I’d never been the sort of woman to issue commands, not even with my children. And Church looked as taken aback as an Englishman would ever allow himself to be. “Now, Eliza, please be reasonable.”
“I’m being perfectly reasonable. Alexander’s last will says that his things are to be disposed of at such time and in such manner as his survivor sees fit. And I am the survivor and heir.”
“No one disputes that,” Church replied with a long-suffering sigh.
“Then please tell Mr. Pendleton that I must have an inventory of every scrap of paper that was taken. Every scrap.”
“If you insist,” Church said.
“I do.” With that, I sat in the leather chair, put my trembling hands atop the desk, and took a moment to compose myself.
My sister pulled up a seat beside me and slipped her hand into mine. “It’s only that such things must be broached softly with Mr. Pendleton. He is a man it wouldn’t do to alienate at this moment.”
I knew she was right. Not because Pendleton was an executor, but because he was our only friendly witness to the duel. The only man who could establish that my husband was murdered in cold blood. Because Burr’s witness, William Van Ness, was telling a different story—that Alexander had fiddled with his glasses, sighted the pistol, and fired first at Burr, not in the air as he truly had. I hated hearing these details, dreaming of them, fearing that our children would hear them one day, too. But they were important to know, and to refute, in order to protect my husband’s reputation.
“Then please broach it softly with him. In the meantime, I’ll take Hamilton’s papers with me to the Grange.”
Church scowled. “Surely you realize you cannot return to the Grange.”
I realized no such thing. “Why not?”
“You have limited means without Hamilton’s income. It’s impossible for you to be at the Grange without horses, which you can ill afford. Besides, their expense would pay for your house rent here in town. In fact, the Grange might be let . . .”
I blinked, having never considered the possibility of renting the house my husband had been so proud to build for us. Imagining strangers there was too much, on top of everything else . . .
But now I realized that the decision wasn’t mine—it was yet another thing the executors might decide for me. Women had never been granted the right to vote in New York. We couldn’t hold office and were barred from certain occupations. Our ability to manage property and legal matters was circumscribed. So I should have expected that my fate might be entrusted to my brother-in-law.
Certainly John Barker Church had always been indulgent with Angelica; she was as free as any woman I knew under laws that still made a husband his wife’s master. But I hadn’t married him and chafed at the idea Alexander should’ve left me even remotely under his power.
Church, the man whose accursed pistols had killed both my son and my husband.
My sister must have sensed my fury and resentment, because she gave her husband a sharp glance. “We didn’t think you’d wish to take the boys out of school in the city, Eliza. You can, of course, leave them with us if you prefer to live at the Grange.”
It was a generous offer, but Alexander and I had determined that our children should never be without at least one parent’s care. And did I not owe it to the memory of my beloved husband to keep his children together?
Church cleared his throat. “You might as well know, Hamilton painted a rather more rosy picture of the value of his assets than warranted.”
I flinched, half in disbelief. “My husband was the architect of this nation’s economy. You cannot expect me to believe—”
“He was careful with the nation’s money, but not his own,” Angelica replied, and given her expression, I realized that my sister wished to tell me this even less than I wanted to hear it.
“I don’t understand,” I said, wanting to see the proof for myself.
Church cleared his throat again. “I estimate the debt to be somewhere in the nature of fifty thousand dollars.”
It was so staggering a sum, I lost all power of speech. Even if Hamilton had lived, it would have taken years of hard work and frugality to ever repay it.
“You needn’t be frightened,” Church quickly added, affecting a smile that attempted reassurance and warmth. “Your father and I will see to your day-to-day needs, of course. And, if need be, the Grange can eventually be sold.” Now it felt as if the world fell out beneath me completely. A cry of anguish escaped me before Church hastened to say, “But you won’t lose it. After the auction, you’ll be able to buy the Grange back at half its price.”