Mrs. Grant and Madame Jule (33 page)

Tomorrow they would nurse headaches and sour stomachs, but for the moment, nothing could diminish their rejoicing. Jule could not say the same for herself, for regret tempered her happiness—regret for the unexpected kiss, for Gabriel’s absence, for the profound loneliness that only a reunion with her beloved husband could assuage.

That day was coming, she told herself. Every victory General Grant won brought Gabriel that much closer.

•   •   •

As Ulys and the Army of the Potomac relentlessly pursued General Lee’s forces, the thrilling promise of victory brought a torrent of visitors from the North down upon City Point. The president and his wife had apparently reconciled via the post and the telegraph, for on April 5, two days after the fall of Richmond, Mrs. Lincoln and a small party of companions joined the president aboard the
River Queen,
docked not one hundred yards from the
Mary Martin.
Before calling at the presidential ship, Julia enlisted as her escort Congressman Elihu Washburne, a friend of Ulys’s from their Galena days. Aboard the River Queen, they were kindly received and introduced to one and all—Senator Charles Sumner; Secretary of the Interior James Harlan and his wife; their daughter Miss Mary Harlan, whom Robert Lincoln was courting; the Marquis de Chambrun, visiting from France; and an elegant, fashionably attired colored woman whom Mrs. Lincoln introduced as her friend Mrs. Elizabeth Keckley, a dressmaker.

After Julia paid her respects, Mrs. Lincoln said, as if continuing an interrupted conversation, “Suppose we ask Mrs. Grant. Let her answer this important question.”

Offering a serene smile to mask her sudden wariness, Julia inquired, “What question is that?”

“What should be done with the Confederate president Jefferson Davis,” Senator Sumner asked, “in the event of his capture?”

“What should be done?” Julia echoed thoughtfully, stalling for time. Just then her eyes met those of Mr. Lincoln, who regarded her with a friendly smile. Inspired, Julia said, “I would trust him to the mercy of our always just and most gracious president.”

“Well said, madame,” declared the Marquis de Chambrun.

“A most diplomatic answer,” praised Secretary Harlan.

Even Mrs. Lincoln beamed approval, to Julia’s relief.

The next morning the sun rose golden and warm in a sky of perfect blue, so Julia decided to invite Mrs. Lincoln and Tad on a picnic. She put on her prettiest bonnet, took Jesse by the hand, and went ashore—only to discover that the
River Queen
was gone.

Puzzled, she inquired among the men working the docks and discovered that Mrs. Lincoln had organized an excursion to Richmond for her companions. “She got upset when she learned that Mr. Lincoln visited the city without her the day after it fell,” an ensign confided. “So Mr. Lincoln obliged her with a second trip.”

Julia was hurt that she had not been invited along, and her sense that Mrs. Lincoln had intentionally excluded her heightened the next morning, when she called at the
River Queen
after breakfast only to learn that the presidential party had taken a special train to Petersburg to tour the fallen city. “I know Mrs. Lincoln is easily offended,” Julia confided to Mary Emma and Antoinette, “but I don’t understand how she could have forgotten me.”

“Oh, she hasn’t forgotten you,” said Antoinette archly. “She simply likes you less, as the people like your husband more. Their cries of ‘Grant for president!’ are like the crash of cymbals in her ear.”

“He doesn’t want to be president,” Julia protested. “He made that perfectly clear before the last election.”

“With the war almost won, perhaps Mrs. Lincoln fears he’ll be searching for another occupation.”

“If so, her fears are entirely unjustified,” said Julia, hurt, “as was her ungenerous decision to leave us behind.”

“Why don’t we make up our own party and take our own boat to Richmond?” said Mary Emma.

Antoinette clapped her hands, delighted. “A splendid idea! We don’t need Mrs. Lincoln to enjoy ourselves.”

Congressman Washburne, as curious to see the vanquished Confederate capital as they, agreed to escort them, and two other officers were easily persuaded to join the group. Soon the
Mary Martin
set out upon the James, and in the company of her cheerful, loyal friends, Julia enjoyed the warm sunshine on the forward deck, savoring the breeze and the pure, balmy air. The river flowed along majestically, its banks lovely and fragrant with the first sweet blossoms of spring. Beyond them stretched fair fields, the very image of peacetime bounty—but all too often, the illusion of prosperity was broken by glimpses of deserted army camps and ruined forts, the ugly scars of war.

Before long the steamer landed at Richmond, and after disembarking, Julia’s small party arranged for carriages to take them through the city. Their pleasant conversation soon fell silent as they rode through the ruins of the former capital, still smoldering after the fires the Confederates had set as they evacuated, destroying valuable supplies rather than leave them for the Yankees. The streets were unnaturally subdued except for occasional patrols of Union soldiers, a few thin citizens in worn clothing who averted their eyes as they hurried past on business of their own, and an occasional colored servant who glared at them as intruders, which Julia felt they were indeed. The streets surrounding the public buildings were covered in papers—letters and government documents, Julia surmised—and the Virginia statehouse where the Confederate Congress had met was in a state of disarray that spoke of fear and haste—desk drawers yanked open, papers scattered, chairs overturned as if their last occupants had fled in alarm.

The scenes of sorrow and suffering grieved Julia so much that after circling the capitol square she asked to be taken back to the boat. While the others continued touring the city, she gazed out upon the river, listening to the familiar peeping of frogs, so reminiscent of her Missouri home that tears sprang to her eyes. On what was surely the eve of her husband’s greatest triumph, she was haunted by the tragedies of the long years of war—the homes made desolate, the hearts broken, the treasure lost, the young lives sacrificed.

Eventually her friends and their escorts returned to the boat, which soon thereafter carried them back to City Point. When they landed, they were informed that the presidential party had returned from Petersburg and intended to depart for Washington that evening.

Later, alone in her stateroom, Julia was mulling over the day when Captain Barnes called. “Would you please escort me to the president’s boat?” she asked after they had chatted awhile. “I haven’t seen much of their party of late, and I understand that they’re leaving tonight. I’d like to pay my respects and say farewell.”

“Certainly, Mrs. Grant,” the captain replied, surprised, “but aren’t you going to the reception tonight?”

“Reception?”

“Why, yes, madam. Have you received no notice of it?”

“No,” said Julia, doing her best to sound unconcerned. “But I presume I will in good time.”

“I’d be happy to escort you now,” Captain Barnes said, discomfited, “if you wish to call on them sooner.”

“No, that’s quite all right.” Julia managed a smile, embarrassed for them both. “I’ll wait for the reception.”

But after the captain left, she waited in vain for a messenger to bring her an invitation. The stars came out, and scarcely a hundred yards away, the crew of the
River Queen
illuminated the ship with lanterns from bow to stern until it shone like an enchanted palace. She watched from the forward cabin as a military band went aboard, but when the sound of tuning instruments and laughter and conversation drifted to her across the water, she drew on her shawl and turned away, disconsolate.

•   •   •

Sunday dawned warm and clear, with bright sunshine that soon lifted the dew from the grassy riverbanks and softened the mists rising from the river. Julia spent the morning in prayer and contemplation of scripture, and later that afternoon, she and Mary Emma Rawlins received callers in the forward cabin. They were engaged in earnest conversation with several officers from the army and navy, weighing the probability of imminent peace, when a telegraph officer from headquarters appeared, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and beaming, a piece of paper clutched in a grip so tight his hand trembled. “Mrs. Grant,” he exclaimed. “May I have a word?”

“Certainly.” Rising, Julia followed the young officer into the corridor, where she instinctively lowered her voice. “What’s the news?”

“Glad news—but it would cost me my head if old Stanton knew I had told you first.”

“I won’t tell him. You have my word.”

He took a deep breath and blurted, “General Lee surrendered this day to General Grant at Appomattox Court House.”

Julia gasped and pressed her hand to her heart, reaching out with the other to steady herself on the wall. “Can this be true? Are you certain?”

The telegrapher nodded and read the terms of surrender. The officers and men of the Army of Northern Virginia would be paroled on the condition that they would not take up arms against the government of the United States. Their arms, artillery, and public property—excluding officers’ sidearms, private horses, and baggage—would be turned over to the Union. That done, all officers and soldiers would be permitted to return to their homes and would not be disturbed by the government of the United States as long as they observed their parole and the laws of the places where they resided.

Overwhelming force followed by mercy—she would have expected nothing less from her Ulys.

“I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn, madam,” the telegrapher said, “but I felt that you should know as soon as anyone else, even the president.” He bowed and hurried out, leaving her to stare after him, speechless from disbelief and dizzy with joy. She had not thanked him. She had not even learned his name.

When she returned to the forward cabin, Mary Emma and the officers urged her to tell them what she knew, but she demurred. It was a relief when, twenty minutes later, great shouts of joy rang out along the bluff, loud cries of “The Union forever!” and “Hurrah!” and “Hallelujah!” Julia’s companions guessed her secret before it burst from her, but then they laughed and cheered in celebration, embracing and shaking hands and praising God and wiping tears from their eyes. Hundreds of boats crowded the river, carrying sightseers from Washington and New York and Boston and parts beyond, and as word of the surrender spread across the waters, one boat after another pulled alongside the
Mary Martin
to shout congratulations to Julia, beaming and waving hats and handkerchiefs. Other eager well-wishers came aboard, eager to voice the prediction, “General Grant will certainly be the next president.”

The next day, dispatches from the front arrived announcing that Julia and her companions could expect their husbands for a late dinner that evening. After making arrangements with the captain for dinner to be served to as many officers as the steamer could accommodate, Julia, Mary Emma, and Antoinette donned their best dresses, arranged their hair becomingly, and gathered with their children in the saloon to await the arrival of their gallant heroes.

The hours passed. The anxious wives watched the clock and peered off the bow to the shore, eager for the first glimpse of the men they loved. The children grew hungry, so their mothers fed them, but although their own stomachs rumbled they denied themselves, determined to wait until their heroes could join them at the table.

Finally the hour grew so late that the children fell asleep curled up in armchairs and had to be carried off to their staterooms and to bed. Soon thereafter, a telegraph arrived for Julia. “Tell Mrs. Grant and party we will not be in as soon as we elected and cannot say at what time now.”

They sighed worriedly and resolved to stay up, but finally, at four o’clock, exhausted by their long vigil, they retired to their staterooms—not to sleep, they agreed, but only to rest for a while. After checking on Jesse, Julia fell upon her bed, still dressed, and sank instantly into sleep.

“Julia.” A hand brushed her cheek. “Wake up, my dear little wife.”

Julia quickly sat up, blinking sleep from her eyes, and she flung her arms around her husband. “Oh, Ulys, at last!”

“We wanted to return sooner,” he said, holding her close, “but the railroad was damaged and our train ran off the rails three times. I’m sorry we kept you waiting.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.” And he was, safe and sound and triumphant. “You’re here, and you were never more my victor than you are at this moment.”

He held her tightly, without speaking, his arms strong though trembling with fatigue, and when she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply of his scent—cigar smoke and pine and horses and warmth—she could not speak for the love and relief and gratitude that filled her, permeating every thought, every heartbeat, every fiber, every bone.

A
PRIL
1865

S
oon thereafter aboard the
Mary Martin,
the previous night’s dinner was served as breakfast to nearly fifty famished officers, three proud ladies, and several excited children. Ulys ate quietly while his officers reverently described every detail of the surrender ceremony—General Lee’s dignified approach on his large, handsome, gray horse called Traveler; his cordial reception at the residence of Wilmer McLean; Lee’s striking appearance in a new uniform of Confederate gray, coat buttoned to the throat, fine boots ornamented with stitching in red silk, and long, gray buckskin gauntlets; his handsome sword, of exceedingly fine workmanship, the hilt studded with glittering jewels; the courteous discussion and slight modification of the terms; the formal signing of the documents.

“A little before four o’clock, General Lee shook hands with General Grant, bowed to the other officers, and left the room,” Colonel Porter told Julia. “We officers followed him out to the porch, solemn and quiet. General Lee signaled to his orderly to bring up his horse, and while it was being bridled, he stood on the lowest step and gazed sadly in the direction of the valley where his army lay—now an army of prisoners.”

“How bravely he endured it,” said Julia, finding herself unexpectedly sympathetic.

Porter nodded. “Everyone who beheld him at this, his moment of supreme trial, understood the sadness that overwhelmed him. He thrice smote the palm of his left hand slowly with his right fist in an absent sort of way, seeming unaware of the Union officers in the yard who rose respectfully at his approach. The arrival of his horse interrupted his reverie, and as General Lee mounted, General Grant stepped down from the porch and saluted him by raising his hat.”

“Every officer present imitated him in this act of courtesy,” Badeau broke in. “Lee raised his hat respectfully to us all, and rode off at a slow trot to break the sad news to the brave fellows whom he had so long commanded.”

Julia could imagine it all, every somber glance shared, every respectful phrase spoken. She was a bit taken aback, then, to discover that not long after the ceremony ended, Ulys’s officers, understanding well the historical significance of the day, had quickly returned to the sitting room and bargained with Mr. McLean for various relics and mementos until the room was nearly stripped bare of its furnishings. Ulys had claimed nothing, but General Sheridan paid twenty dollars in gold for the table at which Ulys had written the terms of surrender, General George H. Sharpe ten dollars for the pair of brass candlesticks that had flickered atop it. General Ord had purchased the table at which General Lee had sat, and calling for it to be brought into the room, he proudly presented it to Julia.

“Oh, my goodness,” said Julia, quite confounded. “Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly accept such a treasure. Do promise me you’ll give it to Mrs. Ord instead.” The relic would be a small recompense for all his lovely wife had suffered during Mrs. Lincoln’s first visit to City Point.

General Ord protested chivalrously, but Julia insisted until he acquiesced.

From a table in the corner, a younger officer called, “General Grant, you’ll go up to Richmond now, won’t you?”

“No,” he replied. “I’ll go at once to Washington.”

When the officers expressed surprise, Colonel Morgan asked, “Couldn’t you run up on the steamer and tour the captured city before starting for Washington?”

“The rebels kept us out so long, it seems a shame to go home without at least taking a look around,” another officer chimed in, prompting laughter from the others.

Ulys smiled briefly and shook his head. “No, I think it would be better if I didn’t. I could do no good there, and I want to report to Secretary Stanton as soon as possible, to urge him to stop recruiting men and purchasing supplies.” When a murmur of disappointment rose, he added, “But if any of you are curious to see the city, I’ll wait for you to make the trip. I don’t think we’ll be ready to leave for Washington until tomorrow anyway.”

The men seemed satisfied with that, and as conversations resumed around the room, Julia turned to her husband. “Surely you have time to go to Richmond first,” she protested in an undertone.

“Hush, Julia,” he said quietly, solemn and earnest. “Don’t say another word on this subject. I wouldn’t distress the people of Richmond. They’re feeling their defeat bitterly, and you wouldn’t add to it by having me parade about like some vain conquerer, would you?”

Remembering the forlorn, ruined capital and the haunted look of its inhabitants, Julia was moved by his compassion and understanding in victory. Whenever she thought she could not possibly be any prouder of him, Ulys did something unexpected, something noble, to prove that she could.

•   •   •

On Wednesday afternoon, the Grants departed City Point for Washington aboard Ulys’s dispatch boat, accompanied by General and Mrs. Rawlins, Colonel and Mrs. Morgan, and a large number of officers. They arrived at the capital early the following morning—and such a glorious welcome awaited the victorious general that it surpassed Julia’s most elaborate expectations. As they approached the wharf, every gun and cannon burst forth with a thunderous salvo, and the bells on every ship and in every steeple rang out. A large Stars and Stripes flew proudly from a tall flagpole on the dock, unfurled to its full length and breadth above the sparkling river.

“Look, Pa! Look, Ma!” cried Jesse, pointing to the flag. “Not one single star is missing. Not one!”

“That’s right, darling,” said Julia, hugging him. “Not one single star was lost from that blue field, thanks to your pa.”

She beamed at Ulys, warm and admiring, until a flush rose in his cheeks, reminding her of the young lieutenant who had called on her at White Haven so many years before.

Ulys accompanied Julia and Jesse to the Willard Hotel, but as soon as they were comfortably settled, he hurried off to the Executive Mansion to report to the president and the secretary of war. In his absence, Julia was inundated with callers, whom she received in the ladies’ parlor until Mrs. Stanton came to her rescue by insisting that Julia accompany her to the War Department. Julia had never seen Mr. Stanton so ebullient as when he showed her the many stands of captured arms and flags displayed in his office. He also possessed a stump of a large tree taken from the field of Shiloh, perforated all around by bullets.

“Shiloh,” Julia murmured, tracing the concentric rings with a fingertip, turning her gaze away from the pockmarked bark. The dreadful battle seemed so long ago.

Secretary Stanton also eagerly told them of the arrangements that were being made for a grand illumination of the city that evening. “It will be a glorious spectacle,” he promised. “You won’t want to miss it.”

Soon thereafter the ladies bade the gentlemen good-bye and strolled back to the Willard. “Neither of our gentlemen mentioned it,” Mrs. Stanton remarked, “but the president and his wife have invited the four of us to attend the theater with them tomorrow evening.”

“Is it an opera?” asked Julia. “The general loathes opera almost as much as I love it. Perhaps that’s why he said nothing.”

“No, it’s a comedy,
My American Cousin.
” Mrs. Stanton threw Julia a quick, sidelong glance. “I don’t wish to gossip or speak ill of any lady, but unless you accept the invitation, I shall refuse. I will not sit without you in the box with Mrs. Lincoln.”

Recalling Badeau’s allusion to ill feeling between the two ladies, Julia did not need to ask why. “I’ll have to speak to the general, but—” Suddenly she felt a sick stirring of dread, inexplicable and staggering. “I’m inclined not to go. I’ll send word to you for certain tomorrow.”

“Mrs. Grant,” said Mrs. Stanton, studying her. “Are you quite well?”

“Yes—yes, I’m fine.” Julia managed a smile, though she felt a prickling of terror as if a cruel, piercing gaze was fixed upon her back. She resisted the impulse to glance wildly about for the unseen watcher, fearful of what she might discover. “I’m merely fatigued from excitement and travel. I’ll be fine.”

“Do get some rest before the illumination this evening.”

Julia assured her that she would, and they parted with a friendly embrace and promises to visit again soon.

•   •   •

“Mr. Bryant is handsome and kind,” Emma declared as she and Jule strolled to the printer’s shop. “He’s hardworking and prosperous, and his children obviously adore him.”

Jule had to smile. “Yes, Emma, I agree. He’ll make some lucky woman a wonderful husband someday. But I’m not that woman.”

Emma halted and placed a hand on Jule’s arm to stop her. “Why not? What is it you dislike about him?”

“Nothing at all,” Jule exclaimed, laughing, though she felt a pang of regret. “I like him very much, but I’m already married.” She had not seen Gabriel since October of 1862, and it had been more than two years since he had been sold, but until she knew for certain that he had passed away, she would not consider herself a widow.

“Well, he likes you very much,” said Emma.

A forlorn note in her friend’s voice confirmed Jule’s suspicions. “He understands that I’m not free to marry.”

Emma shrugged, dismissing that as of little consequence. She resumed walking and Jule fell into step beside her.

“I spoke to him earlier this morning,” said Jule. Mr. Bryant’s apologies for the errant kiss had been interrupted by a salvo of artillery fire from the wharf and the pealing of bells throughout the city. Her heart had quaked when Mr. Bryant noted that the clamor was in honor of General Grant, welcoming the victorious hero and his wife to the capital. “He isn’t in love with me. That kiss was just—the excitement of the moment. He would have kissed you instead, if you had been standing there instead of me.”

“I wish I had been,” Emma admitted.

“Then you’ll be very glad to hear that he’s hired a carriage, and he’s invited us to ride with him and his children tonight to see the illuminations.”

With a gasp, Emma whirled to face her. “Did he?” Then her eyes narrowed. “Or did he invite you and you asked to bring me along?”

“Does it matter?”

Emma considered. “No,” she said, a slow smile brightening her pretty features. “I suppose it doesn’t have to.”

They soon came to the printer’s shop, which was full of customers placing orders and collecting handbills, leaflets, and printed papers of every kind and description. Jule’s excitement grew as she waited her turn, and by the time she was called to the counter, she felt breathless with elation—and worry. What if the labels looked nothing like what she had envisioned? What if they inspired mockery rather than respect?

The printer greeted her, disappeared into a back room, and returned with two large boxes, which he set on the counter. Jule held her breath as he lifted the lids, and as she glanced inside, she exhaled in a soft sigh of relief.

“Oh, they’re lovely,” exclaimed Emma, peering into the first box. “‘Madame Jule’s Almond Cream.’ ‘Madame Jule’s Oil of Lavender.’ Such elegant script, and that delicate scroll frames the words so beautifully!”

“I like the illustrations myself,” the printer remarked, admiring his work. “I think it’s a fine idea to put a sketch of the most important ingredient in the lower corner there, for them folks as don’t read. It’s pretty, too, for the ladies, or so my wife says.”

“They’re perfect,” Jule managed to say, her throat constricting with emotion. “I wouldn’t change a single stroke.”

She paid for her purchases, and when the printer bade her farewell with a polite, “Good afternoon, Madame Jule,” she thought her heart would overflow with happiness and pride.

She spent the afternoon pasting labels to bottles she had already filled and tucking them carefully into a basket for delivery to various shops and pharmacies throughout the city. She would need to sell only a fraction of them to earn enough money to purchase more bottles and new labels. As she worked, she envisioned a design for her burn salve and another for her most popular hair tonic. If they sold well, she would begin advertising in newspapers—and if her business expanded as she hoped it would, she might hire an assistant.

As twilight descended, she changed from her work dress into the prettier frock Emma had made for her, bartered for a generous supply of almond cream and hair tonic. When Mr. Bryant pulled up in front of her boardinghouse in his carriage, Jule was pleased to see that he had collected Emma first and that they sat together on one seat facing Mr. Bryant’s son and daughter. Jule greeted them all merrily and settled upon the seat beside the children, and off they rode to admire the illuminated capital.

Emma’s cheerful humor soon had Mr. Bryant and his children in excellent spirits. They marveled aloud as they gazed through the windows at a city transformed by light and bunting and banners. Every public building, hotel, restaurant, shop, and residence dazzled with the light of thousands of candles, gas jets, and oil lamps. The Capitol blazed from portico to towering dome and the White House shone like marble. The Willard was lavishly adorned in red, white, and blue Chinese lanterns, while gas jets on the roof spelled out the word “Union” in a brilliant, blazing arc. The Treasury boasted an enormous fifty-dollar bond composed of innumerable pinpricks of candlelight, and across the street a banking house had raised an enormous banner declaring, “Glory to God, Who Hath to US Grant’d the Victory.” Rockets exploded and fireworks soared above the Potomac, declaring victory with color and light and noise. Jubilant citizens filled the streets, bands played familiar tunes from nearly every street corner, and every heart seemed overflowing with hope and with a deep, profound longing for peace that seemed soon to be fulfilled.

And yet the illuminated city was not so marvelous that Mr. Bryant was blinded to the charms of the young beauty seated beside him, and of all the wonders Jule observed that night, no sight pleased her more than the glances of fond admiration that passed between the glassblower and the seamstress.

•   •   •

To Julia the illumination had been a marvelous, breathtaking, awe-inspiring spectacle, all the more so because the great general in chief had been by her side, holding her hand.