Mrs. Grant and Madame Jule

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  “Please, my good madam, do stay seated,” Badeau implored.

  “I’ll continue on foot,” she declared. “Mrs. Ord should have offered me her horse and taken my place in this dreadful conveyance.”

  “You oughtn’t walk about here,” the driver remarked. “You might get shot.”

  Mrs. Lincoln yanked open the door and began to descend. Badeau and Porter bolted to their feet and took hold of her arms.

  “Unhand me at once, sirs!” Mrs. Lincoln exclaimed, but out of concern for her safety, they could not obey.

  As Badeau and Porter fell back into their seats, Julia reached for Mrs. Lincoln’s arm and held it firmly as the mired wheels pulled free and the ambulance rattled down the road. “That was quite startling,” she said, with a wide-eyed breathlessness that was not entirely feigned. “I’m quite upset. Please forgive me if I cling to you for a moment.”

  Mrs. Lincoln glared imperiously and yanked her arm free of Julia’s grasp, her lips pressed together in a thin, hard line, her smooth cheeks flushed darkly with rage.

  At long last they arrived at the parade grounds, only to discover that the review had begun without them. The band played a lively martial tune; the colors flew; the troops presented arms. Julia spotted the president’s cavalcade halfway down the line, and Mrs. Lincoln’s sharp intake of breath told her that she, too, had seen Mrs. Ord’s white plume unfurling grandly in the breeze not far from Mr. Lincoln’s tall black stovepipe hat.

  Mrs. Ord spurred her horse toward the ambulance. “Welcome, Mrs. Lincoln, Mrs. Grant,” she greeted them, smiling, as she brought her lively bay close. “Have you ever seen such a magnificent spectacle?”

  “I see a spectacle, to be sure, but I would never call it magnificent,” snapped Mrs. Lincoln. “How dare you parade yourself before my husband in this brazen manner, you shameless Jezebel?”

  The blood drained from Mrs. Ord’s face. “Mrs. Lincoln,” Julia protested. “Mrs. Ord has done nothing of the sort.”

  Mrs. Lincoln kept her blistering gaze fixed on Mrs. Ord. “Vile strumpet! How dare you take my place at the president’s side?”

  “What have I done?” Mrs. Ord protested, looking from Mrs. Lincoln to Julia and back beseechingly. “What have I done to deserve such censure?” Shock had rooted the general’s wife in place, tears springing into her eyes, the long, white plume dancing gaily in the breeze.

  “Nothing,” Julia said quickly, laying a hand on Mrs. Lincoln’s in a futile attempt to calm her. “Nothing at all. Mrs. Lincoln, please, do quiet yourself.”

  “Who are you to command me to be silent?” Mrs. Lincoln demanded. “I suppose you think you’ll get to the White House yourself, don’t you?”

  “I am quite satisfied with my present position,” Julia replied with all the dignity she could muster. “It is far greater than I had ever hoped to attain.”

  “Oh! I have no doubt that it is!”

  Mrs. Lincoln turned her back upon Julia and Mrs. Ord, red-faced and fuming. Only then did Julia notice that the presidential party had been listening in silence—Ulys, grim and proud, and Mr. Lincoln, as pained and unhappy as she had ever seen him. The review continued, but the soldiers’ brilliant, flawless performance was wasted on the distraught visitors.

  On the steamer to City Point, Mrs. Lincoln immediately retired to a private parlor, offering her companions a much-needed respite from her temper. “Are you well?” Ulys asked Julia quietly the moment he could take her aside.

  “I’m fine,” Julia assured him in an undertone, but when her hands began to ache she realized that she clung to the steamer’s railing with unnecessary vigilance, and she deliberately relaxed her grip. “I worry far more about Mrs. Ord.”

  “And Mr. Lincoln,” Ulys added. Suddenly he took one of Julia’s hands and kissed it. “Sometimes I neglect to tell you how grateful I am to have you as my wife. I am, you know—always, deeply.”

  “Oh, my.” Julia managed a smile. “I suppose I have Mrs. Lincoln to thank for that inspired poetical declaration.”

  Mrs. Lincoln did not emerge from her parlor until the steamer reached City Point, and as the party disembarked, she was subdued and quiet, her anger burned down to embers. But Julia’s relief was short-lived. By the time she and Ulys and his staff joined the Lincolns for supper aboard the River Queen later that evening, the fire of Mrs. Lincoln’s temper had been stoked and burned as hotly as before. She berated General Ord over the first course, criticized her husband throughout the second, and before the coffee and sweets were passed, she loudly and repeatedly demanded that the president dismiss General Ord immediately. “He is unfit for his place,” she declared, “to say nothing of his wife.”

  None too soon, the meal ended, and while Mrs. Lincoln retired, Mr. Lincoln escorted their guests to the gangplank, where he bade them good night, his expression a study in sadness and solemn dignity.

  Ulys walked ahead with Rawlins and another officer, discussing a recent telegram from Sherman, who was expected at headquarters the next day to plan the spring offensive. Colonel Badeau fell in step beside Julia and offered her his arm. “Colonel, I hereby release you from your promise never to speak of Mrs. Lincoln’s outburst yesterday,” said Julia. “Today’s incidents so far surpassed them, and there were so many witnesses, that our silence won’t make any difference.”

  “You don’t need to endure her tempers,” the colonel replied. “Mrs. Stanton refuses to see her at all.”

  “Surely not.”

  “Indeed. Mrs. Stanton told me herself, when she and her husband last visited City Point. I chanced to ask her some innocent question about the president’s wife, and Mrs. Stanton replied rather shortly, ‘I do not visit Mrs. Lincoln.’ I thought I must have misunderstood her, because the wife of the secretary of war surely must call on the wife of the president.”

  “I would certainly think so.”

  “Ah, but when I renewed my inquiry, she said, with firm civility, ‘Understand me, sir. I do not go to the White House. I do not visit Mrs. Lincoln.’”

  “I can’t blame Mrs. Stanton,” Julia acknowledged, “but I can’t emulate her either. Tomorrow, after Mrs. Lincoln has had a chance to rest, I’ll call on her aboard the River Queen, and perhaps we can yet be friends.”

  • • •

  When Julia called on Mrs. Lincoln in the morning, she was informed that the president’s wife was indisposed, but when she and Jesse met Ulys for lunch, he told her that Mr. Lincoln had invited them to accompany his family and a few others on an excursion aboard the River Queen to the Point of Rocks on the Appomattox River, where legend told that Pocahontas had saved the life of Captain John Smith. Ulys’s frown, though slight, told her he disliked the idea of yet another sightseeing excursion that would oblige him to leave headquarters.

  “I’ll make it my mission to see to Mrs. Lincoln’s every comfort,” Julia promised, determined to relieve him of at least one concern.

  The wind was brisk and cold on the river, and the steamer rocked slightly in the choppy waters, so Julia invited Mrs. Lincoln to join her in the forward cabin. Mrs. Lincoln curtly declined, wrapped her shawl more tightly about herself, and went out upon the uncovered deck near the pilothouse.

  Watching the First Lady through the window, considering what to do next, Julia was startled from her reverie by the polite clearing of a throat behind her. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Grant.”

  Glancing over her shoulder, Julia discovered Captain John S. Barnes, the commander of the armed sidewheel steamer the Bat, a blockade-runner that had been assigned to accompany the River Queen on the James. Secretary of War Stanton had personally charged Captain Barnes with the president’s safe conduct from Washington to City Point and back, which was no small responsibility considering that the River Queen was unarmed and unarmored.

  “Good afternoon, Captain,” Julia replied.

  “I’m sorry to intrude upon you
r solitude, but I thought Mrs. Lincoln would be with you.”

  “She’s on the deck,” Julia said, nodding to the window. “I wasn’t aware you were aboard. Who’s minding the Bat?”

  “She’s in good hands, never fear.” Captain Barnes hesitated. “I confess I’ve joined this trip with some misgivings, and only because the president himself invited me. I regret to say that I’m responsible for yesterday’s debacle.”

  “I think it unfair that anyone other than Mrs. Lincoln should accept responsibility for her behavior.”

  “But it was I who told Mrs. Ord that she should ride along with the president,” said Captain Barnes. “Afterward I explained to Mr. Lincoln how Mrs. Ord and I had found ourselves in the reviewing column, and that we immediately withdrew from it upon the arrival of your ambulance, but Mrs. Lincoln insists that the troops were led to think that Mrs. Ord was the wife of the president.”

  “But surely the soldiers know Mrs. Ord,” said Julia. “She’s been staying at her husband’s headquarters for months. They wouldn’t have mistaken her for anyone else.”

  “I like to think any rational observer would reach the same conclusion,” the captain said gloomily. “For the president’s sake, I’d give anything to placate Mrs. Lincoln, but I’m at a loss for what to do.”

  “Why don’t you begin with a simple act of kindness?” Julia gestured to one of several upholstered armchairs arranged in the cabin. “Mrs. Lincoln prefers to be outside, but she’s obliged to stand. I’m sure she would thank you for taking her a comfortable seat.”

  Julia watched through the window as Captain Barnes wrestled a chair through the doorway, carried it to an ideal spot on the deck, and offered it to Mrs. Lincoln, who promptly declined it. “I failed in my mission,” he reported upon returning to the cabin, looking thoroughly miserable.

  At that moment Mrs. Lincoln turned, regarded Julia unsmilingly through the window, and beckoned her outside.

  Steeling herself, Julia joined Mrs. Lincoln on the deck. “Did you want some company?” Julia asked pleasantly. “I see that Captain Barnes has brought you a chair. How very kind of him.”

  “Too little, too late,” said Mrs. Lincoln shortly. “I am not comfortable with that man aboard this boat. He never should have intruded upon our party.”

  Julia hardly knew what to say. “I believe Mr. Lincoln invited him.”

  “Well, I object to his presence.” Mrs. Lincoln fixed her with an imperious look. “He is no longer invited, and I want you to inform him.”

  “We’re in the middle of the river,” Julia replied carefully. “Invited or not, the captain must remain with us for the present, unless you intend for him to swim back to City Point.”

  “That is for him to sort out.” Mrs. Lincoln waved a hand. “You may go.”

  “Indeed?” Julia’s voice was brittle with astonishment. “May I?”

  “Yes, you may.”

  Julia was tempted to remain right where she stood to prove that she was not Mrs. Lincoln’s to command, but the idea of quitting her company appealed too much to be denied. Not trusting herself to speak, she inclined her head in farewell and turned to go.

  “Mrs. Grant.”

  Hoping Mrs. Lincoln had thought better of her request, Julia turned around. “Yes, Mrs. Lincoln?”

  “Do not ever turn your back to me when you leave.”

  Julia stared at her, dumbfounded. “Do you mean to say,” she asked distinctly, “that you wish me to back out of a room when I leave your presence?”

  “I only remind you to show the proper respect, as I’m sure you would not wish to cause offense.”

  Julia regarded her levelly. “I will not risk injuring myself or tumbling overboard simply to avoid offending you. I’m quite sure you would not wish that. Good afternoon, Mrs. Lincoln.”

  Quite deliberately, she turned and walked away, vowing never to conduct herself as Mrs. Lincoln did, regardless of whatever migraines, tragedies, or troubles befell her.

  Before long she found Captain Barnes in the pilothouse. “My good captain,” she began, fighting to modulate her indignation, lowering her voice so that the officers present would not overhear, “Mrs. Lincoln has sent me on a most distasteful errand.”

  The captain drew himself up, apprehensive. “Pray continue, madam. I’ve braced myself.”

  Quickly, Julia told him what Mrs. Lincoln had said. “I am but the unhappy messenger,” she emphasized. “However . . . I encourage you to avoid Mrs. Lincoln for the rest of the excursion.”

  “I can do better than that,” he said, resigned. “When we land at Point of Rocks, I’ll have the captain put me ashore on the other side of the Appomattox. I’ll get a horse from the quartermaster and ride back to City Point.”

  Julia thought it a great injustice that a gallant naval officer should be treated so, but Captain Barnes insisted, explaining that he had the greatest sympathy for Mrs. Lincoln. He understood that she was unwell and that the mental strain upon her was so great that it caused her extreme sensitivity to perceived slights. He would not give her another moment’s distress, even if it meant great inconvenience to himself.

  Captain Barnes’s kindness and generosity impressed Julia greatly, and when the presidential party disembarked at Point of Rocks, she remained aboard to see him off on the other shore.

  The next morning offered the promise of a fresh start, so after breakfast Julia and Jesse called at the River Queen to invite Mrs. Lincoln and Tad to go riding. Tad joyfully bounded down the gangplank to join them, but he said his mother was not well and could not come. Nor did she appear the next time Julia attempted to see her, and as rumors sped through headquarters, she soon learned why.

  Although the president had treated his wife with the most affectionate solicitude throughout their visit, her behavior had embarrassed him so much that a breach had come between them. Distressed and ashamed, Mrs. Lincoln had fled back to Washington, leaving Mr. Lincoln and Tad behind.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  MARCH–APRIL 1865

  As the last days of March passed, the sun warmed the earth, the roads dried, and City Point crackled with a fierce new energy, filling Julia with excitement and apprehension. She knew they were only days away from the launch of the last great offensive—for Ulys seemed certain that it would be the last, deciding the course of the fractured nation once and for all.

  Soon after General Sheridan’s cavalry arrived at headquarters, Julia chanced upon him aboard the River Queen, his eyes shining with eagerness as he read from a long scroll of office paper. “Ah, General, I see I’ve caught you reading a most interesting document,” she teased. “What is it? It cannot be a love letter. No lady would use that sort of paper to express her affections to a beau.”

  He smiled, rolled up the scroll, and tucked it away in his breast pocket. “It is much better than a love letter, madam,” he replied in a conspiratorial whisper. “It is the order of battle your husband wrote for me.”

  “It seems to give you great pleasure.”

  “It does, madam,” he said firmly. “It is magnificent.”

  On the evening of March 27, General Sherman arrived at City Point aboard the Russia, a captured Confederate steamer drafted into service for the United States Navy. Julia joined the officers as they gathered around the campfire, where Sherman described in terrible, exhilarating detail the stirring events of his march through Georgia. “I met some people I knew as friends in better days, and they were not ashamed to call upon the ‘Vandal Chief’ that had invaded their lands,” he said. “Otherwise the Southern people regarded my armies as the Romans did the Goths, and the parallel is not unjust.”

  It was a grand, glorious epic, but after Sherman had enthralled his audience for nearly an hour, Ulys said, “I’m sorry to break this up, Sherman, but the president is aboard the River Queen, and I know he’ll be anxious to see you. Suppose we go and pay him a visit
before dinner.”

  Sherman immediately rose and the two generals set out for the wharf. Julia knew that there they would be joined by Generals Sheridan and Meade, Admiral Porter, and other officers—a notable gathering to discuss war maneuvers past and present.

  It was only after she put Jesse to bed and sat alone with Ulys in the cabin, she at the fireside and he at his desk, that she grew wistful. “Ulys,” she said, “why do you never tell me of your plans? You know you needn’t fear I’d divulge your secrets.”

  Ulys looked up from his dispatches and regarded her thoughtfully as he puffed on his cigar. “Would you like to know?”

  “Of course I would.”

  He pushed back his chair and held out his hand to her. “Then come here.”

  She crossed the room, and when she took his hand, he pulled her onto his lap, wrapped his left arm around her, and with his right indicated the map spread upon his desk. “There is the entire field,” he said, sweeping his hand over the Southern states. “Here stands the Army of the Potomac and the Army of the James.” He pointed to West Virginia and Tennessee. “There I’ve placed General George Stoneman with a large body of cavalry to guard the mountain passes.” He rested his palm on the Gulf states. “General Edward Canby is here, and Sherman—” His fingers moved across the map and came to rest upon the eastern coast of Georgia. “Sherman’s forces are here. Now you have the position of all the armies, and you can see that they form a perfect cordon from sea to sea again.”

  “Yes,” said Julia, studying the map. “I do see that. What happens next?”

  “Well—” Ulys paused for a moment. “I’m going to tighten that cordon until the rebellion is crushed or strangled.”

  Julia absorbed this in silence, cold grief welling up within her as from an underground spring.

  “Julia?”

  She took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m sorry, Ulys, but knowing this, I feel only a terrible, deep, abiding sorrow.”

  “Yes, war is always sorrowful.” He kissed her softly on the cheek. “But, Julia, think how dreadful it would be if a cordon like the one I’ve drawn about the South encircled the Union instead.”