“All right, Rosemary, dear,” Godfrey said and there was an edge to his voice, “but don’t blame me if you’re sick in the morning.”
“Yes,” Doc chuckled, “whiskey and a lady’s delicate constitution just don’t mesh.”
The other men laughed as if dismissing her. Evidently they saw it as a rebellious, childish whim. Godfrey served the whiskey. “You know, it’s a good thing I have a storeroom. The best whiskey comes from the South, and the war has stopped the supply.”
“Oh, must he talk about the war?” young Mr. Simms protested. “I think it might upset Miss Rosemary.” His big Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked toward her.
“Actually it doesn’t,” she returned, sipping her drink. It burned all the way down into her empty stomach and she was already regretting her choice. “You’re all profiting off the war, aren’t you?”
The men looked at each other as if not quite sure what to say.
Old Mr. Simms stuttered, “Well, of course I’m selling a lot of horses and grain to the army.”
“And the bank is doing well, too,” she said and gave Godfrey a questioning look.
Godfrey blinked and sipped his drink. “Well, yes, my dear, the army needs payroll, and we have all these new people moving to town.”
The butler came to the door of the library. “Dinner is served,” he announced grandly.
“I hope we have a good wine?” Doc Graham asked.
“Of course. I knew you would appreciate a new vintage I just had shipped in,” Godfrey said.
Rosemary stood up, but before the major could move to her side, young Simms rushed to take her arm. His big Adam’s apple looked like a fist in his long neck.
She was suddenly queasy, thinking she might throw up. Ladies never did such a thing. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d made a fool of herself. She swallowed hard and allowed young Mr. Simms to escort her toward the dining room. They trooped in to dinner and Rosemary managed to take her seat at the end of the table as hostess without tripping over her hoops and stumbling. She felt her face pale as her stomach seemed to rock. Maybe she could faint in a ladylike manner before she threw up. She grabbed a piece of bread and stuffed it in her mouth while the gentlemen stared at her. If she could just get a little food in her stomach, she’d be okay.
Godfrey, at the other end of the table, glowered at her and said, “I’d like to ask Reverend Post to say grace.”
She had never thought Godfrey religious, but the pastor said a blessing and then the arrogant butler began to serve the food out of silver dishes. In the meantime, she was choking on the dry bread. She grabbed her goblet of water and gulped it in a most unladylike way. Godfrey glared at her again and turned his attention to his guests.
The food looked excellent. Among other items were pinto beans, a favorite of her father’s.
“When did we hire a butler?” she asked as she helped herself to rare roast beef the servant offered.
“While you were in Europe, my dear. All the best homes have one.”
“Well, we may be the only house in Kansas with a butler.” She snorted and accepted a deviled egg from a silver tray.
“Oh my! Asparagus,” the pastor said. “I do love them, and is that roasted quail?”
“Yes, and do try these new potatoes and gravy,” Godfrey urged, “and wait till you taste the wine.”
The butler was now working his way around the long dining table, pouring the wine. She waved him away. With the whiskey in her stomach just beginning to settle down, she wasn’t about to chance the wine. The candles in the big candelabra flickered and Rosemary sighed as she ate. It was going to be a long, boring evening, she was certain.
She retreated into herself and concentrated on her crystal goblet. She was Lady Georgiana at her country estate and now hosting a dinner for a group of eager swains. All were here just to court her because she was pretty, graceful and knew how to flirt. Each handsome gentleman was holding his breath, waiting for Lady Georgiana’s next witty remark.
“…don’t you think so, my dear?”
Rosemary jerked out of her fantasy and stared at Godfrey. “What?”
He frowned at her. “I said you were pleased with the improvements I had made to the bank, aren’t you, my dear?”
She must not sputter, but she had been caught by surprise. “Uh, possibly. I—I haven’t had a chance to think about it.”
All the men laughed and the major said, “Well, ladies shouldn’t bother their pretty heads about business anyway.”
She squelched the urge to splash her glass of water all over his fine uniform. “Tell us about news of the war, Major?”
“Oh, I don’t think you’d be interested.” He demurred modestly.
“Oh, but I’m sure everyone would like to know the latest,” she encouraged him.
“Uh, well.” The young man’s thin chest puffed out now that he was the center of attention. “We are winning on all fronts. Of course, I’m disappointed not to have been sent into the thick of battle, and I’m afraid it will all be over before I can get to the front and earn my medals. I don’t see why George Custer should get all the glory.”
“So brave,” she murmured and his face brightened. Maybe he was after the bank fortune, too.
“Yes, indeed,” he blustered, evidently encouraged by her comment. “He’s my hero. Reports from Washington say the Rebs are out of money to the point of melting down wedding rings and silverware. You know those blockade runners don’t want any of their worthless Confederate dollars.”
“Is that the reason the Rebs tried to invade California and Nevada?” the doctor asked and motioned to the butler to pour him more wine.
“Certainly,” the major nodded, “hoped to capture those gold and silver mines, but of course, were defeated. I hear they’re desperate for boots, overcoats, and food with winter coming on.”
Rosemary pictured hungry men shivering in the coming cold, wet and sick. She felt sympathy for them even though they were the enemy.
“And,” said the major, “they’ve been trying to rob our banks.”
“What?” That seemed to catch Godfrey’s attention.
“Oh, you needn’t worry,” the major joked. “Not around here. A group of them came down from Canada and tried to rob a bank in Vermont, and only this past August, a small group of their cavalry hit a bank in Kentucky. Didn’t get anything, I hear.”
“Kentucky?” asked young Simms, and his Adam’s apple bobbled up and down as he sipped his wine. “But Kentucky’s a Union state.”
“Exactly!” said the major. “Very daring of the devils, I’d say. Worse yet, they burned a Union barge on the river in that town and executed the black soldiers guarding it.”
“Oh dear,” said Reverend Post nervously, “I don’t think this is fit conversation for a young lady—”
“You’re quite right, Reverend,” Godfrey said. “We don’t want to shock Rosemary.”
“Oh, I apologize,” gulped the young officer, “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right,” Rosemary said. “After all, I asked. Anything that affects the war will affect banking even here in Kansas.”
“Quite right.” Godfrey beamed at her. “We must all remember to pray for all the poor souls being lost in the horrors of this terrible war.”
Everyone