Dear, Hamilton

The One Left Behind

We spend the rest of the afternoon packing up the carriages with Angelica and John's stuff, but it's a lot of work so we end up having to delay their departure until tomorrow.

I huff as I drop the last bag of the day down onto the ground beside the carriage before taking a step away. The driver comes by and takes the bag to store it somewhere on the carriage, and I wipe the sweat from my brow with a hand. Except, it's so cold outside that the sheen of sweat on my face is nearly gone already.

The sun is setting over the horizon, so the temperature is dropping fast. It's roughly forty five degrees if I had to guess. Even though it's April, it still gets cold at night and in the mornings. I tug my shawl closer around my shoulders, silently wishing that I could wear my nice, warm Patagonia jacket at home.

Home?

Do I still consider the twenty-first century my home? No, not really. Not anymore. But I had still thought for a split second that it was my home. It's not as if I miss anyone from that life. Maybe my brother, but we've never been entirely close, and I think he's okay without me.

Yet, I had still thought of the twenty-first century as home. I push away my misgivings at this revelation and start walking back to the front door.

The house is lit up in the growing darkness, and I can hear music drifting outside. It must be Angelica playing at the piano, most likely to entertain our guest, Aaron Burr. When I step inside, I quickly rub my hands together and breath into them to warm them up.

The music is louder now that I'm inside, and it's coming from the living room. I make my way around the corner and catch sight of Angelica sitting before the piano, moonlight spilling over her shoulders from the window behind her. Her fingers rapidly splay across the keyboard as she plays a fast, uplifting song.

My father and Peggy stand near the piano with grins on their faces as they look on and admire her music. John and my mother are sitting down in the two armchairs, both of them staring at Angelica with soft smiles on their faces.

I bet my mother is happy to see that Angelica turned out well. The perfect daughter. The married one who's about to start a family and can play the piano perfectly.

Why do my thoughts sound bitter?

Angelica finishes the song with a high note, and the note rings through the air for a moment before the room erupts in applause. "That was beautiful, Angelica!" Mr. Church compliments here he sits in one of the armchairs.

She beams at him, and as she's looking away from him, she catches sight of me standing in the doorway in silence, observing everyone. "Eliza!" she calls. "Come play a song!"

Everyone turns as one to look at me, and I have the strong urge to shrink away and hide up in my room. I offer a weak smile as I say with a dismissive wave of my hand, "I'm not that good. Go on and play another song."

Peggy shouts, "Oh, come on Eliza! You were the best at the piano!"

I catch her use of the past tense.

Before I can protest or make up an excuse, someone says from within the room, "I would love to hear Mrs. Eliza play."

I take a step further into the room and turn my head towards the source of the smooth voice to find Aaron Burr sitting on the couch, a glass full of a dark liquid loosely held in one hand. His aloof eyes meet mine. I hadn't even noticed him there in the room. He so easily fades into the background. 

"Play us a song," he suggests, but it comes off as a command as if he's been so long issuing orders to soldiers that he can't seem to shake off the habit.