• • •
As she went about her chores, Jule observed Nell’s attempts to comfort her elder sister, noted Julia’s forced laughter and poorly concealed misery, and knew that something had gone very wrong up at Jefferson Barracks. Julia wasn’t wearing the lieutenant’s ring, Jule was relieved to see, but she could only guess whether that was because Julia had refused it again or Lieutenant Grant had not offered it a second time.
Jule’s relief was for her own sake, not her mistress’s. Lieutenant Grant seemed decent enough—quieter than the other officers who visited White Haven, surprisingly courteous to the colored folk—and Jule certainly preferred him to that loud, strutting dandy who had haplessly wooed Julia in St. Louis. Jule knew Julia would marry eventually, but Jule dreaded that day, for wherever the young mistress went, the maid would be obliged to follow.
As the afternoon passed, Jule watched as Julia’s composure crumbled piece by piece. At bedtime, as Jule undressed her for bed, she finally let her tears fall, pressing her lips together to muffle her sobs.
“You crying over that lieutenant?” Jule asked as she helped Julia into her cotton nightgown. “He say something unkind?”
“He wasn’t there. He’s still in Ohio, visiting his parents.” Julia wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I miss him more than I thought I would.”
Jule suspected Julia had been surprised to find herself missing him at all. “You dream about him since he been gone?”
“No—that is to say, not that sort of dream.” As a pink flush rose in Julia’s cheeks, Jule had to bite her lips together so she would not burst out laughing. What sort of dreams had he appeared in, if not the prophetic kind? “But—but I have a strong feeling that he won’t be harmed while he’s away.”
“Then why carry on so?” admonished Jule, brushing out her mistress’s long, thick locks. Julia winced when the tines caught on a snarl. “Shouldn’t that dream put your mind at ease? Whatever quarrel you had, you can make your peace when he comes back.”
“If he comes back.” Julia inhaled deeply, shakily. “If he’s already received word about the Fourth’s transfer to Louisiana, he’ll just meet them there or along the way. He wouldn’t have any reason to come back to Missouri.”
“Except to see you.”
Julia laughed bleakly. “He might want to, but he wouldn’t defy orders and break leave by traveling so far out of his way just to bid me good-bye.”
Jule brushed Julia’s hair in silence, considering. “Ain’t it more likely that Lieutenant Grant didn’t get the message, he being at his folks’ house or traveling? Ain’t it more likely that he’s on his way back to Jefferson Barracks this very moment? Sure it is, and surely he’ll come by White Haven before setting out for Natchitoches.” Finished, Jule set the brush aside. “Seems to me you got every reason to hope to see him soon.”
“You’re absolutely right, Jule.” Julia managed a wan smile. “I haven’t lost him yet, nor have I lost hope. Nor, I pray, will I ever lose you, for how could I manage without you?”
“I don’t think you need to worry about losing me,” said Jule matter-of-factly, turning down the bed and plumping the pillow. “How would I get lost?”
How could she get lost, when she had nowhere to go and no way to get there? How could she leave behind every friend, every place, everything she knew?
And Gabriel. How could she think of leaving Gabriel, when Julia’s marriage would likely tear her from him all too soon?
• • •
Julia faced the next morning bravely, occupying herself by playing melodic airs on the piano and weeding the garden. She passed the afternoon with a long ride on her favorite horse, Psyche, a chestnut-brown, part Arabian mare, as glossy as satin, with pretty ears and eyes that bore a faithful expression. But the day dragged by nonetheless, and the next was worse, for thunderclouds rolled in and drenched the greening land below so that it was impossible to go riding.
The weather cleared by Saturday, the sun peeping through the clouds as it rose to its zenith—but Lieutenant Grant did not appear. Restless and miserable, Julia ordered Psyche to be saddled and rode out to Jefferson Barracks, alone. The creek and all the little unnamed rivulets that fed it were swollen from the recent downpours, the road uneven and crenelated where overflow had carved channels into the mud, but Julia did not turn back. If Lieutenant Grant had returned to Jefferson Barracks, if he was on his way from there to White Haven, they would meet midway.
But although Julia slowed the mare—out of an abundance of caution as well as a desperate need to delay the inevitable—she reached the edge of the woods without encountering a single other traveler. She gazed up at the whitewashed buildings and fences atop the high hill, waiting, listening for the thunder of his bonny brown steed’s hooves on the packed earth as he raced toward her, but heard only the wind in the boughs, the rustling whisper of leaves high above. Feeling foolish and unbearably sad, she turned Psyche toward home.
That night, she dreamed of him.
The next morning at breakfast, when her sisters cajoled her to explain the reason for her distraction and lack of appetite, she admitted that a dream yet haunted her. Nell and Emma, their eyes wide with excitement, begged her to describe it, and Mamma looked on with fond curiosity, but her father snorted. “Not this nonsense again,” he grumbled. “Dreams and fairy tales. A leaking bucket of balderdash, all of it.”
“Frederick,” chided Mamma gently. Papa sighed and glowered as he stabbed a crust of bread into his egg yolk, but he did not demand they change the subject.
“Your dream, Julia,” urged Emma. “Tell us your dream.”
“If there is no objection,” Julia began pertly, with a sidelong glance at her father. “I dreamed that it was Monday, right around noon, and who should call on us at White Haven but Lieutenant Grant.”
As her sisters gasped, their father barked out a laugh. “And how, in your dream, did you know it was Monday? I understand that you could judge the hour by the position of the sun in the sky, but how did you determine the day?”
“That’s the way of dreams,” Emma said. “You just know. Isn’t that so, Julia?”
“It was Monday,” Julia repeated firmly. “Lieutenant Grant arrived at noon, but he was wearing civilian clothes.”
“I don’t know if I’d recognize him out of uniform,” mused Nell.
“In my dream I did.” Julia would know him anywhere, sleeping or waking. “He came in, greeted us all most cordially, and seated himself by my side. When I asked how long he would remain, he said, ‘I’m going to try to stay a week.’”
“A week,” Emma exclaimed, bouncing in her chair. “How wonderful!”
“That proves you couldn’t’ve been dreaming about Grant,” scoffed Papa. “Say what you will about his queer abolitionist notions, he has sense enough not to overstay his welcome.”
“I know it was the lieutenant,” said Julia mildly. She had seen him so vividly, heard his own true voice, inhaled deeply of his scent, slightly woodsy and spicy with a sweet whiff of horses—but of course, it had not really been him, only his dream phantom. And yet she wished she had reached out to touch his face.
“Julia, darling,” said Mamma, “you know this dream won’t come true. Lieutenant Grant is at this very moment sailing down the Mississippi to reunite with the Fourth. He’s surely already far below the mouth of the Ohio.”
Julia’s soaring spirits abruptly came back down to earth. “I know, but it was a lovely dream.”
Mamma smiled sympathetically and her sisters murmured agreement.
“I suppose it could still come true,” Papa remarked. When they all turned to look at him in surprise, he added, “Julia didn’t say what year it was in her dream. Maybe Lieutenant Grant will grace us with a visit some Monday come winter.”
“Papa,” scolded Nell, and Emma’s mouth fell open in protest, but Julia only laughed
and shook her head at her incorrigible father. He could tease all he liked, because she knew it was a Monday in her dream, and Lieutenant Grant had not been dressed for winter weather.
Sunday passed, and Monday morning found Julia in the garden, staking her waterlogged bean plants in the rain-soaked soil. Jule stood nearby, shooing away the gnats and no-see-ums from her mistress’s arms and face, ready to hand over the shears and the ball of twine at her request. Suddenly Julia heard hoofbeats, and when she glanced over her shoulder she spied a man on horseback coming up the zigzag path. “Jule,” she exclaimed. “See him for me.”
Jule studied the rider intently, shading her eyes with her hand. “He’s covered in mud so I can’t be sure,” she said, “but I think that’s your lieutenant.”
Julia’s heart thumped and she scrambled to her feet, brushing the soil from her hands. “It is,” she cried, dropping her trowel and lifting her skirts as she hurried to welcome him. The dogs barked happily; Emma burst from the house and flew down the path ahead of her, halting a few paces away as the lieutenant reined in his mare.
“What happened to you?” exclaimed Emma. “Did you fall in a lake?”
As Julia drew closer, she saw that Lieutenant Grant and his horse, too, were soaking wet. “We were submerged fording the creek,” he admitted. His muddy uniform flopped about his slender frame like rags used to mop up after a deluge.
“The quiet little Gravois?” Julia said, astonished. “The one you said didn’t have enough water to turn a coffee mill?”
“It’s not so quiet now.” Though bedraggled and shivering, the lieutenant dismounted with effortless grace. “The Gravois and all the little creeks feeding it are swollen and raging. I was almost swept away, but my horse can swim well enough and I clung to her saddle.”
Julia felt a pang of fear, but it swiftly faded when she reminded herself that he was fine; he was fine and he was there. “You must come inside and dry yourself,” she said, glancing over her shoulder as Gabriel came running to take the horse’s reins. “My brother John surely has some clothes you could borrow. Frederick’s would hang on you like a tent.”
The lieutenant willingly allowed himself to be led inside, where Mamma took charge of their half-drowned visitor and shooed Julia off to attend to her own toilet. With Jule’s help, she quickly washed and changed into a prettier frock and fixed her hair. When Lieutenant Grant descended, scrubbed free of the mud and clad in her eldest brother’s old suit, Julia, her sisters, and her mother were waiting for him in the drawing room with tea and apple dumplings.
“How long do you expect to remain, Lieutenant Grant?” Julia asked as she served him.
“I’m going to try to stay a week,” he replied, accepting the cup and plate. “Thank you.”
“You’ve said the very words sister dreamed you would,” Emma exclaimed.
The lieutenant’s eyebrows rose as he swallowed a bite of apple dumpling. He turned to Julia, who felt herself shrinking with embarrassment. “Have you been dreaming of me, Miss Dent?”
For a fleeting moment, Julia considered the many ways she could later make her little sister regret her impulsive words. “Only the once,” Julia said instead, not entirely honestly, and she described her dream. “And here you are, in civilian clothes, at noon on a Monday.”
“And here you must stay,” added Emma, with an inquiring glance to Mamma, “for a week, just as Julia dreamed.”
“I see that I must. I couldn’t bear to spoil any dream of Miss Dent’s,” said Lieutenant Grant seriously, but his eyes shone with merriment as they met Julia’s.
To her delight, Lieutenant Grant’s commanding officer extended his furlough, giving them ten glorious days before he would be obliged to join his comrades in Louisiana. They spent the time enjoying long rides, leisurely walks, and almost endless conversation.
One day, the Dent family was to attend a wedding, and so Julia’s parents invited the lieutenant to accompany them. “I’m a bridesmaid, so I need to arrive early,” Julia told him as they walked their horses after an exhilarating ride. “John will drive me out there in the morning.”
“And the rest of the family?”
“They’ll lumber along in the old coach afterward, and you shall accompany them on horseback.”
“Your brother John admires my horse,” Lieutenant Grant mused. “Maybe he’d consider trading places with me.”
Delighted, Julia urged him to inquire, and John readily agreed, glad for the chance to try the lieutenant’s horse. The following day, shortly after breakfast, Julia and Lieutenant Grant set out in the buggy for the neighboring farm, feeling clever and pleased with themselves for stealing some time alone.
The day was warm and bright and the sun shone splendidly, a happy omen for a wedding day. They rode cheerfully along until they reached an old bridge spanning a deep ravine, a familiar, easy crossing that had been utterly transformed by the recent heavy rains. The gentle, burbling creek had swollen until it reached the bridge, and it flowed through the gulch in a torrent of white water and rushing sound.
Lieutenant Grant slowed the horse as they approached.
“I’ve never seen the water so high here,” said Julia, anxious. “Is this how it was when you forded downstream?”
“It might’ve been about this deep,” he replied, studying the road ahead. “But there was no bridge.”
Julia tore her gaze away from the rushing stream. “Then why on earth did you try to cross? You could have drowned.”
“I have a peculiar superstition,” he admitted. “When I start to go somewhere, or to do anything, I don’t turn back or stop until the thing intended is accomplished. Besides, you were on the other side.”
Julia felt her cheeks grow warm. “Don’t think to flatter me by risking your life on my account. If you get yourself killed, you’ll only upset me.”
He smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” His expression grew sober again and he nodded to the bridge. “What do you think?”
“I think it looks too dangerous to cross. Don’t you?”
“The bridge looks sturdy enough, and the horse is calm.”
Julia managed a shaky laugh. “Calmer than I am, certainly. I’d rather go back than take any risk.”
“And miss the wedding? You love parties and dancing, and doesn’t the bride need your help?”
“She’ll have many other friends there eager to wait upon her, I’m sure.” Nervousness made her words come in a quick torrent. “Do you really think it’ll be safe?”
“Miss Dent.” He turned to her, his expression calm and confident. “I’m sure that it’s perfectly safe. I wouldn’t suggest we cross otherwise.”
Julia took a deep, tremulous breath and nodded. He chirruped to the horse, which obediently approached the bridge. Just as the horse was about to set hoof to plank, Julia blurted, “If anything happens, I’ll cling to you. I won’t be able to help it.”
“I’m duly forewarned.” Lieutenant Grant shook the reins, the buggy lurched forward, Julia shrieked and clutched his arm—and then they were on the other side, having splashed over the sturdy planks in less than a minute. The buggy quickly climbed a gentle slope and the sound of rushing water faded behind them.
“We should be safe now,” the lieutenant remarked, grinning.
With a gasp, Julia immediately released his arm and scooted a modest distance away.
“I didn’t mean you had to go so far,” he protested. “I want you always to cling to me when you’re afraid. I want you to cling to me always, and I will to you, whether the creek is high or low, forsaking all others.”
“Lieutenant Grant—”
“Julia, I love you.” Never had her name been spoken more tenderly. “Without you, life would be unbearable. I promise I’ll always care for you, and keep you safe, and make you as happy as I know how. Will you be my wife?”
“I—” Breath
less, Julia pressed a hand to her chest. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Then say you’ll marry me.”
“I think it would be charming to be engaged, but to be married—” Julia shook her head helplessly, tears springing into her eyes. “Oh, no, indeed! I would much rather be engaged.”
“You do know that one usually leads to the other, don’t you?”
“I do, of course.” She took out her handkerchief and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “I just think that being engaged would be much nicer than being married.”
He nodded and fixed his eyes on the road ahead. “Well, then,” he said after a while, “bearing in mind that I hold to the time-honored custom of engagements culminating in marriages, would you consent to our engagement?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” she said. “I’d be delighted to be engaged to you.”
He took her hand, raised it to his lips, and held it for the rest of the drive, his fingers interlaced with hers.
The wedding was lovely, although Julia was almost too distracted to notice. She fairly burst with her secret, and when her family arrived, she was so worried they would guess the truth before she could properly prepare them that she avoided them until the attempt became comically ridiculous. Lieutenant Grant—Ulysses, she should think of him now—would not dance, as ever, but he seemed to enjoy watching her whirl about with other partners, perhaps secure in knowing that forevermore he would partner her everywhere else.
After dinner, he took her aside and quietly brought up the subject of marriage again. He wanted to fix a date, preferably soon, but Julia demurred, knowing that Papa liked Ulysses well enough as a man, but as a son-in-law—well, that was something else altogether.
After that, the rest of Ulysses’s leave passed with bittersweet swiftness. On the day before his departure, he accompanied Julia out to the flower garden, where she untangled rain-battered stems and separated the blooms. With no one to overhear, they spoke quietly and heatedly about their fledgling betrothal. Ulysses wanted to marry without delay; Julia argued the merits of a long engagement. He wanted to speak to her father and set a date before he left for Louisiana; she quaked at the very thought. “Please don’t speak to Papa yet,” she begged. “He’ll raise objections. I know he will.”
Mrs. Grant and Madame Jule Page 3
