Mrs. Grant and Madame Jule (27 page)

Jule was aided in her endeavors by a new friend, Emma Stevens, a former slave employed as an assistant seamstress to the renowned dressmaker Mrs. Elizabeth Keckley. Although Emma was more than ten years younger than Jule, she had acquired her freedom several years sooner, and she cheerfully assumed the role of Jule’s confidante and guide as she navigated the capital, her new landscape of freedom.

As a very young child, Emma had been manumitted with her mother when their old mistress passed away, but the woman’s heirs had contested the will. Emma and her mother had been kept in slavery for ten long years more while the lawsuit Emma’s mother brought against the heirs dragged out in court. Upon miraculously winning their case, and their freedom, Emma and her mother had adopted the last name of the lawyer who had courageously represented them in a hostile courtroom.

Emma rented a small attic bedroom in the same Twelfth Street boardinghouse where her employer resided, and she often spoke admiringly of Mrs. Keckley’s extraordinary skill and the dignity and grace with which she moved among the city’s elite—as an employee rather than a social equal, perhaps, but respected nonetheless. “Mrs. Keckley is not only Mrs. Lincoln’s modiste, but her most trusted confidante too,” Emma told her proudly. “President Lincoln respects her so much that when he speaks with her—which is often, and in the most warm and friendly manner—he addresses her as Madame Keckley.”

“The president does that?”

Emma nodded emphatically, beaming.

Jule shook her head in wonder. She could only imagine what it would be like to climb so high and succeed so well that the president himself would bestow such a title upon her.

Emma generously used her intimate knowledge of Mrs. Keckley’s dressmaking orders to Jule’s benefit, letting her know which ladies had ordered gowns for special occasions so that Jule might leave a card at their homes announcing her hairdressing services. As the winter social season progressed, particularly busy days found Jule hurrying from one gracious residence to another from morning until early evening, arranging one lady’s golden tresses and another’s dark curls, dispensing ointments and balms to clear the complexion or soften dry hands. She learned the city’s omnibus routes by heart and established a lengthy list of satisfied, loyal customers. She had rarely been busier, and never more confident in herself and her prospects. Though she felt a jolt every time she heard that General Grant was in the capital, Julia was rarely with him, and Jule no longer feared that she would be recognized and arrested. She only occasionally woke sweating and trembling from nightmares that she had been captured and thrown back into slavery. Far more often, terrifying visions of Gabriel suffering beneath the lash somewhere in the impossibly distant Southwest haunted her.

Her dreams had never foretold the future, she reminded herself when her fears for his safety threatened to overwhelm her. Prophecy was Julia’s gift, one more blessing piled upon her abundant store.

Christmas parties kept Jule too busy to brood over her empty arms and lonely bed, and the turning of the year kept her even more constantly employed. The New Year’s Day reception at the White House was the highlight of the season, and Jule learned that it was by custom a three-hour affair in which Mr. Lincoln would stand in the East Room shaking hands and welcoming visitors—foreign diplomats first, then ranking officials, and lastly the public, anyone who wished to come. Naturally every lady who attended the reception or any of the great many private parties that followed it wished to look her best, and after the whirlwind of activity, when Jule and Emma had caught their breath, they compared notes and congratulated each other on a very profitable season.

“You spend so little on your lodging and almost nothing on indulgences for yourself,” Emma noted, a slightly scolding, teasing tone to her voice. “With all the money you’re saving, you should open a little workshop and hire employees to mix and bottle your various potions for you. You could keep selling them to your clients yourself, of course, but you could also find pharmacies that would be willing to sell them for you. I’m sure they would, for a small percentage of the profits.”

Jule had learned to trust Emma’s canny business sense, and she was tempted by the vision of expanding her trade, but she had another, more urgent use for her savings. “Every penny I don’t have to spend on essentials must go to buying Gabriel’s freedom,” she said, “but first, to finding him. I know the search will cost money too.”

“Do you really think there’s any hope you’ll ever find him?”

Jule’s breath stuck in her throat. “Of course,” she managed to say. “I have to believe that. Don’t you see?”

Emma regarded her with stricken sympathy. “I do see,” she said, laying her hand on Jule’s arm. “Maybe when the war’s over, Gabriel will find you before you’ve exhausted your fortune on the search. Wouldn’t you have a merry time spending it together?”

Jule felt tears gathering, but she managed a smile. “That’s not Gabriel’s way. He’d want to distribute it to the less fortunate. But I don’t suppose he’d mind a little celebration too.”

“I look forward to meeting him,” said Emma sincerely, and Jule thought they were some of the kindest words anyone had ever spoken to her.

•   •   •

Early in the New Year, the deed to a fully furnished residence worth fifty thousand dollars on Chestnut Street in Philadelphia was delivered to Julia at the cottage in Burlington.

The loyal citizens of that generous city had raised the funds out of respect for General Grant and a desire to express the people’s gratitude in a tangible, practical manner. Overwhelmed, Julia immediately wrote back to thank them on her husband’s behalf, and after sending off the letter, she promptly telegraphed the astonishing news to Ulys at City Point. “I think you had as well arrange to move into your new house at once and get Nellie and Jess at good schools,” he replied in his next letter. “Leave Fred and Buck where they are. They have been changed from one school to another often enough. As soon as I can I will run up and see you in your new house.”

Julia had scarcely begun to make inquiries when Ulys sent another dispatch summoning her to City Point, and so instead of preparing to move to Philadelphia, she quickly made arrangements for an extended absence from Burlington. Her lovely sister-in-law Helen had recently moved her children to the East to be closer to Frederick, and she agreed to watch over her nephews and niece while Julia was away. When all was in order, Julia traveled the familiar route by rail and steamer to Fortress Monroe, where Ulys met her and escorted her the rest of the way.

General Rufus Ingalls, Ulys’s quartermaster and longtime friend, met them at the dock with a team of carpenters, all grinning and fairly bursting with some secret. Mystified, Julia accepted General Ingalls’s arm and allowed him to escort her to a bluff overlooking the James River. There, to her delight, he led her to a charming cabin standing among a little village of smaller cabins. Bare-limbed trees surrounded it, promising cool shade come springtime, and the Stars and Stripes waved proudly from a flagpole in the front garden.

“Your new quarters, madam,” Ingalls said, gesturing grandly to the cabin.

“It’s lovely, absolutely lovely,” Julia declared. “I cannot thank you enough.”

“We built this for the general especially so you could stay with him,” the general replied, beaming proudly. “We miss you too much when you’re away.”

“You flatter me,” Julia protested, laughing, and happily agreed to let him show her around. A large front room would serve as parlor, dining room, and office, and its large open fireplace would spread warmth to all corners. Doors on the far wall led to two bedrooms, offering beds enough for all whenever the children came to visit. The cabin was simply furnished, with only the necessities, but as Julia’s gaze traveled around the front room, she knew she could easily transform the rustic place into a cozy home.

She soon had the cabin in good order, and it proved to be as snug and cozy as any winter quarters she and Ulys had yet shared. As the weeks passed, many notable visitors called there to confer with Ulys—General Edward Ord, General George Meade, and others—and Julia listened surreptitiously from her chair by the fireplace while vital matters of the war were discussed. Occasionally Ulys was obliged to travel to Washington to confer with the president and secretary of war, and usually Julia would accompany him, enjoying the sights and grandeur of Washington. They never stayed long, for Ulys always felt most urgently that he should return to military headquarters before the rebels discovered he was away and took advantage of his absence to launch an assault.

It seemed to Julia as they traveled from a round of military meetings in Washington City back to City Point that there were fewer naval vessels upon the waters than on her previous journeys. “You’re not mistaken,” Ulys told her. “The admiral has withdrawn nearly all the navy’s ships from the James in order to increase his fleet for an expedition against Fort Fisher.”

“Far be it for me to question the judgment of an admiral,” Julia ventured, “but doesn’t that leave your headquarters vulnerable to attack?”

Ulys smiled and took her hand. “Don’t worry, my dear little wife. The enemy’s fleet lies near Richmond, and we’ve sunk obstructions in the river at Trent’s Reach. The Confederate gunboats won’t be able to get around them.”

That evening at supper, which they shared with some of Ulys’s officers and staff, Ingalls seemed both disturbed and disappointed that the rebel navy had not attempted a strike against City Point. “General, what do you suppose those fellows mean by not coming down?” he asked Ulys. “I don’t understand them. By all rights, they should have been down here three days ago.”

“They’re coming, Ingalls,” Ulys replied. “You keep a sharp lookout and be prepared for them.”

As the men retired to the fireside to smoke and confer and Julia began to clear away the dishes, another messenger arrived. “The naval officer sent to place the torpedoes discovered Confederate ironclads moving down the river,” he reported.

The men became instantly alert, the announcement an electric jolt through their senses. “How many?” asked Ulys.

“Six vessels, sir. By half past ten o’clock, they’d passed the upper end of Dutch Gap Canal.”

Ulys inhaled deeply on his cigar, and by the time he released the plume of smoke, he had a plan. He ordered two officers to take boats out to certain naval vessels, warn them of the anticipated attack, and direct them to move up the river and prevent the enemy’s fleet from reaching City Point. He sent a third officer to communicate with a gunboat stationed at some distance from the boats, and issued orders to move all heavy guns within reach down to the river shore, where their fire could command the channel. As his staff rushed to obey, Ulys sat and wrote a dispatch to Captain William Albert Parker suggesting that he immediately tow coal schooners up the river and prepare to sink them in the channel if necessary.

“We reached the naval vessel by means of steam tugs,” Lieutenant Colonel Horace Porter reported more than an hour later. “Most of the vessels sent up the river as obstructions are out of repair and almost unserviceable, but their officers are determined to make the best fight they can.”

“Good,” Ulys said curtly. As he lit another cigar and Porter busied himself with documents at Ulys’s desk, Julia understood they could do nothing now but wait, try to get some sleep, and hope the defenses held.

Much later, a sharp, nervous rapping on the cabin door jolted Julia awake.

“Hello,” called Ulys, already out of bed and pulling on his clothes while Julia remained beneath the covers, groggily trying to remember where she was. “Enter!”

Julia heard the front door open, and Ulys hurried from the bedroom to meet their visitor. She climbed out of bed and groped for her clothes in the darkness, her long, loose braid slipping over her shoulder, her heart pounding.

“General,” she heard Major Dunn say, breathless. “The rebel gunboats have cleared the obstructions. They’re coming down the river.”

A frisson of alarm ran through her as she dressed, but she composed herself before joining Ulys and Major Dunn in the front room. The major bowed to her when she entered, his hands clasped behind his back, his mouth in a hard, tense line.

“Ulys,” she asked. “Will the rebel gunboats shell the bluff?”

Ulys took his cigar in hand and regarded her with level calm. “If they make it within range, we can well imagine what they would do.”

Julia nodded, understanding him completely. Not only were the general in chief and his senior staff present and vulnerable, but Ingalls had accumulated an enormous amount of supplies at City Point, and their destruction would be a serious blow to the Union army.

Julia had just finished pouring coffee for Ulys, Dunn, and herself when Porter arrived with more harrowing news. “Due to the high water, the enemy’s boats were able to clear the obstructions,” he said, his voice brittle with anger and disgust. “Upon the approach of the enemy’s vessels, the
Onondaga
retreated down the river.”

“Retreated, not was driven back?” asked Ulys. “You’re certain?”

Porter nodded. “The captain lost his head, and under pretense of trying to obtain a more advantageous position, he turned his vessel and moved downstream below the pontoon bridge.”

Julia set the coffeepot on the table so hard the lid rattled. While Ulys issued orders for the shore batteries to respond with all possible vigor, she resumed her seat by the fire and clasped her hands in her lap. “Ulys,” she asked steadily, “what am I to do?”

For a moment Ulys regarded her as if he had forgotten she was present. “You shouldn’t even be here.”

“You sent for me,” she reminded him pointedly.

“I could drive her into the country beyond the range of their shells,” Dunn offered.

“You can’t be spared simply to protect one person,” Julia protested. “No. I shall remain here, as safe as any of you.”

The looks the men exchanged told her that they did not consider themselves safe at all.

By dawn the
Onondaga
had moved within nine hundred yards of the Confederate ironclad flagship
Virginia
and had opened fire upon her. Union batteries on the shore had trained their guns upon her and commenced a general bombardment. The Confederate flagship had been struck about one hundred thirty times, the fifteen-inch shells damaging it heavily.