Mrs. Grant and Madame Jule

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  “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.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  APRIL 1865

  Soon 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 fo
lks 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.