Mrs. Grant and Madame Jule (31 page)

“Charming indeed,” said Mrs. Lincoln through clenched teeth. The ambulance jolted along so violently that the ladies’ heads were bounced against the ceiling again and again, flattening the crowns of their bonnets. “Why could he not have had mounts for all of us?”

“Oh, do you ride, Mrs. Lincoln?” Julia asked, glad to have found a common interest.

Rather than answer, Mrs. Lincoln frowned imperiously and called out, “Driver, do hurry along. We’re falling behind the others.”

Julia observed that Mrs. Lincoln kept her gaze fixed on her husband, clearly recognizable even to Julia’s poor sight by his height and his tall stovepipe hat, and upon the beautiful Mrs. Ord, whose fashionable hat boasted a long, white plume that bounced merrily in time with her mare’s graceful gait.

“What does the woman mean,” Mrs. Lincoln suddenly exclaimed, her voice shaking with each jolt of the wheels on the washboard road, “by riding by the side of the president, and ahead of me? Does she suppose that
he
wants
her
by his side instead of me?”

Major Seward, a nephew of the secretary of state, overheard some of Mrs. Lincoln’s words but none of their implication. “The president’s horse is very gallant, Mrs. Lincoln,” he called, dropping back alongside the ambulance. “He insists on riding with Mrs. Ord.”

“What do you mean by that, sir?” Mrs. Lincoln asked sharply.

“Only that Mrs. Ord’s horse is the mate of the president’s horse,” said Major Seward, taken aback.

“And a chivalrous creature he is indeed,” said Julia, “to want to look after his mate. You’re quite right, Major.”

His smile long since vanished, Major Seward inclined his head to them in parting, urged his horse to quicken its pace, and soon caught up with the other riders.

“Why do they ride so far ahead?” said Mrs. Lincoln, her voice shaking as much from anger as from the violent rattling of the ambulance. “What is it they don’t wish me to see?”

Before Julia could reply, the ambulance struck an exposed tree root in the muddy road, tossing the passengers from their seats into the air.

“Stop this carriage at once,” Mrs. Lincoln shrieked. “I must get out, and I will get out!”

The driver—a different fellow than the day before—pulled hard on the reins until the carriage halted. Julia felt her seat shift as two of the wheels mired deep in the mud.

“Let me out at once,” said Mrs. Lincoln, climbing stiffly to her feet and reaching for the door. “Call to the riders to come back.”

“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 your 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.”