Dear, Hamilton

Congratulations Angelica, you've invented a new form of stupid

I spend the next four weeks with my sisters-- and parents-- at the Pastures. All the men had left for Valley Forge, so the house felt empty and, to be honest, a bit lonely. But we made up for the loneliness and emptiness of the house by spending the time outdoors and keeping ourselves busy with various household tasks. 

I'm sitting in the living room one day with Peggy, embroidery a handkerchief for Peggy when Angelica comes bursting in with a grin.

 "Eliza!" she chirps as she strides forward with a whoosh of her skirts. "We're making a surprise visit to Valley Forge!"

I perk up in my seat at this and set down my embroidery in my lap as I ask with widened eyes, "And how did this idea come to be?"

Angelica gives me a little wink as she sits down in one of the available armchairs and tells me, "I heard from down the line that the army is at a lull at the moment. No battles or skirmishes in sight for at least a week and a half." She shrugs casually as she finishes, "I thought we could drop by and say hello to a few of our friends." She gives me a pointed look at the word "friends". 

I blush. 

Hamilton and I have been exchanging a steady stream of correspondence for the past few weeks. Or at least I thought I was keeping up with his letters until I received a letter from him in which he claimed, 

It is now a week my Eliza since I have heard from you. In that time I have written you twice. I think it will be advisable in the future to number our letters, for I have reason to suspect they do not all meet with fair play. This is number one. 

(author's note: Alexander Hamilton's exact words ^. That's true!)

When I had read this piece of his letter, I couldn't help the laugh that had bubbled within me. It was so typical of him to count the letters he had sent me and compare them to the number of letters I had sent him. 

But it is hard to keep up with his correspondence. He sends me so many letters, all of them so beautifully written and thoughtful that when I put a pen to the paper, I find myself struggling to find the words to express myself. I want to send him letters equally as comforting to him as his letters are for me, but I find I'm not as skilled at writing as he. I labor over every word and sentence I write in my attempt to perfectly capture my thoughts and feelings. 

The other thing that makes it difficult to write to him is the fact that I don't receive some of his letters. It is wartime, after all, so letters are bound to get lost. But when his letters do reach me, sometimes they're out of order in terms of the date he had written them. I'll receive two letters, one from four days ago, the other from two weeks ago. 

Nevertheless, I enjoy receiving his letters, despite how out-of-date some of them are. And it is these letters that have me yearning to see him again. So when Angelica suggests a visit, I almost immediately agree.

"When do we leave?" I ask her with barely veiled excitement. 

"Oh, just leave me out of it will you," Peggy speaks up with a pout from where she sits opposite of me on the couch. 

Angelica gives her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Peggy. I thought since you don't really have anyone there--"

--"Of course I do. You know, I'm friends with Lafayette and Laurens and Hamilton, too," Peggy snorts before glancing down at her lap and resuming her knitting. 

"I just thought maybe you should stay to help mother," Angelica says in an attempt to smooth things over. "She will have more work to do in the house with Eliza and me away."