Mrs. Grant and Madame Jule (13 page)

“Whatever do you mean?”

“A new constitution, you know, one to suit the times.”

Papa looked aghast. “One does not simply write a new constitution.”

“Why not? Our times are vastly different now. We have steamers, railroads, telegraphs, etcetera. The gentlemen who wrote the Constitution could not possibly have imagined what we contend with today.”

“Good heavens.” Papa clapped a wrinkled hand to his brow. “The problem isn’t the Constitution but Lincoln’s refusal to abide by it. Grant put this nonsense in your head, I’ve no doubt.”

“That’s not so. I came up with it entirely on my own.”

“That’s even worse,” he retorted, shaking his head as he hauled himself out of his chair and made to return inside. “This never would have happened had Old Jackson been in the White House. Jackson would have hanged a score or two of them, and the country would have been at peace. I knew we would have trouble when I voted for a man north of Mason and Dixon’s line.”

Astonished, Julia called after him, “Do you mean to say you voted for Mr. Douglas after all?” But the back door crashed shut after him, and she doubted he had even heard the question. The sudden quiet made her wary, and she turned to see the four children watching her solemnly.

“It’s all right, my darlings,” she said. “You know how Grandpa gets about politics.”

Fred nodded seriously, but Jesse looked dreadfully worried.

Later that night, after Julia tucked the children into bed, Nellie’s little hand slipped from beneath the covers and took hold of hers. “I love Grandpa very, very much,” she confessed, “but when he says mean things about Pa, it hurts me in my tummy and in my heart.”

“I understand completely, darling,” she said gently, brushing Nellie’s soft, dark locks from her eyes. “I hurt exactly the same. But I’ll always love Grandpa, even when he says things that I know are wrong about people I love, and you must always love and respect him too.”

Nellie nodded and promised that she always would. Julia smiled, kissed her smooth brow, and put out the light. When she stole quietly from the room, she discovered Papa standing in the hall, frowning. “Those who eavesdrop rarely hear any good of themselves,” she whispered sharply, brushing past him on her way to her own room.

The next day, Papa displayed remarkable restraint and what was, for him, contrition. Not a word against Ulys escaped his lips, and he waited until the children left the room to mutter invective against the Union. Later that afternoon, he even managed an apology of sorts.

The children had been full of nonsense all day, and Julia had just pulled Jesse off Buck and had sent both naughty boys to separate corners when she heard a carriage come to a halt outside their door. Papa’s butler answered, and a moment later Papa himself poked his head into the parlor. “Daughter,” he said, a hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You have a caller.”

Julia instinctively touched her hair to be sure no unruly locks had come free of her coiled braids. “Please show her in. Or him,” she added, just in case.

“I think you should meet her in the foyer instead.”

Curious, Julia nodded. “Buck and Jesse,” she warned, “you are not to budge from those corners. Fred will tell me if you do.” She ignored their plaintive sighs as she followed Papa into the hall—but she stopped short at the sight of a tiny colored woman standing just inside the front door, a bundle tied up in calico under her arm. “Jule,” she exclaimed, hurrying forward to welcome her, halting an arm’s length away. Her maid was so much thinner than Julia remembered, and her gaze carried years of misery. “How good it is to see you!”

“Thank you, Miss Julia.” Jule had not removed her wrap, the familiar lovely, warm, dove-gray shawl she had knit from yarn salvaged from an old sweater of Papa’s. “If you won’t be needing me, I’d like to go see Gabriel, please.”

Before Julia could dismiss her, the sound of Jule’s voice brought the children running, and they happily embraced her, each professing to have missed her more than the other three. Jule smiled and tried to hug them all at once, and the calico bundle fell to her feet. Without thinking Julia stooped to pick it up, and then held it awkwardly while the children and their nurse enjoyed their reunion.

Julia remained in St. Louis long enough to assist at the birth of Emma’s first child, a robust little fellow the proud parents named Frederick Dent Casey after Papa. Ulys was eager to see his family again, so within a fortnight of the baby’s arrival, Julia was packing their trunks for the trip back to Cairo. In his letters Ulys had hinted that he was planning a major offensive, and he urgently wanted her and the children to fit in another visit before he was obliged to send them away for their own safety.

Julia already felt the pangs of homesickness, and the thought of the long steamboat ride alone with the children filled her with misgivings. She recalled how easily Anna Hillyer managed her three youngsters with the assistance of their Irish nurse, and she wished she did not have to do without help.

Upon further reflection, she wondered—why should she?

With a new lightness to her step, Julia fairly flew down the stairs to consult Papa, and when he gave his approval—with the usual cautions—she quickly found Jule in the children’s room, where she was folding Nellie’s pretty dresses and placing them carefully in her trunk. She had filled out somewhat since returning to the Dent household, and the strain around her eyes had eased. Her ginger skin was as warm and luminous as ever, her hair ebony without a single strand of silver. Julia was suddenly conscious of how her own waist had thickened, how she had begun plucking the occasional gray hair from her crown.

“Jule,” Julia said, clasping her hands together with delight, “I have wonderful news.”

Jule eyed her warily. “And what might that be, Miss Julia?”

“You’ll need to pack your bundle, because you’re coming with us to Cairo.”

D
ECEMBER
1861–A
PRIL
1862

J
ule must have been even more surprised than Julia had anticipated, for her first reaction was to stare at her, expressionless, before she resumed folding Nellie’s dresses, more quickly and crisply than before.

“Well?” Julia eventually prompted her. “Won’t it be exciting to travel?”

“Maybe too exciting.” Jule placed the last little gown in the trunk, frowning. “You want me to go with you into a war?”

“You won’t be anywhere near a battlefield. General Grant would never summon me and the children to him if he thought we would be in any danger.”

“Even a general can’t always know where the danger’s gonna be.”

Jule made a fair point, but Julia could not afford to cede any ground. “General Grant’s headquarters are at Cairo, Illinois—well, I know you don’t know where that is, but it’s perfectly safe. You’ll have a nice bed in the servants’ quarters in the attic.”

“But I’ve only just gotten home.” Jule peered into the trunk as if wondering what she had forgotten. “I’d rather stay here—with Gabriel.”

“Jule, I know you fancy him—”

Jule planted one hand on her hip. “He’s my husband.”

For a moment, Julia could only stare at her, speechless. “Your husband?”

“That’s right. We were married a few weeks after you and General Grant, in a church, with a minister.”

Dismayed, Julia sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. “You know that’s against the law.”

“You gonna turn me in? You gonna tell your papa?”

“Of course not, but you can’t let him know.” Julia inhaled deeply, imagining Papa’s reaction. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s against the law,” said Jule pointedly, echoing Julia’s own words.

“Of course.” Julia clasped her hands together in her lap, thoughts churning. When she considered how unhappily she had endured Ulys’s numerous and lengthy absences, it pained her to think she had inflicted that keen sense of loss and separation upon someone else.

Jule fixed her with a level, determined gaze. “When you went off to Galena and hired me out, you said you would make it up to me. Now’s the time—please. Let me stay here with Gabriel and hire me out to dress hair like you used to. Let me stay with my husband and earn some of my own money again.”

“Jule, listen,” Julia said. “My father has the final word. It’s not a choice between accompanying me to Illinois or staying here with Gabriel, but coming with me or returning to Mr. Slate. They still have your contract.”

Jule pressed her lips together, but her chin trembled and angry tears gathered in her eyes. “That’s no choice at all.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Jule looked away. She pressed a hand to her cheek, to her brow, her expression shifting from grief through resignation to resolve. “Illinois, you say?”

“Yes, in Cairo. It’s a charming little town on a peninsula between the Mississippi and the Ohio. You like the river, don’t you?”

“I do, yes.” Jule closed the lid to the trunk but remained bent over it, bracing herself with her arms. “The old master don’t mind? He wouldn’t let me go to Galena.”

“He understands that I need help with the children and that I’m not likely to find anyone more suitable to hire there.”

“All right, Miss Julia.” Jule straightened and tucked her hands into her apron pockets, a new, inscrutable glimmer in her eye. “It might be good to travel. When I finish packing Buck’s trousers, I’ll get my bundle together.”

When their steamer arrived at Cairo, Ulys met them at the landing, his joy abundant as he embraced Julia and the children—and when he glimpsed Jule standing at a respectful distance with the luggage, his consternation was equally evident. “Hello, Jule,” he greeted her. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I didn’t expect to be here, General, sir.”

Ulys laughed, and Julia, who had been holding her breath, exhaled with relief. He could have ordered Jule back aboard the next steamer for St. Louis, but it appeared that she could stay. Impulsively Julia kissed Ulys on the cheek, beaming, and he gave her a wry look and took her hand. He was an indulgent husband and father, and she knew she was fortunate that he so often let her have her own way.

She was delighted to see Anna Hillyer again, to find the stouthearted soldiers in excellent spirits, but she soon realized that something was afoot at headquarters. Someone—Julia suspected a disgruntled transportation officer named William Kountz, who had made trouble after he was blamed for irregularities in the quartermaster’s department—had complained to Washington of intemperance in the camp. Ulys had enough to do without playing the schoolmarm to his officers, so it was true that he took a lenient approach to how they spent their time off duty, as long as the encampment was never disorderly or rife with drunkenness. Nevertheless, the rumors of dissipation in camp persisted, and before long, certain gossipy, malicious folk dragged out the old accusations against Ulys.

“How can anyone who knows you believe you’re a drunkard?” Julia protested in an undertone one night as they prepared for bed. She trusted the Hillyers never to repeat what they might overhear, but others could be walking by or toiling away in the offices below, taking note of every word that passed through the thin walls and floorboards. “General Rawlins is a zealot about temperance. I’ve heard him say he would rather have a friend take a glass of poison than a glass of whiskey. If you were a drunkard, he would know, and he would report you himself. How do these rumormongers believe your alleged drunkenness has escaped his notice?”

“I don’t know.” Ulys sighed heavily. “Julia, I haven’t been a perfect man—”

“But you’re no drunkard.”

“No,” he said. “No, I would not call myself that.”

“No one should.”

He put out the light, and she pulled the quilt over them, shutting out the world.

•   •   •

Julia found Christmas melancholy rather than merry that year, far from home in a temporary residence that resembled an army barracks, with war lurking just beyond the light of her hearth, but she resolved to hide her feelings for the sake of Ulys and the children, so they would know only the joy of the season and none of the loneliness and regret. She was ever mindful, too, that she lived among thousands of brave men who also had not expected to be so far from home in that holy season, men who had not seen their families for many long months. Julia had Ulys and the children, as well as Jule, for comfort and company. How could she bemoan her state when she was surrounded by people far less fortunate? Casting aside her self-pity, she gathered the other officers’ wives and walked along the rows of white tents distributing Christmas delicacies to the soldiers while the children sang carols in their sweet treble voices. She spied a tear in the eye of many a stalwart soldier, but they seemed pleased to be remembered, and Julia hoped their homesickness had eased at least a little.

Throughout the holidays and into the New Year, Ulys was preoccupied with planning assaults on Fort Henry and Fort Donelson in Tennessee, two Confederate strongholds protecting the Tennessee and Cumberland Rivers. If Ulys could wrest those forts from the enemy’s grasp, he would open two routes for a Union invasion deep into Tennessee and beyond.

It seemed a good idea to Julia, but Ulys’s superiors needed to be persuaded, and even as he made his case via letters and telegrams, he suffered distractions and interruptions from Captain Kountz. Julia disliked the officer intensely, certain he was responsible for the slanderous accusations against her husband. Her enmity seemed justified after the riverboat captains under his command formally complained about him to Ulys, declaring that he was obnoxious and that they would not obey his commands. “Captain Kountz has been appointed by the president and must be obeyed,” Ulys reminded them. “There’s no time to discuss whether that’s agreeable or not, and I hope, gentlemen, that you’ll do your duty.”

The riverboat captains acquiesced, but Kountz continued to make a nuisance of himself around headquarters. One morning while Ulys was off inspecting the troops, Julia was drawn from her sitting room by the sound of a fierce argument downstairs. From the top of the staircase, she glimpsed Rawlins and Kountz squared off in the foyer, glaring at each other with almost tangible enmity.

“Your constant interruptions have driven the general from his office,” Rawlins said, his voice growing louder with each word until he was almost shouting.

“I’m doing my duty,” snapped Kountz, “which is, I’m sure, a concept so unfamiliar to you that it’s no wonder you don’t recognize it.”

Rawlins cursed and rushed him, and as they grappled, two other soldiers came running. “Restrain him,” Rawlins ordered, tearing himself free as the soldiers seized Kountz’s arms. “Escort him back to his barracks at once.”

“You’re drunk,” Kountz hollered, struggling to break free. “You’re all drunk—you, General Grant, the entire staff. Drunkards, every one of you!”

That evening at dinner, Colonel Hillyer told Ulys what had occurred in his absence. “I ordered the scoundrel gagged,” the colonel said, disgusted. “He should be ousted from the army. He’s nothing but trouble.”

“Gagged?” Ulys winced and shook his head. “He must be released at once.”

“But General—”

“We must bear with this man,” Ulys said. “He’s overzealous in doing his duty; that’s all.”

Colonel Hillyer rose to carry out the order, but his expression made it clear that he was loath to obey. “We can’t trust him, sir.
You
can’t trust him. He’s a menace.”

•   •   •

Although Ulys confided nothing of his strategies to Julia, as January passed, she could not fail to observe that he was preparing to send his troops into battle. Something—a new intensity in his manner, the escalating fervor of his closest advisors—told her that he had finished planning the assault and had chosen the day to send the army to meet the enemy.

One afternoon he found her in her sitting room mending Jesse’s torn trousers, and he lingered quietly in the doorway watching her so long that she was finally compelled to ask him what he wanted.

“I intend to move the army tomorrow,” he said. “While I’m gone, I think you and the children should go to Kentucky and stay with my family.”

Julia’s spirits dipped. “Couldn’t I wait here until you return?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know how long I’ll be away, and Covington is safer.”

“I feel perfectly safe here,” she replied, trying her best to sound confident rather than forlorn. “Please don’t send us away. The children will be heartbroken.”

“Fred, Buck, and Nellie really ought to be in school,” Ulys reminded her. “Covington is as good a place to enroll them as anywhere, and it’s close enough that if I want you to visit, you can leave the children with my family and come to me without fear for their safety.”

Julia set her sewing aside, closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose to ward off a headache. “What about Jule? I can’t imagine that your parents would permit me to bring her along.”

“They couldn’t abide it,” he said shortly, and a flush of mortification rose in her cheeks when she understood that his displeasure was directed toward her for keeping a slave, not to his parents for objecting. “A messenger will be carrying my dispatches to St. Louis early tomorrow morning. I’ve arranged for him to escort Jule to your father’s house.”

So he had already decided; she was being informed, not consulted. “If I can’t talk you out of this,” she said, “and I see from your scowl that I dare not attempt it, please send word to my father that he mustn’t hire out Jule to Mr. and Mrs. Slate. I absolutely must insist. She won’t tell me all that she suffered there, but you saw for yourself that she returned to us half-starved and aged beyond her years. I won’t put her through that again.”

Ulys ran the fingers of his right hand through his beard, considering. “I’ll give the messenger a letter for your father explaining that she isn’t to be hired out to anyone because you expect to need her yourself again soon. I’ll even send along money for her keeping, so he has less reason to ignore the request. Will that do?”

“I’d much rather have her remain here with me and the children while we await your return.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Then, yes, it will do.” Julia managed a smile. “And thank you, Ulys.”

To her astonishment, he next handed her a thick roll of bills—six to eight hundred dollars from the weight of it. “Ulys, this is a small fortune,” she exclaimed. “What on earth would you have me do with it?”

“Take care of it,” he said. “You’ll need it. It may be some time before I can give you any more, as I expect to be on active duty from now on.”

Unsettled, she promised to do so. As soon as he left her, she put the roll of bills away for safekeeping and then set off to break the news to Jule and to begin packing.

•   •   •

Jule accepted General Grant’s decision with practiced outward stoicism, but inside, unseen, hope warred with trepidation. Her heart soared to think that she might embrace her beloved Gabriel soon, but the general’s letter seemed a flimsy weapon against the old master’s stubbornness. She did not trust him to abide by Julia’s wishes.

The next morning, Ulys’s messenger arrived early to collect Jule. Lieutenant Aaron Friedman was a tall, lanky officer with olive skin and dark curly hair, who curiously offered to carry her calico bundle—which she adamantly refused to relinquish—and extended his hand to assist her into the ambulance. Belying those kindnesses, as they rode to the dock, he said, “I’m only taking you to your master because General Grant expressly commanded it.”

Jule said nothing, but only inclined her head in acknowledgment.

As they boarded the ship, a member of the crew directed the lieutenant to take Jule to the hold. “Absolutely not,” he barked in reply, his height and uniform giving the illusion of greater authority than his rank commanded. “This is Mrs. General Grant’s handmaid, and the general himself has ordered that she be given all due consideration.”

Jule kept her features smooth but could not refrain from studying the lieutenant from the corner of her eye. Nothing of what he said was true, except that she was Mrs. Grant’s maid, and he knew it.