GK had been more surrogate father than older brother, our father having passed away several years previously. He was the closest to me amongst all our surviving siblings, no matter the time or distance that separated us. As he edged closer, my smile faded at the sight of his gaunt frame, the strain of war reflected in the streak of gray in his hair and the slump of his shoulders.
The young officer following behind my brother glanced my way. I looked, then looked again—GK’s aide was the same captain who had been boasting about healing the country with bridges. His eyes landed on me for the briefest moment, then scanned the room as if the enemy might leap from the shadows.
I coughed to cover a laugh. While he tried to appear vigilant, his gaze returned to me again and again. Perhaps he had seen me eavesdropping.
I squeezed past the knots of guests toward GK, but the crowd was thick around him. He greeted the wounded men, exchanging a few words and shaking hands down the line. Next, he worked his way into the larger crowd, and I was pushed back by officers surging toward him as they jockeyed for his attention.
“Men of the Second Corps.” GK’s booming voice filled the room as if to assure them that he could be heard over the firing of cannons. “Let us welcome these fine ladies and thank them for honoring us with their presence.”
He signaled the orchestra, and hundreds of young men in dark blue began to dance, their shoulders shimmering with gold-fringed epaulets, like an oasis after years in the desert. I danced with one handsome lieutenant, then another and another, each spinning me into the arms of the next in line. When at last I paused, gasping for breath, the officers gathered around me, helping me to tuck back the long ribbons that were losing the battle to contain my curls. While the other women sniffed their disdain at my exuberant dancing and frequent change of partners, the men laughed and vied for me. No matter about the women. I meant to keep my promise to my brother by providing amusement for his men.
A lieutenant came by with a tray of drinks, whiskey for the men, tea for the ladies, he said, although it was difficult to tell them apart. The guests emptied the tray save two. The lieutenant handed one of the glasses, filled nearly to the brim, to me. “For you, Miss…?”
“Just Emily.” He needn’t know I shared a surname with the general.
“For you, Miss Just Emily,” he said, loudly enough to elicit chuckles from the crowd.
I took the glass and sipped. It was whiskey.
“No, all wrong.” He took the last glass, swirled the amber liquid, and took a deep whiff of its aroma. Then he downed it in several gulps.
I poured the whiskey down my throat and held up my empty glass, pressing my lips together to stifle a cough. The group cheered and my spirits lifted, sailing on fumes of whiskey. I was no longer a fresh flower in an old factory. I was their queen.
The crowd grew louder, but this time, it wasn’t me they were rooting for. A short, broadly built officer leaped into the air and landed with his legs split. The throng whistled and yelled “Just Emily!” for my response.
The group clapped a drumbeat, encouraging me. My competitive spirit outweighed my sense of decorum, and I spun, each step in synchrony with the clap, faster and faster until my dress lifted. Then I slid down into a split, one arm raised dramatically, my ball gown splaying in a circle of magenta folds around me.
As several officers helped me up, the crowd parted, revealing GK and his aide. My brother raised one eyebrow in warning, and the younger officer gaped at me. Heat rose in my face, but this time, it wasn’t the whiskey.
“Moths to the flame.” GK gave his aide a slap on the shoulder.
The aide then closed his mouth, his Adam’s apple bobbing above his blue uniform collar. “Shall I escort the young lady from the dance, sir?”
My opinion of him matched that of the booing crowd.
GK rubbed his chin. “A generous offer.”
The aide flashed a conspiratorial grin, but his smile faded when GK added, “But that won’t be necessary.”
Even though the captain had seemed a presumptuous young man, I was chagrined that GK was teasing him. GK slung his arm across my shoulders and led me away from the group.
“Emily, I trust you are enjoying yourself?” GK’s face showed a mix of tenderness and disappointment. I wanted to curl up like a pill bug.
“Quite. It is my pleasure to offer a small bit of entertainment.” I crossed my arms across my middle, feigning boldness. It had been a full year since I had seen my dear brother, and I wanted to show him how grown up I was and how much I cared about our soldiers. But despite my good intentions, I was a bit late to realize that my actions might reflect poorly on him.
One of the men called out, “Aww, let her stay and dance with us, sir.”
“Not now. The lady needs a rest.” GK maintained a grip on my arm, firm enough to tell me I was most certainly out of line.
The aide glanced wide-eyed from GK to me. His thick hair and neatly trimmed mustache were the color of honey, and his expressive eyes reminded me of the crystal water that filled the quarry at home.
“Miss Emily Warren, allow me to introduce Captain Washington Roebling.” GK lifted my gloved right hand and offered it to his aide. “I owe my life to this captain and my sense of purpose to this charming sprite. It is only fitting the two of you meet.”
The captain cleared his throat. “You—your wife? I thought she was unable to—”
“Gracious no.” GK laughed. “My sister. She and my wife happen to share a name. Now then, will you be so kind as to guard the honor of Miss Emily Warren?”
I felt sorry for the poor man; his eyes took me in, from escaping curls to rumpled hem, as he reconciled my identity. Perhaps trying to oust his commander’s sister from the event was only slightly less humiliating than ousting his wife. My presented hand hung awkwardly in the air until the captain regained his composure and took it in his own.
“It will be my pleasure, sir.” Then his first words to me: “Miss Warren, Captain Roebling, at your service.”
“Very well then.” GK gave a last glance, a small tilt of the head to remind me to act with decorum. He went back to his hosting duties, signaling the orchestra to resume and coaxing the officers back to the dance floor.
My new guardian took my hand and kissed the air just above it, then regarded me for several uncomfortable moments. My hand warmed from his touch despite my silk glove. Sensible of his gaze, I smoothed my hair and adjusted my dress.
I was no delicate beauty. A lifetime of riding horses and chasing—and being chased by—my siblings had afforded me a robust constitution, so I appreciated a sturdy man. The captain certainly appeared stalwart; it was doubtful I could break his arm in a bit of horseplay, as had happened to one of my more unfortunate suitors.