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 couldn‘t find her voice to object to her mother‘s 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 wasn‘t 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 she‘ll 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. I‘ll make sure Ginger is free by the end of the week." He glanced at Ginger‘s 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 woman‘s 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 mother‘s latest idea.