Mrs. Grant and Madame Jule by Jennifer Chiaverini

you to,” said Julia, although she had not given the matter any thought. “Mamma or my sisters wanted you closer to them, I assume.”
    “No, Miss Julia,” said Jule. “I stay nights in the hayloft with Gabriel now.”
    “Oh, I see.” Julia felt faintly embarrassed by all that the brief admission implied, but since Mamma had apparently not forbidden it, it was not for Julia to punish the indiscretion. “You may remain there for now, if you prefer, but after the baby comes, I’ll need you back in the house.”
    “You going to hire a wet nurse?”
    Of course. That explained Jule’s reticent, almost defiant manner. She worried that she would be replaced. “No, Jule,” she said, smiling reassuringly. “I intend to nurse my child myself, and you can help me with everything else.”
    Jule nodded, but curiously, she seemed no less ill at ease. “Can I ask you, Miss Julia,” she ventured, “what Northern ladies do for help?”
    “They hire servants, German and Irish immigrants, mostly,” Julia replied. “I sympathize with them. I don’t know how they manage.”
    “Them and they,” echoed Jule. “You mean the servants or—”
    “I mean the employers, of course,” Julia interrupted. “The Irish and German girls welcome the work, and they’re fortunate to have it. But their employers—let’s just say they’re obliged to have lower expectations for their households than we do here.” She sighed and settled back against the pillow. “Nothing makes you appreciate the customs of home more than spending time away.”
    “I wouldn’t know, Miss Julia.” Jule’s voice was oddly flat. “You need anything else tonight?”
    Julia did not, so she reminded Jule of a few chores for the morning and dismissed her. Bemused, Julia put out the light, wondering why Jule had not seemed more pleased by the tacit compliment.
    Nevertheless, Jule remained the same dear, faithful servant she had known almost all her life, and Julia was so glad to see her that she could forgive her a few small, unwitting slights.
    •   •   •
    On May 30, 1850, Julia gave birth to a strong, healthy son. As she and Ulys had agreed, she named the robust little boy Frederick Dent Grant, in honor of her father. “Someday this boy will be a general,” Papa proudly declared, which Julia decided to take as a compliment to Ulys.
    Little Fred was almost a year old when Ulys was assigned once more to Sackets Harbor. There Fred grew into a lively toddler and the adored mascot of the regiment—and Julia discovered that their little family would welcome a younger brother or sister for him in the summer of 1852. Happily, Julia dreamed and prepared, but in springtime, official orders from Washington threw all her plans awry. Ulys’s regiment had been reassigned to Columbia Barracks, Oregon Territory.
    One spring afternoon while Fred napped, Julia pulled out the trunk holding his old baby clothes. Ulys, home early from work, found her sitting on the parlor floor beside the trunk, inspecting each garment to see what could be packed for the journey to Oregon Territory for the new baby. “Julia,” he scolded gently, hurrying over to help her into a chair, whether she liked it or not. “You shouldn’t be sitting on the floor in your condition.”
    “I’m fine,” she assured him, laughing. “Indian mothers-to-be sit on the bare ground when they aren’t on horseback, or so you’ve said.” Something about the set of his mouth, wariness or determination or both, chased away her amusement. “What’s wrong, Ulys?”
    He sat down in the chair beside her. “Julia, I’ve decided that it would be unwise for you to come with me in your condition.”
    Her heart thumped. “What do you mean? I’m perfectly healthy.”
    “You’re with child.”
    “Yes, I know.” A trifle angrily, she gestured to her unmistakably rounded abdomen. “I recognize the symptoms from last time.”
    “Julia, darling.” He reached for her hand. “The doctor agrees