around my shoulders. I'm so contently warm and safe, I don't want to get up. I look up at his face to find him still sleeping. His face is smoothed out and relaxed with sleep, making him appear even younger.
Someone clears their throat nearby, making their presence know, and I sit up slowly, as to not disturb Hamilton, only to see Lafayette sitting in a chair ten feet away, watching me. I blush at the sudden realization that he had seen Hamilton and I sleeping together like that on the pallet.
I carefully get up from the bed before crossing the ten feet to Lafayette. "Hey," I greet with an embarrassed smile, and he grins brightly at me.
"Good morning, mademoiselle," he responds warmly.
I frown as I ask, "What are you doing here?"
Lafayette chuckles quietly as if expecting this question. "General Washington wanted me to sit here and watch Hamilton in order to ensure he was okay." Another small laugh as he adds, "It seems he was already being cared for."
I blush again at this. "I didn't mean to fall asleep-" I start, even though I did allow myself to drift off. I suppose I'm telling Lafayette this to defend my virtue.
Lafayette laughs it off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Do not be embarrassed. I do it all the time!"
I can't help the grin that overtakes my face at his reply. Of course, he'd answer it that way.
I cast a look around the room, my eyes landing on the sleeping soldiers and those who are walking amongst the pallets, perhaps on their way out of the headquarters, or looking for friends or family. I turn my gaze back to Lafayette, who's watching me curiously.
"Where have you been?" he asks with a sudden frown. "You were missing two days after I saw you leaving to go outside."
My stomach drops with anxiety at his questioning words. "I, uh, was running some errands," I tell him, but it sounds unconvincing.
"Errands, huh?" he repeats with a raised brow.
I purse my lips as I nod. "I lost track of time, and when I got back-"
"Angelica said you were panicked and slightly disorientated when you got back," Lafayette interjects.
I nod quickly at this, finding a way to connect Angelica's statement with my lie. "Yes, I lost track of time and I was panicked-"
"Eliza," Lafayette stops me flatly.
I pause, my mouth partly open to say my next word as I glance at him. "Yes?"
"You were missing all of yesterday until last night, and all of the day before, except that morning when I saw you," he tells me, his face twisted in skepticism.
I wince. "Ah yes, that's right-"
"You were missing two days, Eliza. Two days. Do you know how worried we all were about you? Do you know how worried Alexander was? The least you owe us is an honest explanation." Lafayette says in a low, disapproving, almost sad tone.
I suddenly feel extremely guilty. I open my mouth to confess before stopping myself. If he knew I was from the future or had been moved to the future after my time here (however that happened), then it would lead to more questions.
Questions I can't answer.
They'll start bombarding me with questions about the future that I won't be able to answer for fear of altering history. Not to mention I'll look crazy.
So, I close my mouth and say in what I hope is a sheepish voice as I duck my head, "I was walking in the woods, and I think I blacked out." At least it's a partial truth. "When I woke, I got a little lost until I spotted my horse by the dirt road."
"The dirt road that I found you on?"
"Exactly the one," I answer promptly.
His face softens, having been thoroughly convinced. "Are you well, Eliza? You've seemed sick lately."
I paste a smile on my face as I say, "I've been perfectly fine."
"But you blacked out," he protests, and I shake my head.
"I'm fine, I swear," I insist, and Lafayette thankfully lets it drop.
At that moment Hamilton lets out a low groan of pain, and Lafayette and I exchange worried looks before we rush over to the side of his cot. I drop to my knees beside Hamilton as Lafayette hovers just behind me.
"Hamilton?" I ask, searching his face for signs that he heard me.
His eyes flutter open before closing again. I quickly put a hand to his forehead and find it burning hot with fever. "He's sick," I tell Lafayette alarmedly.
Lafayette swears. "How?" I figure it's a rhetorical question, so I don't answer. He paces behind me for a few seconds before telling me firmly, "I'm going to tell the doctor and the general." Before I can ask if he means the General Washington, he says sharply, "I'll be back."
I hear his footsteps recede a moment later. In an attempt to be useful, I go in search of a washcloth and bandages. I find both, though the later was a little trickier to find.
When I get back to Hamilton, I swear he's burning up even more. I quickly, but carefully unbutton his officer's jacket so I can reach his side more easily. When I've unbuttoned everything, I gently remove his jacket, but it's a lot harder when he's too delirious to help.
I finally get the jacket off, and I tug Hamilton's shirt up to reveal a bloody bandage that had been hap-hazardously slapped on his side. I let out a huff of anger at this before expertly peeling away the bandage. I hiss in a breath as I catch sight of the angry looking wound.
This cut was definitely made by a bayonet. The single slash is deep, and the skin around the wound is an angry, infected red.
I wipe at it gently with the hot, wet washcloth, and I hear Hamilton hiss in a breath. "How bad is it?" he groans, arching his back against the pain.
I grimace as I reply, "It looks a little infected, but nothing I can't fix," I tell him, trying to be optimistic.
"I always saw you helping in the makeshift hospitals," he says, his words slightly slurred through the pain. "I always wondered what a lady like you was doing in the hospital, having to witness all sorts of morbid injuries." He grits his teeth as I wipe the washcloth across his wound again. "But you were so helpful."
I let out a breath as I say, "Well, I'm feeling pretty useless right now."
Hamilton grips my hand suddenly, forcing me to look up into meet his eyes. "You're not useless," he tells me, his voice growing weaker before promptly passing out.
I sigh in distress as I look around for any sign of Lafayette. When I don't see him, I turn back to Hamilton's wound. I'm studying it when a thought comes to me. The doctor needed to stitch the wound closed. Why hadn't he done that?
It's a good thing Hamilton passed out when he did because this is going to hurt a lot. I get up in search for a needle and thread. As I'm scanning throughout the room, I run into a young man holding just what I need.
"Where did you get that?" I practically demand him in my urgency, flinging a finger at the needle and thread in his hands.
"Over by that corner," he answers a little shakily, overwhelmed by my directness.
I quickly thank him before heading to the corner he had pointed out. I find packets of needles and rolls of thread on a small table and grab one of each.
I quickly tie the thread onto the needle, trying my best to keep the needle clean. I spot some alcohol and pour some onto the needle to sterilize it.
When I'm back at Hamilton's side, I find him awake again, but delirious with fever still. "Eliza?" he asks in a confused voice.
"That's me," I tell him, preparing myself for what I'm about to do. I lift the needle to begin stitching before pausing, my eyes darting to his face.
He eyes me cautiously before he says, "Just do it and get it over with."
"Close your eyes?" I suggest uneasily.
This earns me a laugh, if not a somewhat nervous laugh from him, and the sound sends warmth through me. When he closes his eyes, I take a deep breath before pouring a little alcohol directly on his wound.
I dare a glance at Hamilton to see his eyes squeezed tighter together against the pain. I grimace in sympathy before bringing the needle to the wound and quickly but carefully stitching it all up.
Throughout the whole thing, he doesn't say a word or make any noise. He just keeps his eyes squeezed shut, occasionally grimacing and let out a rough exhale. Finally, I finish the job, and I lean back on my heels in relief.
"All done," I tell him, and he opens his eyes.
"Thank you, Nurse Schuyler," he tries at a joke, his face still fixed in a slight wince at what must be a constant pain in his side.
I give him a smile. "Nurse Schuyler gets things done around here. You couldn't possibly keep yourself together without me," I tell him with a wink, and he grins back.
I hear footsteps behind me, and I turn to see who it is, only to come face to face with General Washington, himself, accompanied by Lafayette and a small, nervous-looking doctor. "General Washington!" I exclaim in surprise, quickly getting up and discreetly trying to brush the dirt off my soiled yellow dress.
His eyes twinkle with amusement as he regards me. "Miss Schuyler, no need to get up. Lafayette informed me that Colonel Hamilton has a fever from infection, and I've only come to see that he's treated sufficiently."
I nod as nervousness unfurls inside me. "I, uh, already took the liberty to take care of it myself," I tell him uneasily, shifting to the side so he can see my handiwork. I glance at Hamilton to see him watching me blurrily with amusement, obviously sensing my anxiety.
He looks pointedly at my hand, and I look down to see my fingers subconsciously thrumming against my thigh. I force myself to still them. When I look back at Hamilton, I discreetly roll my eyes at him, to which he returns the gesture with a playful smirk.
"Colonel Hamilton?" Washington asks expectantly. "Did you hear me?"
He opens his mouth to respond, before closing it again. "No, sir, would you mind repeating it?"
I stifle a rising laugh.
Lafayette gives Washington a knowing look. Washington sighs before repeating, "Are you feeling well enough to ride?"
"Oh certainly, sir." Hamilton rushes to say as he slowly and painfully sits up and swings his legs down over the edge of the cot. I notice his body sway a little before he stills himself, his hands clenched white as he holds tightly to the metal bar on the side of the cot.
Washington nods, not remarking on how hard it was for Hamilton to simply sit up. "Good, we ride in an hour." He whispers something to Lafayette and then glances at me uncertainly before striding off.
Lafayette looks between Washington and Hamilton, obviously conflicted as to where he should go before choosing to stay. "Here, Hammy," he says, handing Hamilton his officer's jacket.
Hamilton huffs a laugh as he painstakingly pulls it on. "Does anybody even know where my horse is?" he asks.
I look at Lafayette, who shrugs at his friend. "Eliza and I will go look for it," Lafayette offers, not waiting for his friend's reply before grabbing my arm and pulling me away.
I let out a sigh of exasperation. "What does it look like?"
"It's white," he informs me as we weave with purpose through the sea of pallets.
"Oh, like mine," I say mostly to myself.
"Yes, like yours," Lafayette replies back easily.
When we go outside, I'm accosted by the smell of rot. The sun shines directly in my face, so I put a hand up to my forehead to shade my eyes as I survey our surroundings. I immediately regret it when I spot several mounds of piled up bodies.
I understand they have to burn them together so as to not waste time, so I try not to feel angry that these men aren't getting a proper burial.
I quickly look away and instead focus on Lafayette. "Are there stables?" I ask.
Lafayette doesn't answer me as he strides off to the right. I follow close behind, wincing each time I step into the unavoidable puddles of unknown liquids.
He shakes his head as he moves out of the way of an oncoming horse, and I almost miss his nod in my haste to (barely) dodge out of the way of the passing horse and rider. I let out a breath as I brush back a few stray strands of dark hair.
Lafayette says, "We usually just tie our horses someplace, but I know where Hamilton tied up his horse because it's right by my horse."
"Oh," I answer lamely. I realize Lafayette has picked up his speed, so I hurry forward as I speak with a shaky laugh, "I can't help but feel as if I'm being harried to someplace."
Lafayette seems to realize that he's leaving me behind because he slows his pace until he's walking beside me. "Washington wishes to see you," he informs me, and my eyes widen with shock.
"Excuse me? What?" I sputter, splaying my hands out. "Why?"
Lafayette smiles at me. "He seems to have liked your stitching skills because before he left, he told me to send you to him."
I'm too stunned to say anything else, so I let Lafayette lead me to where the general is without another word or protest. Lafayette guides me to another building, telling me that it's the "second headquarters" for now since the first one is so filled with injured men. We enter inside, and the contrast between the other headquarters and this one stuns me.
In the other building, I had only seen injured or dying men with a couple of doctors running around urgently. But here, everywhere I look, I see clean shaven, spotless officers and generals with their gleaming black boots and carefully polished buttons on their dress uniforms.
Upon the breasts of many of the officers' uniforms, gleam gold metals and ribbons, not a single one an inch out of place. The decorative metals and ribbons are meticulously arranged on their pressed uniforms.
I can't help but feel a little angry that these officers sat back and let their soldiers fight for them, while Hamilton, who is the same rank as most of them, fought with his men in the stinking mud and thick smoke under constant fire.
While these officers remain healthy and clean, Hamilton is dirty and wounded.
Another thing I notice is the furniture. The building is practically dripping with wealth. Heavy, silk embroidered curtains frame large windows. A fancy, comfy looking couch is set upon an ornate rug before a roaring stone fireplace. Traces of gold embellish much of the dark wood furniture set around the house.
I look to my left to see an entire table, about twenty feet long, laden with delicacies that officers come and go to pick at.
I can't stop the unladylike sound of disgust that comes out of my mouth at the sights before me. Lafayette glances at me sidelong and says in a low voice, "Try not to let that show," before marching forward.
I follow him, attempting at a smile to the many officers that look my way, but I can't help but feel a constant roil of disgust. I only want to smile at Hamilton, not ever at these cowards.
As we approach a small group of men, I force myself to push my thoughts away and focus on who's in front of me: Washington.
I don't force the smile that crosses my face as I approach the famous general. Washington gives me a small smile in return. "Miss Schuyler," he greets. "A pleasure to see you again. Let me introduce you to General Lee, General Nathaniel Greene, and Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens." He indicates to each of them as he says their name.
Washington turns to the men and says in a soft, but praising voice, "You should have seen Miss Schuyler's stitching Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton's wound."
I blush at his praise. "Why thank you, sir. I must say the adrenaline helped a lot." I let out a delicate laugh. "I was rather worried for Colonel Hamilton."
The men all laugh at this, and I smile back a little shakily, still not understanding why I'm here. Suddenly emboldened, I ask bluntly, "Where were you all during the fighting?"
The men all look a little uneasy at this, especially Laurens who looks down at his feet in a show of shame. General Lee clears his throat and replies, "I was busy overseeing the movement of the men, of course, Miss Schuyler. If I could, I would've been down there fighting alongside the soldiers like Colonel Hamilton so bravely did." Yet, his pompous, self-important tone conveys otherwise.
Funny I didn't mention Hamilton, and that's who the general jumped to as if guessing where my thoughts were headed.
General Greene speaks up in a more sincere voice, "You see Miss Schuyler, the generals don't usually fight alongside their men. That's what the officers are for."
Oh, man, did he throw Laurens under the bus at that.
As if feeling the need to explain himself, Laurens jumps in hurriedly, "I was carrying dispatches for General Washington, so I couldn't fight." He pauses before adding in a disappointed tone that I find myself believing, "Though I certainly wish I could have."
I nod as I smile graciously at the men. "I see."
Washington clears his throat, indicating silently that he's about to speak, and the men and I quiet. "Miss Schuyler, how would you feel about being a nurse? We could really use the extra hands."
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise at this. I'm completely caught off-guard by his offer. I wring my hands in front of me as I reply in what I hope is an ecstatic voice, "Why I can't think of a better way to make use of myself for the patriotic cause."
Washington gives me a grateful lip-smile. "Thank you, Miss Schuyler. We truly appreciate it."
Well, look what I've gotten myself into. I'm a nurse now.