But in the interest of conciseness, we have omitted, condensed, glossed over, or hand-waved a thousand other historical details. Alexander Hamilton lived only half as long as other Founding Fathers, and yet, he managed to experience seemingly ten times as much. We could not enumerate his many accomplishments within the confines of this novel, and because this was Eliza’s story—not his—we did not attempt to. Instead we’ve conflated or simplified events for maximum dramatic punch, and the astute reader might notice subtle changes in the timeline.
Where a shift in the chronology didn’t fundamentally change the choices faced by the people involved, we erred on the side of brevity. For example, Catherine Van Rensselaer Schuyler and her daughter, Margarita “Peggy” Schuyler Van Rensselaer, did both die in the month of March—but two years apart. This was a dark period in Eliza’s life that included the deaths of Peggy （1801）， Philip （1801）， Mama （1803）， Alexander （1804）， and Papa （1804）。 In consideration of Eliza and Alexander’s arc during this troubled time, we moved Mama’s death in order to highlight the couple’s historical struggle to emerge from their grief in the period before Alexander’s death.
To give the reader a front-row seat, we’ve sparingly placed our protagonist and other characters where they might not have been. One example is the Loyalist attack on Schuyler Mansion, and the chop of the wooden banister, for which there is a vivid and detailed account by a family member, but the veracity of its particulars is questionable. Another example is Evacuation Day where the Hamiltons’ arrival in New York was close enough that we wished to portray it. （No one seems to know why Hamilton was not present at Washington’s subsequent farewell in Fraunces Tavern, so we had to come up with a reason.）
Our focus, as biographical historical novelists, of course, is on character. And that is where we were forced to do the most speculation. For example, historical paintings give proof that Eliza Hamilton was a petite and attractive woman. In fact, Talleyrand thought Eliza’s beauty was underappreciated. Eliza’s admirer Tench Tilghman not only praised her as the finest tempered girl in the world, but also portrayed her athleticism in his diary. Even well into her old age, we are told, Eliza insisted on taking very long walks, traversing fields and climbing over fences. As for her personality, her contemporaries describe her as impulsive and vivacious. She herself copied out a prayer to envision herself as an instrument of God’s will. And, within the realm of what was appropriate for women at the time, she was a relentless crusader, having, as one friend claimed, a “rare sense of justice.”
These were all important details that we took into account in crafting Eliza’s persona.
But our approach to biographical historical fiction has always been to find the character-defining moment in a person’s life and build a story around it.
For Hamilton-centric historians, the defining moment of Eliza’s life seems to be that she stood by her man and forgave her husband’s infidelity. For us, her character-defining moment was the dramatic documented encounter she had with an aging James Monroe.
Just as in the novel, in the twilight of his life, the real President James Monroe wished to reconcile. But an uncompromising and stalwart Eliza wouldn’t have it. What she wanted was an apology, which Monroe would not give. Again, what strikes Hamilton-centric historians about the much ballyhooed meeting was Eliza’s loyalty to her husband.
But what struck us about this visit was that Monroe made it at all.
What would compel the so-called Last Founding Father to seek out Eliza Hamilton? Though Monroe made it a principle of politics to engender his Era of Good Feelings, by the time he paid call to Eliza he’d retired from the presidency and politics. Nor does Monroe appear to have been motivated by guilt because he didn’t offer an apology when Eliza all but demanded one. So why go to the trouble? Especially since this inconvenient visitation almost assuredly took place at Eliza’s home in New York, and not Washington, D.C., as is often posited. （Eliza didn’t move to Washington until the 1840s, at least a decade after Monroe’s death.）
The answer doesn’t seem to have been Monroe’s nostalgia for his old friendship with Alexander Hamilton. In the sparse sketch of their encounter from Allan McLane Hamilton, Monroe doesn’t even mention his old friend and comrade-at-arms. Instead, the former president framed the speech he made to Eliza in terms of how long it had been since they met, and that their past differences could be forgiven and forgotten.