I tried to imagine Papa’s reaction, an endeavor that made my headache worsen. What would he think of his new son-in-law who, having achieved the security of our family reputation and fortune, nearly immediately, and in a moment of pique, insulted and abandoned George Washington?
There must be some way to fix this. So, despite the sharpening soreness in my throat, and the agony of facing Martha Washington when our husbands were now at odds, I went to headquarters with Alexander the next day, working with her as I always did and sitting in quiet observation. Hoping some opportunity might arise for me to smooth over this rift.
True to his word, Alexander conducted himself that day as if nothing untoward had occurred. But Mrs. Washington knew better. Sitting beside me in the farmhouse’s parlor as we wrote letters requesting funds for the soldiers, she spoke quietly, never lifting her gaze from the parchment. “Have you had the opportunity to meet the woman in camp they’re calling Captain Molly?”
Mrs. Washington was referring to the wife of a cannoneer who, during the Battle of Monmouth, had been bringing pitchers of water to the soldiers when her husband fell. To avenge him, “Captain Molly” took his place at the cannon with admirable courage and service. I’d seen the stout, red-haired, freckle-faced young woman in camp. But I’d never spoken to her. “I’m afraid we’re not acquainted. Should we be?”
Martha’s lips pinched for a moment. “It’s just that she puts me in mind of something. If our independence is to be won, our husbands must be willing to put themselves in harm’s way. But achieving independence also relies on the support of our women . . . in whatever manner best supports the cause.”
My quill paused, and I looked up at this wise lady from whom I’d already learned so much. “In whatever manner?” I asked, willing her to say more.
Her brown eyes clear, her graying hair framing her round face under the plain mobcap, she said, “Even great men require advisers, and we have our husbands’ ears. Sometimes we encourage, sometimes we challenge, and sometimes we manage . . .”
I couldn’t imagine how a man like Alexander might be managed, but perhaps she could. I returned my quill to the ink pot and sat back in my chair. “How?”
She smiled, shaking away the sand we used to dry the ink. Then she poured a circle of wax upon the page to seal it. “If I could tell you that, perhaps the war would already be done.”
I suspected she had somehow managed General Washington into offering an apology. And now it was up to me to get Alexander to accept it. But I felt ill-equipped for the task. Martha Washington was, in my mind, the ideal of a true woman. More amiable and diplomatic than my own beloved mother. Martha had, for more than twenty years, worn around her finger a plain wedding band that symbolized her devotion to—and perhaps her influence over—her husband. Whereas I was a newlywed and still learning how to influence mine.
Foundering as if in a canoe without a paddle while I did it.
And the one person who seemed as frustrated as I felt was Lafayette.
That afternoon when taking lunch to the back room where my husband labored over the general’s correspondence, I overheard the Frenchman cry, “Mon Dieu, the feud I started by accident! My dear Hamilton, how I wish I hadn’t stopped you to talk when the general needed you. I make all the apologies.”
“No one blames you, my friend,” my husband replied.
“Better to blame me than His Excellency,” Lafayette said stoutly. I hesitated just outside the slightly open door, riveted by our friend’s effort to talk sense into Alexander. “Your being angry with him will pass, Hamilton. But trust in someone who has tender sentiments for you—if you quit this army now, you will be angry at yourself the rest of your life.”
I held my breath, because my husband had said nothing to me of quitting the army itself—only Washington’s service.
Whatever Alexander replied was too muffled to hear, but the marquis’s unusually soft tones were just audible. “Then make me a promise, do not resign your commission. If nothing better can be found, come fight beside me and Monroe in Virginia and command our artillery. Like old times. I will not go until you agree.”
I withdrew to the kitchen, not wishing to be caught eavesdropping. How was I to make all of this better when Hamilton seemed intent on making it worse?
Some moments later, Lafayette surprised me when he walked in, nearly banging his head on the copper pots hanging from the rafters. “Madame Hamilton, you marry a most obstinate man.”