Unlike most men, he towered several inches over me. Many accoutrements adorned his perfectly kept uniform: a sword and scabbard, red sash, gold braid, and the gold epaulets. GK had taught me to read a uniform: Branch: Engineers; Rank: Captain; Position: Aide de camp; Appearance: Outstanding. That last observation would be considered quite unofficial.
Still, I needed no honor guard, and this man had seemed insufferable. “You don’t need to escort me all evening,” I said. “I’m afraid my brother has put you in a rather unrewarding position.”
“There are worse duties.”
Biting my tongue at his inelegant reply, I caught the eye of an officer behind him. “It was lovely to meet you, Captain Roebling, but I’ll make my own way.”
His jaw dropped—in surprise, relief, or panic, I wasn’t sure which.
“Please don’t concern yourself. I’ll put in a good report for you with General Warren.” I turned on my heel to flee, but the captain gently caught my elbow.
“Wait.”
“Yes?” I wrinkled my brow at his offending hand, and he withdrew it.
The orchestra played a slow waltz.
“I believe the general expects us to set the example. May I have the honor of a dance, Miss Warren?”
I nodded my acceptance. It wouldn’t be good form to refuse.
The captain led me to the dance floor where he was light on his feet, his hand gentle across my back, guiding me in graceful circles. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
“Oh?”
His eyes held mine; there was something quite endearing about them.
“The general caught me sneaking peeks at you.”
A sympathetic soul—who admitted to watching me. The orchestra stopped, and other dancers retreated from the floor. Captain Roebling had a presence about him, a confidence I first took as hubris. Other officers called to him, but his eyes never left mine. Those ice-blue eyes seemed to see everything yet give nothing away.
The muscles knotting my neck softened as the shame from embarrassing my brother ebbed. My instinct to flee had disappeared, replaced with a desire to learn more about this curious man. “Why does the general say he owes his life to you?”
“Perhaps that’s a story for another day. Or never.” His hand went to his neck, and he absently fingered his collar.
The room grew quiet as couples dispersed for refreshments, and I worried I had spoiled the captain’s mood, speaking of the war that GK was trying to put aside for just one evening.
The pianist played Liszt’s “Liebestraum No. 3 (Love’s Dream).” Candles flickered soft shadows into the golden light.
“May I have the pleasure of another dance, Miss Warren?” His hand, warm and firm, lifted mine.
“Please, just Emily.”
He drew me close and whispered in my ear. “So I’ve heard. I am Washington. And for you only, just Wash.”
We danced again, heedless of sustaining a respectable gap between us. The wool of his jacket smelled of earth, rubbing pleasantly against my cheek. I couldn’t resist laughing at the other officers whistling and calling our names. That was, until Wash gently placed a finger under my chin and turned my face toward him as he swirled me around the ballroom. Had any other man done that, it would have felt disrespectful. But the way he held me—like a treasured gift—enchanted me.
All others faded away that night as we danced and talked, learning about each other’s big families and bigger dreams. While I hoped to join in the effort to gain the right to vote for women, he was planning to forever change our nation’s largest cities with the bridges he would build. His breath smelled like an exotic concoction of anise and cinnamon, and even as the light-headedness from the whiskey faded, I floated on a scented cloud, just listening to him. When it was time to go, I yearned to hold on to him and to the evening.
It seemed he felt the same. “It was my very great pleasure to meet you, Emily. I hope we will meet again soon.”
“My pleasure as well, Captain Roebling. I mean, Just Wash.”
Two
I was staying in the District, near the Mall, with GK and his wife. Their small, run-down, brick town house seemed unworthy of a general officer, but of course, he was seldom there. He was to have a whole week of leave, and I was quite tickled to be spending it with him.
Just as we sat down for breakfast the next morning, GK answered a knock at the door. I peered around the corner. Captain Roebling, in a black wool coat and watch cap, presented a note. I counted on my fingers, not even seven hours since we had parted. Apparently, his definition of soon was rather shorter than mine. Then I chastised myself. Wash was GK’s aide and had more than likely come to see my brother.
GK read, then folded the note and handed it back. “Captain, is this a ruse?”
“Yes, sir.” Wash nudged a picnic hamper sitting on the stoop next to him with his foot.
“I see.” GK turned and caught me eavesdropping. “Emily, will you kindly show Captain Roebling a proper way to spend a morning of leave?”
Having secured GK’s blessing for an outing, Wash helped me into my coat. Bitter air gusted in when he opened the door.
“A picnic in February?” I asked.
“It’s always a good day for a picnic if you choose your company wisely.”
“I believe I have.”
GK glanced outside where a carriage driver waited, stomping his feet and blowing breaths of cold-clouded air. “Find a good shelter so the three of you don’t freeze.”
Wash and I exchanged a smile. GK’s concern was having a chaperone, at least the appearance of one, as well as the weather. Wash held my arm as we stepped off the porch toward his carriage. Snow had whitewashed the sooty streets, brightening the neighborhood.
Snowflakes fluttered about as we settled into the carriage, and Wash spread a red plaid blanket across our laps. He pulled the bell cord to signal the driver, and the horse pulled the roofed but otherwise open carriage into the street. Snow muffled the clip-clop of its hooves, creating stark stillness under the weak sun. Flurries gave way to pockets of gray-blue sky.
“I’m sorry. It’s rather tight.” He angled his long legs sideways to make room on the narrow leather seat. “Normally, it’s only the general sitting here.”
“And where do you sit?”
“I’m the driver.” He grinned. “And sometimes cook.” He tapped the covered basket on his lap.
“A good one, I hope. Where are we going?” I rubbed my ears, my bonnet offering little protection from the cold.
“Are you warm enough?” He extracted a brown fur lap robe from a supply box.