New York City, February 1855
Ginger Fitzpatrick was in a pickle, that much was
certain.
Her mother took her by surprise at breakfast by
announcing to the
family that Ginger would participate in the Cotillion
ball two
months hence. While her younger sisters squealed in
excitement,
Ginger couldnโt find her voice to object to her motherโs
idea. She
knew she must, considering that her father was known to
grant every
wish his wife had, but Ginger could only stare in
confusion. And
that wasnโt the worst of it.
"George," her mother stated calmly to her father, ""you
must
relieve Ginger of her duties at the bank so I have time
to teach
her the rules of etiquette sheโll need for a full season
of events.
Dear Lord, I have only a couple months to cram in
everything."
Astonished and stunned, Ginger turned to her father,
hanging onto a
thread of hope that her valued involvement at the bank
would save
her.
"Let me think about the best way to handle the shift in
responsibility, darling. Iโll make sure Ginger is free by
the end
of the week." He glanced at Gingerโs stupefied expression
and
reached across the table for her hand. "Perhaps we could
also offer
a reward of some kind. Possibly a trip to St. Louis if
she gets
through the season without incident?"
He had actually smiled over the breakfast table at her.
As if the
allure of a trip would make everything all right.
Now, Ginger strode down the hallway of the bank to talk
to her
father before he could continue the discussion with her
mother. She
had always been able to convince him of anything, if she
wanted it
strongly enough. After all, he allowed her to work
alongside him at
the bank, which went against all the rules of society and
a womanโs
place in it. She stopped briefly at the window
overlooking the
street, watching the snow falling outside. It clung to
the red
bricks of the ornate bank building, and she longed to be
as
capricious as one of the snowflakes. Instead she had to
present a
strong argument to make her father see the folly in her
motherโs
latest idea.
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