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Chapter 2
2.

The mood in the convention hall was somewhere between apocalypse and apotheosis as Grant came out of the back room. Colfax, Fenton, Hamlin and the others were smiling gamely, watching Wade with jealous intensity as he accepted his victory. For a moment nobody noticed their nominee watching from the corner.

“General,” Chandler said, “you should join Senator Wade up on the stage.” Chandler’s jaw was still clenched, but now he was back in professional mode, his career trumping any political preferences that he may have had. Smart man, thought Grant.

“Thank you William.” He said, gave Julia’s hand a reassuring squeeze and walked confidently onto the stage, smiling at Wade. He was taller than the Ohioan, considerably younger too, but Wade still gave off a fierce sort of energy that Grant quite liked.

“Congratulations on your victory,” he told Wade quietly, “I’d like it if you and Caroline would come to dinner with my family and I tonight, after all of this is wrapped up.” Wade seemed to have been expecting something like this and nodded before relinquishing Grant’s grip.

“Absolutely.” The two men faced the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Grant said, his voice cutting through the general hubbub and buzz of the convention hall like a knife, “I am proud to present to you all, future Vice President of the United States of America, Senator Benjamin Wade.” The applause that resulted from this declaration didn’t fully die down for nearly two whole minutes and Grant got the feeling that it was for him as much as it was for Wade.

Nobody seemed exactly unhappy that Wade had won, he had ties all across the party and was friends with too many people for outright disapproval to be shared publicly, but Grant got the feeling that Colfax might have been better appreciated as a candidate.

If Wade was noticing any of this he gave no indication as he smiled and waved to the audience before withdrawing a carefully folded sheet of paper from his coat. There wasn’t much ink on the page and Grant could see that he had a small list of bullet points written in tiny, careful script. Apparently he had committed the vast majority of his acceptance speech to memory.

“Thank you,” he said, silencing the last of the murmurs and whispers reverberating through the audience, “thank you all very much for being here tonight to witness history in the making. It is now the year 1868, we are three years removed from the ending of a great and titanic struggle that has irreversibly and undeniably changed our nation. We have nominated a man who helped win that struggle for the forces of freedom, liberty and equality to serve as our candidate for the presidency...and I am proud to stand alongside him in our quest to further this nation’s journey forwards; into a future unmarred by strife between the races, economic turmoil and the hideous flames of civil war and unrest.” Wade paused, the convention hall was dead silent now, Grant almost felt out of place standing next to Wade as the man spoke, but then he supposed that he looked powerful.

“But before we reach that promised land of peace and prosperity,” Wade continued, “we have a hard road to travel, fraught with perils both natural and not...whether they be the depraved cruelty of the night riders or the question of how best to serve the American people through economic expansion and the development of the west. What is clear through all of this is that we are present at a pivotal point in history, and what we do now will resonate for centuries to come, like the ripples of a stone thrown into a still pond. We have emerged from the fires of a war that tamed secession and ended slavery, and so now we can use the peace to combat the evils of color-phobia and unite this nation once and for all. Under the leadership of General Ulysses S. Grant we have the potential to make America a great place, and I say that we let history show that we did not waste that potential...that we fixed the maladies that so direly plague us, and that we started that battle tonight.” Wade’s energy was infectious, and while some of the members of the audience looked visibly concerned by some of the insinuations that he had made, the applause generated drowned out any signs of dissent from the more conservative wing of the party.

Grant and Wade remained on the stage for a further several minutes, not saying much of anything but instead letting everyone present get a good look at their nominees. Then, as though somebody had flipped a switch, the first day of the convention came to an end, and the two men made their escape to the back room, where a small tangle of campaign staff and others were waiting.

“I improvised most of that speech,” Wade admitted to Grant, “I honestly didn’t expect that I would really win until Colfax started losing delegates.” Grant nodded. He wasn’t very surprised, Wade had a reputation for being a strong orator, and he had amply demonstrated his chops up on the stage.

“You did well.” He said, then smiled as he saw Chandler, Julia and the others, all gathered in the back of the room, next to the exit.

“The carriage is ready gentlemen,” Chandler said crisply, “whenever you wish to leave.” Wade looked Chandler up and down.

“Your campaign manager?” He asked, and Grant nodded.

“Senator, this is William Chandler. You are correct in your deduction...he will be in charge of running our campaign.” Wade extended a hand and Chandler shook, smiling gamely. His earlier unhappiness seemed to have passed completely, and while Grant knew that he wasn’t entirely happy with having to represent somebody as clearly radical as Wade, he was adapting to the current circumstances.

“Pleasure to meet you Senator.” Chandler said, and Wade nodded.

“Both of you can call me Ben if you wish,” Grant decided to take Wade up on that, the man would be his Vice President after all, “what can I call you?” The question was directed more to Grant than Chandler, and Chandler didn’t answer, instead busying himself with micromanaging the remainder of the week’s affairs.

“My friends call me Sam,” Grant said, “it’s an old nickname from West Point...” Wade nodded, then glanced over, smiling as he caught sight of a figure entering the room.

“Darling,” he said sunnily, taking ahold of his wife’s hand, “we’ve been invited to dinner with General Grant and his family.” Caroline Wade was shorter than her husband and more delicately built. Though age had robbed her of some of her vigor, it was apparent that she possessed the same sort of energy that Wade did. Grant supposed that her and Julia would probably get along.

Caroline said something back, quietly enough that Grant missed it, but apparently it was positive because Wade smiled and turned back towards Grant, who in turn gestured to the side door.

“If you have no further business to attend to then we can egress.” Wade elected to do just that, and they piled into the carriage. Grant was acutely thankful at that point that a candidate with a small family had won the nomination, otherwise he may have had to enlist an extra carriage.

As it was the vehicle was packed and Jesse had to take a seat upon Julia’s lap in order for everyone to fit. Nellie sat next to Caroline and the ride was remarkably quiet as they passed through the city, the glow of gas lights sending shadows and stripes of orange and yellow light jerking through the carriage. The sun had descended, the last brilliant streaks of sunset fading from the sky, and Grant felt pleased that everything had worked out mostly in his favor.

“How’s Mr. Stevens doing?” Grant asked, breaking the silence, “I understand that he’s been taken ill...” That was an understatement. Thaddeus Stevens‘ health had been shaky for years and common consensus stated that he was likely to die before the end of the year. Wade smiled tightly.

“I received a wire from him this morning wishing me luck so he may be feeling better than he was just a few weeks ago. He’ll be getting the news of my nomination any moment now.” Grant nodded. Wade seemed pained thinking of the situation of his friend, but he shook his head, casting whatever fears he had out of his mind.

“He’ll be happy to see a radical on the ticket this year.” An obvious statement. Grant hadn’t interacted with Stevens beyond the customary handshake and greeting that he had gone through with most of congress, but he knew that the old man was beyond driven when it came to progressing the agenda of the radical Republicans. He wouldn’t be happy to see Wade become the second most powerful man in America. He’d be overjoyed.

“Yes,” Wade said, “he will be. I just hope the electorate will tolerate my presence.” Grant, though he had tried not to think of the election so soon after the convention, had wondered just what sort of effect Wade would have upon the voters. Obviously he would scare the hell out of the Democrats, but aside from that Grant simply wasn’t sure how the average American would react to a man who was on record saying that the Negro and the white man were one and the same physically and mentally.

“We shall cross that bridge when we come to it.” Grant said, and almost as if it had been planned, the carriage pulled to a stop. The doors swung open and the two families spilled from the packed carriage with significantly less grace than when they’d entered it. Grant thanked the driver and handed him a fifty cent piece, Abraham Lincoln’s face staring briefly up at him before the driver pocketed it and thanked him.

The restaurant was German inspired and nearly empty, an entire room reserved for the Grant and Wade families. Grant sat down, Julia and Fred flanking him, and tried to discern what exactly Wade was thinking. The Ohioan didn’t seem to dislike him, nor his politics, and Grant supposed that Wade was willing to tolerate differences of opinion on just about anything except for race.

“We have a wide variety of spirits available if you’d be interested in looking at our drinks menu sir.” The waiter, a young man with a neatly waxed mustache and a leather bound set of menus tucked under one arm, hovered to Grant’s left, clearly expectant. Grant didn’t disappoint.

“That would be nice. Thank you.” He accepted the menu, glanced at it and was pleased to see that they offered Old Crow, which he promptly ordered. Julia, Caroline and Wade asked for a red French wine which had just come in, and as the waiter sped away, Grant glanced at the menu.

“So, you and...” Caroline nearly called Grant Ulysses before Wade whispered something to her, “Sam have been together for how many years now?” Julia smiled, sipping her water as she looked over the menu.

“Eighteen years. I heard somebody at the convention say that you and Ben have been married for thirty years now?” Julia had set down her menu and was giving her full attention to Caroline, intent on finding out as much as she could about this new woman.

“Twenty seven actually, but it’ll be thirty soon enough.” Grant let his attention away from the conversation and instead looked over to Wade, who seemed to have reached a decision as to what his dinner would be.

“I haven’t had a good steak for the longest time,” he said, “you like steak, don’t you?” Grant nodded.

“Sure.” He had eaten his fair share while on campaign, though the quality probably wasn’t even halfway comparable to what a restaurant of this caliber would be serving.

“I haven’t spent much time in Chicago,” Wade admitted, “I’m more a...thank you,” he smiled as a waiter filled his wine glass, “I’m more at home on the east coast I suppose.” Grant couldn’t say that he had any preference as to where he spent his time, he had been on the road for so long, hopping from place to place, that he didn’t really have any particular region he could consider his favorite.

“You are a senator,” Grant said, “you’ve spent a lot more time in Washington than I have.” Wade nodded evenly, not responding for a few moments.

“Political experience isn’t required for a man to be a great leader...George Washington was never elected to public office before becoming President.” Grant blinked.

“I’d hold off on any comparisons to George Washington until we’re actually in office.” That made Wade chuckle.

“You’re completely right...I’m getting ahead of myself. But still, the American people know better than to elect Democrats back into office for a good, long time. The inauguration will be at hand before we know it.” Grant admired Wade’s optimism but didn’t entirely share it. He had experienced enough reversals in his life to know that there was no such thing as an assured victory, and though he didn’t have much control over the outcome now, he still felt that being cautious was better than being blindly confident.

“Hopefully.” At that moment the waiter returned and began to take orders. Grant hadn’t looked at the menu but decided that a steak would be just the thing to end the day with. He asked for his meat to be well done, bordering on burnt.

“I’ll have the filet mignon,” Wade said, mirroring Grant’s order, “medium rare.” Julia asked for soup and Caroline settled for shepherd’s pie. Grant didn’t pay attention to what Fred, Junior, Nellie and Jesse ordered, Wade was speaking again, buttering a piece of bread as he did so.

The conversation was light and unimportant, the two families getting to know each other in the most superficial ways, learning birthdays and other facts that weren’t terribly important. Grant and Wade spoke about things, swapping stories and commiserating about the occasional issue on which they both agreed that something was wrong. But while politics were touched upon every now and then, they weren’t explored in any meaningful way. The day had been thoroughly saturated in political intrigue, nobody particularly wanted any more.

The meals trickled in from the kitchen and they ate, Grant being sure not to look at Wade’s plate as he did so. The Ohioan had ordered his meat just rare enough for it to be bloody, and the sight made Grant’s stomach churn. He had always hated the sight of blood, even when it came from something as inconspicuous as a cutlet.

Conversation slowed, then picked up slightly when dessert arrived. The restaurant was serving strawberries and cream, topped with mint leaves and chocolate shavings,which proved to be sumptuous enough for Grant to have two servings before brandy, cigars and a check were brought out.

Wade did not smoke and so Grant elected not to smoke either, instead pocketing his own cigar, a Cuban variety which smelled faintly of cinnamon. He sipped his brandy and gently took the check away from Wade, interrupting his attempt to pay the bill.

“I’ve got this.” He told the Ohioan, and paid in silver.
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