Alexander

I married her as the snow fell on the ground. She was dressed in a blue gown. She had a wedding bonnet on, which covered the majority of her face.

I couldn't have cared less. She still looked beautiful to me, despite the coverings and the modesty and tradition itself.

Catherine and Philip Schuyler sat together proudly, holding each other's hands. I had reason to believe they are living vicariously through Eliza, but who am I to judge? I was able to choose my wife, someone who makes my heart ache whenever I go a moment without her.

Eliza placed her hands in mine. They were warm despite the frigid air outside. I smiled at her warmly. Her gaze reached me, just as warm and welcoming.

The procession was basic and fulfilling. I swore my life to her, and she swore hers to me. Yet, my favorite part of this entire process was putting the wedding band on her finger.

Eliza's hands are small, dainty. I chose an infinity band; it is two bands hooked together, and when you swivel them they create an infinity sign. On the inside of the bands, it reads, "Alexander Elizabeth, 1780."

As I finished putting the ring on her finger, she took my hand and did the same for me. She squeezed my hand so hard that the skin around her fingers turned white, as did her knuckles.

I lift up her veil, and brought my hands to her cheeks for a quick moment.

Philip Schuyler stood up to sign our marriage certificate as a witness. Peggy signed it as well. When I looked over my shoulder, Angelica stood completely frozen, her eyes glazed over. In my mind, she looked similar to her sister on the day we met. Horrified.

I didn't say anything to Eliza at the time. I didn't say anything to her during the ball, either. I still haven't said anything to her yet.

I knew why I didn't say anything. I hope Angelica knows why, too.

Now, I sit at my desk, moving my wedding band between my two fingers. All I can think about is the way Angelica stood in front of everyone, her champagne flute raised in the air. She wished for us to always be satisfied, for the revolution to prosper. Then, she sat besides Peggy and whispered something. "Eliza's his wife." Even now, I can't think of anything else. Why would she say that? What was the meaning behind it? I don't know, and I do not believe I ever will.

Eliza lays in our wedding bed behind me, making tiny snoring noises. I only think about the fact that she will not be quick to rise after tonight. I keep moving the ring between my fingers. Despite my anxieties, the motion is soothing.

It must be about four in the morning when I lay beside my wife. I wrap an arm around her, kissing behind her ear. To my surprise, I am out like a light.

I dream not of my wife, but of the youngest Schuyler sister. Her yellow gown swishes as if there is a heavy wind in the parlor of the Schuyler home. Harsh, bright, heavenly lights fill the room and bounce off of the bookcases that line the walls. No couches, no endtables, no harpsichord that Eliza plays, no furniture at all. The room is coated in a white haze, telling me that I am alone, that this dream will not end until I wake up.

Peggy Schuyler takes my hand, her chocolate eyes glowing. She grins at me. "Welcome, Alexander. You are now one of us."

I laugh a bit, unable to keep my tongue under control. "I will never be one of you. You know that."

Peggy stands, bringing me with her. She grabs me across the room to the door in the back. "Soon. Soon. Soon," she mutters the word over and over again. She flings the door open, and a void is open to me. I lean forward only a little bit. I can't see anything; the darkness is overwhelming.

I last thing I feel is Peggy's hand pressed on my back. The next thing I know, I'm falling.