other, Mr. Gast, but you aim to lay a hundred miles of track per year with a hundred men?”
“I have a hundred slaves, plus fifty strong white foremen and rail engineers.”
“I see. So…like I was saying, sir, a hundred miles of track per year. From where to where?”
“From Camp Roan, just outside of town, to Maxon.”
“Maxon, Georgia, Mr. Gast?”
“That’s correct.”
“That’s halfway to Atlanta, sir,” Poltrock almost raised his voice. The notion was absurd. “That’s five hundred miles.”
“I’m aware of that.” Gast turned back to the window, with his tea. The sunlight through the trees seemed to create a dark fog about his head. “I, like many, Mr. Poltrock, believe that a war is coming. It will be a great war that will forge our Southern brotherhood into the strongest nation on earth. I have confidantes who believe such a rail line would be imperative for the South to survive such a war.”
Poltrock shook his head. He didn’t believe any of this war talk. The Congress would make things right for the South. Gast must not remember what the federal army did to Mexico not too long ago. And who were these confidantes? Probably just big money people, more plantation barons. Lots of money and lots of big ideas.
When he looked again, the girl with the dog was gone from the foyer, but he could swear he heard children giggling from deeper within the house. And—
There was that smell again: the stench of urine.
It must be in his mind, for Gast clearly didn’t detect it.
“The East Tennessee corridor is ideal,” Gast went on. “All the way to Maxon we won’t have to spend a penny excavating; we’ll scarcely have to fell a single tree.”
“The only thing I know of in Maxon, sir, is the old armory and barrel works.”
Gast turned again, impressed. “You’re a learned man, Mr. Poltrock. That’s quite correct.”
“But I also know the furnace there has been permanently shut down. They haven’t made a gun barrel in Maxon since 1814.”
The jaundiced eyes looked blurred. “Again, you’re correct. But that’s not my interest, nor is it in the interest of my confidantes.”
Confidantes again, Poltrock thought. Gast just ain’t right in the head and that’s all there is to it. It’s downright crazy to lay five hundred miles of track to a dead town.
“You just leave that to us,” Gast said, “while we leave the construction of the railroad to you.”
Poltrock severed his next objection when more movement caught the corner of his eye. A beautiful woman in white had just swept into the room.
“Mr. Poltrock. Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Penelope.”
Poltrock stood up at once.
The sight hijacked his gaze. All he saw first was the beaming face surrounded by tousles of hair the color of sunlight. A graceful white hand daintily held a fan with embroidered roses.
“Mrs. Gast,” Poltrock nearly stammered. “It is truly my honor to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise, Mr. Poltrock.”
She extended her hand, which felt hot when Poltrock took it. An erection that made no sense suddenly ached in his trousers. The fragrance of flowers seemed to emanate from her. Poltrock knew he dare not stare but one stolen glance revealed the rest of her: a figure of perfect contours fitted into a pleated bustle dress white as the clouds. By the tenets of the day, it was crude to look directly at another man’s wife—especially a wealthy man’s—and Poltrock found it close to impossible to keephis eyes from falling to the lacy neckline and considerable cleavage exposed.
“Your fine husband and I were just discussing—”
“Business,” Gast said abruptly.
“Oh, I know,” the lilting accent drifted from her lips. “Your important railroad, which will help confederate our Southern states into the most powerful nation in the world.”
“You can be sure, my dear,” Gast said. “My railroad will be more important to the South than the depot in Chattanooga.” But the look
“I have a hundred slaves, plus fifty strong white foremen and rail engineers.”
“I see. So…like I was saying, sir, a hundred miles of track per year. From where to where?”
“From Camp Roan, just outside of town, to Maxon.”
“Maxon, Georgia, Mr. Gast?”
“That’s correct.”
“That’s halfway to Atlanta, sir,” Poltrock almost raised his voice. The notion was absurd. “That’s five hundred miles.”
“I’m aware of that.” Gast turned back to the window, with his tea. The sunlight through the trees seemed to create a dark fog about his head. “I, like many, Mr. Poltrock, believe that a war is coming. It will be a great war that will forge our Southern brotherhood into the strongest nation on earth. I have confidantes who believe such a rail line would be imperative for the South to survive such a war.”
Poltrock shook his head. He didn’t believe any of this war talk. The Congress would make things right for the South. Gast must not remember what the federal army did to Mexico not too long ago. And who were these confidantes? Probably just big money people, more plantation barons. Lots of money and lots of big ideas.
When he looked again, the girl with the dog was gone from the foyer, but he could swear he heard children giggling from deeper within the house. And—
There was that smell again: the stench of urine.
It must be in his mind, for Gast clearly didn’t detect it.
“The East Tennessee corridor is ideal,” Gast went on. “All the way to Maxon we won’t have to spend a penny excavating; we’ll scarcely have to fell a single tree.”
“The only thing I know of in Maxon, sir, is the old armory and barrel works.”
Gast turned again, impressed. “You’re a learned man, Mr. Poltrock. That’s quite correct.”
“But I also know the furnace there has been permanently shut down. They haven’t made a gun barrel in Maxon since 1814.”
The jaundiced eyes looked blurred. “Again, you’re correct. But that’s not my interest, nor is it in the interest of my confidantes.”
Confidantes again, Poltrock thought. Gast just ain’t right in the head and that’s all there is to it. It’s downright crazy to lay five hundred miles of track to a dead town.
“You just leave that to us,” Gast said, “while we leave the construction of the railroad to you.”
Poltrock severed his next objection when more movement caught the corner of his eye. A beautiful woman in white had just swept into the room.
“Mr. Poltrock. Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Penelope.”
Poltrock stood up at once.
The sight hijacked his gaze. All he saw first was the beaming face surrounded by tousles of hair the color of sunlight. A graceful white hand daintily held a fan with embroidered roses.
“Mrs. Gast,” Poltrock nearly stammered. “It is truly my honor to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise, Mr. Poltrock.”
She extended her hand, which felt hot when Poltrock took it. An erection that made no sense suddenly ached in his trousers. The fragrance of flowers seemed to emanate from her. Poltrock knew he dare not stare but one stolen glance revealed the rest of her: a figure of perfect contours fitted into a pleated bustle dress white as the clouds. By the tenets of the day, it was crude to look directly at another man’s wife—especially a wealthy man’s—and Poltrock found it close to impossible to keephis eyes from falling to the lacy neckline and considerable cleavage exposed.
“Your fine husband and I were just discussing—”
“Business,” Gast said abruptly.
“Oh, I know,” the lilting accent drifted from her lips. “Your important railroad, which will help confederate our Southern states into the most powerful nation in the world.”
“You can be sure, my dear,” Gast said. “My railroad will be more important to the South than the depot in Chattanooga.” But the look
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