Beneath a Golden Veil

by Melanie Dobson

  Ross was one of the most handsome men she’d ever known, but any affection between them was gone. “You should have told me you were married.”

  He shifted on the seat. “Fanny and I never should have married. We had completely different dreams.”

  “I heard her father paid you an ample sum as a dowry,” she said, crossing her arms. “Must have helped with your journey west.”

  “I’d wanted to come to California since the first time I heard about the gold.”

  “And you needed his money to do it.”

  He glanced toward the window before looking back at her. “I planned to send for Fanny, before I met you and Emeline.”

  “You used my aunt and me, like you used Fanny and her father,” she said, refusing to accept the blame for his indiscretion.

  “That’s not true.”

  She glanced across the room at the elegant furnishings and Oriental rug that she and Ross had acquired in their first year as partners. “You never ran a hotel before this one, did you?”

  “No,” he admitted, “but I think we did a fine job managing this one together.”

  She couldn’t disagree, but she didn’t need his assistance in running the hotel any longer. “How much is your nugget worth?”

  “Not enough to buy back my partnership in the hotel.”

  She brushed her hands over the curtain. “It’s better that way.”

  “I suppose it is.”

  That nugget of his wouldn’t last long at California prices, but she hoped he would use it wisely, much more wisely than he’d treated the women in his life. “Perhaps you and Fanny could invest in another establishment?”

  His eyebrows climbed. “And compete against you?”

  “There’s plenty of business to go around.”

  Ross stood up. “I never meant for you to find out about Fanny.”

  “I would have found out at some point,” she said. “Much better to do so now than after we married.”

  “I wish—” he started, but she stopped him.

  “Fanny wants to make you happy.”

  He shook his head. “She wants to make herself happy.”

  Isabelle moved toward the top of the stairs. “I suppose, in one way or another, we all want happiness.”

  Ross stepped toward her, his gaze intense. Her stomach fluttered the way it did when he first told her that he loved her—and she hated herself for it. He had deceived her, wronged her, and yet she still felt her resolve flitting away.

  “You’re right, Isabelle,” he said quietly. “We both deserve to be happy too.”

  She reached for the polished newel post, willing herself to be strong.

  “I’ll divorce her,” Ross declared. “Then we can marry.”

  Stunned, she tried to process his words. “You would put her out?”

  “No. I’d buy her passage to New York,” he said. “She’ll find a wealthy man to marry there.”

  Fanny had come to California like so many, with great expectations about the happiness they thought gold could buy. She’d envisioned an affluent husband and a lavish hotel to call her own. A life of riches and grandeur without the hard work.

  But even if Fanny agreed to return east—and even if Ross truly loved Isabelle—she would never again consider marrying him, not even to fill the vacancy left in her heart.

  She longed to be with someone who would cherish love and integrity more than money, who would choose to do right, even if it cost him a dream. Someone who would guard her secret with his life and would love her for who she was, not who she pretended to be.

  “I need someone who will be faithful,” she told him. Like Uncle William had been to Aunt Emeline.

  “I’ll be faithful to you,” he said, trying to reassure her, but she shook her head.

  He searched her face one more time, as if he might find a way to influence her otherwise, but she’d made up her mind.

  “Can Fanny and I spend the night here?” Ross asked as he followed her down the steps.

  It would be hard to find a decent place to stay in a city already bursting at the seams, but she didn’t want to prolong this disaster any longer.

  “Just until tomorrow.”

  He nodded. “We’ll be out at daylight.”

  Ross left the hotel as customers streamed inside for dinner. She hoped he was searching for a temporary place to live, but with gold lining his pockets, the gambling tables would be a persuasive distraction. She hadn’t suspected it before, but it seemed that Ross liked to gamble after all.

  After helping Stephan serve dinner, she checked on Fanny. The woman was sitting on the made bed, her trunk open in front of her, a crumpled handkerchief in her hands.

  Fanny didn’t look over at her. “Ross said he doesn’t have enough gold to buy back his share of the hotel.”

  “That’s true,” Isabelle said, sitting in the rocking chair by the window. “There’s typically more money to be had in providing goods and services to gold seekers than in actually finding gold.”

  Fanny blew her nose into the handkerchief. “You could loan us the money, Isabelle. We’ll pay you back.”

  “I can’t go into partnership with Ross again.”

  Fanny dabbed at her swollen eyes and then dropped the handkerchief back into her lap. “Then partner with me. We could continue operating the hotel together.”

  She considered the woman’s words. It was never her intent to work alone, but a business partnership was a precarious affair, even with someone you trusted. While Fanny firmly appreciated the finer things in life, she didn’t want to work to provide hospitality to their guests. A partnership with her, Isabelle feared, would mean Fanny and Ross would continue living right in these rooms, enjoying the food and safety in this hotel, with Fanny too preoccupied to help in the kitchen or upstairs in the guest rooms.

  And if a boy like Micah ever came into the hotel again, she felt certain Fanny would be the first one to alert Rodney that they had a runaway.

  She took a deep breath. “I can’t partner with either of you, Fanny.”

  Fanny sat up straighter, her tears drying. “I know you two were lovers.”

  Isabelle cringed. “I didn’t know Ross was married.”

  “I wrote him every month,” Fanny said. “Surely you must have suspected.”

  “He said the letters were from his sister.”

  She snorted, turning the handkerchief. “I’m willing to overlook what you’ve done in the past, if you will help us with our future.”

  “What I’ve done . . .” Isabelle’s voice trailed off.

  “I believe the people of Sacramento deserve to know the truth about the proprietor of the Golden Hotel.”

  Isabelle stared at the woman, appalled at her threat.

  “What will they say when they discover you had an affair with a married man?” Fanny asked, the tears gone.

  Aunt Emeline would say it didn’t matter what people thought because the past didn’t define her. She too was a daughter of God. Fanny’s attempt to slander her wouldn’t change who she was—or who she wanted to be.

  She rocked back and forth in the chair. “I can choose to forgive Ross, but I can’t overlook what he’s done to both of us.”

  “Ross said we have to leave in the morning.”

  “You need to begin again as husband and wife.”

  Fanny’s eyes narrowed. “It’s selfish of you to put us out like this.”

  “I’m not putting you out. Ross has enough money to provide for you. I’m certain he will find work at another hotel soon.”

  Fanny stood up, brushing the wrinkles from her dress as she walked toward the door. “Is there any food left from dinner?”

  “I believe so.”

  She leaned against the doorpost, seeming to prop herself up against it. “Ross and I are going to start a grand hotel together. One much finer than the Golden.”

  “Then I shall come have dinner at your place.”

  She would miss having the companionship of ano
ther woman, but she was relieved that this ordeal was almost over. Perhaps with Ross and Fanny out of her hotel, starting their life together, she might be able to begin dreaming again on her own.

  Chapter 23

  Panama City

  May 1854

  Victor paced around the tent as he waited for Levi to purchase his passage out of Panama City—though the word city was much too civilized for such a vile place.

  He wiped the sweat off his face with his long sleeve, wishing he could strangle the proprietor of his hotel back in Boston, the man who’d told him to take the shorter journey across the isthmus instead of traveling the full distance around South America.

  The trip through the jungle had lasted a week. The wait on this side was almost two months now.

  He’d deal with the Boston proprietor once he retrieved Isaac and returned home.

  Rounding the tent again, he saw the growing line up to a makeshift ticket office under a tree.

  Panama was a repository of both hungry gold seekers and natives siphoning money from those held prisoner here. The few claptrap hotels were full so he and Levi had been forced to sleep in a tent and listen to drunk men fighting outside, along with the discord of cracked bells clanging incessantly day and night.

  The boredom was horrific, the only brothel filthy, and he’d had to pay natives to dig jiggers out of his toes. He’d taken to playing Old Sledge for entertainment, but not even that held his attention for long. Gambling, he decided, was for fools.

  Stopping, he looked out again at the gray hull of the ship that arrived last night.

  For weeks, he’d watched as dozens of ships passed in the distance on their way north. He’d watched and waited for one of them to come into port, but those that did stop rarely had room for more passengers.

  Then, last night, a steamer finally anchored offshore. Word spread like fire through town that they were offering passage for twenty people, all of whom would be sleeping on the floor during the voyage up to San Francisco.

  He and Levi concocted a plan. He’d spent the night in their tent, guarding their things from looters who’d like nothing more than to relieve them of their possessions. Levi stood in line to purchase tickets for both of them. Unlike Victor, Levi said he didn’t mind waiting.

  The line began to disperse, and he heard several men talking as they passed. The tickets were gone.

  But not for him. All his possessions inside the tent were packed, and now he waited in earnest for Levi to return. By this afternoon, the sea breeze would be cooling his arms again. And in days, he would be in California.

  Levi crossed between piles of rubble until he reached the tent, a slip of paper securely in his hands.

  Victor held out his palm, but instead of putting the paper in it, Levi returned Victor’s money. Victor stared down at the banknotes. “What is this?”

  “I’m sorry, my friend,” Levi said as he tucked the paper into his satchel. “They only had one ticket left.”

  Victor stiffened. “You purchased it for yourself?”

  “My employer is waiting for me.”

  “I have important business in San Francisco!”

  Levi shrugged. “There will be another boat.”

  Victor’s fingers curled slowly over the banknotes, his mind racing. “We must celebrate your good luck, then,” he finally said.

  Levi opened up the flap to their tent. “I only have an hour.”

  Victor smiled, eyeing the man’s satchel. “That’s long enough.”

  Chapter 24

  San Francisco

  May 1854

  Adozen men—mostly miners and sailors—crammed into the dank room where Alden and Isaac had rented overnight space on the floor. Thankfully, Isaac fell right to sleep on a mat. The stories the men around them told weren’t fit for the ears of a child. Or for a gentleman.

  He didn’t want to listen to their tales of depravity, but as a rain shower pounded against the roof, he was glad for the shelter. And for the meal they’d found in an eatery near the bank. He and Isaac had feasted on freshly baked bread—something they hadn’t tasted since Boston—and an Italian stew called cioppino made with white wine and a mishmash of seafood from the Pacific.

  He tried to sleep, but his mind raced instead with fear. In the past few hours, his plans for the future had disintegrated, and he wasn’t sure how to put the pieces back together so he could either find Judah or obtain work for both him and Isaac.

  Until he left Virginia, he hadn’t realized that fear often accompanied the freedom he’d desired. Was this the reason so many slaves never even attempted to run away? The unknown was a frightening place.

  “Did you hear what happened to that free Negro over on Market Street?” one of the boarders asked the other men.

  Alden turned toward them on his bedroll.

  “He was kidnapped and sold into slavery, like that Solomon Northup fellow back east. Two other men saw it happen, but they were both Negroes so the judge wouldn’t let them testify.”

  “We should go get him,” another man declared, clearly intoxicated.

  “You got to find him first.”

  A third man spoke. “If we’d keep the Negroes out of California, then we wouldn’t have these problems.”

  “Someone should have kept you out of California.”

  As the men argued about the institution of slavery, Alden realized he couldn’t tell anyone else about his intentions to find Isaac a home in California. Until Isaac was adopted, feigning his enslavement was the best way to protect him.

  The men around him finally succumbed to sleep, but his own rest was fitful, with the serenade of snoring and rustling, men entering and leaving at all hours, the saltwater breeze filtering through cracks in the walls until the first rays of sunlight trailed the wind.

  Alden woke Isaac early. He needed to find work so he could provide food and a decent place for both of them to board. They drank black coffee for breakfast at a local stand, then searched for plain, ready-made clothing that would define them as neither gentleman nor slave. Alden took what remained of his wardrobe to a local laundry. Isaac tossed his holey trousers and shirt into a rubbish pile.

  People stared at them as they walked through the streets. At first Alden thought it was because of Isaac’s darker skin color, but the sidewalks were full of miners, fishermen, and businessmen from all around the world—China, Mexico, the Sandwich Islands. The farther they walked, the more he realized that people were probably staring at Isaac because he was a child. The busy streets were as void of children as they were of women.

  Alden practically tugged Isaac up one more hill to the bathhouse. He’d found another law office listed in the city directory, and he hoped Judah had either relocated or the attorney at the office—a Mr. Clement—might know where he went. After bathing, they would set out to find the address.

  “I don’t need a bath,” Isaac insisted outside the establishment’s front door.

  “We both need a bath.”

  “Miss Persila made me bathe two weeks ago.”

  “And she’d make you take another one if she was here now, with soap and fresh water.”

  Isaac sighed. “I miss Persila.”

  “Perhaps we will see her again soon.”

  Isaac contemplated that thought. “I suppose I should take a bath, just in case we do.”

  “A splendid idea.”

  After Alden washed and shaved—and Isaac appeared to have at least rinsed off—they visited a barber to trim their hair. Then they set out on their quest to find the law office, locating it a block away from the wharf, as if the lawyer was waiting to settle the disputes that brewed at sea.

  The office on the third floor was small but clean. Mr. Clement waved them into the room, toward two cane chairs, but he didn’t look up from his paper for several more minutes.

  When he did, he glanced curiously between Alden and Isaac before homing in on Alden. “Is the boy your slave or a runaway?”

  “He’s with me,” Ald
en said simply.

  “Has someone been harassing you about the slave laws?”

  “I’m trying to determine the law.”

  “We’re still establishing law in California,” Mr. Clement said. “Unfortunately, most people here would rather string someone up than take their cases before a judge.”

  “I thought slavery was illegal.”

  “Officially, slave owners can only bring slaves into this state if they’re just passing through, but I know Southerners who brought slaves here back in ’49 and haven’t left yet.” Mr. Clement drummed his fingers on the paper. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m actually looking for work as a lawyer.”

  “Have you practiced before?”

  “Not yet, but I finished more than two years at Harvard Law School.”

  Mr. Clement shook his head. “The judges around here don’t care one whit about law school. They won’t hear you until after you’ve been admitted into the bar.”

  “I need to apprentice first.”

  “I don’t have any time to train an apprentice,” Mr. Clement said, looking back down at his paper. “You best find work doing something else.”

  “Do you know a man by the name of Judah Fallow?”

  Mr. Clement glanced back up. “Last I heard, Judah went to Sacramento City.”

  Hope began rising inside him again. “How do I get to Sacramento City?”

  “If you take a paddle wheeler up the river tonight, you’ll arrive by morning.” Mr. Clement nodded toward Isaac. “Best keep your eye on him. Passions around here are high on both sides.”

  “I’ll do that,” he said, before thanking the man.

  He would collect his laundry later today and go back to the wharf with Isaac to find one of the paddle wheelers. Perhaps he had a job waiting for him in California after all.

  Chapter 25

  Sacramento City

  May 1854

  As Isabelle sipped her morning tea, Fanny’s angry words stung her ears. And her heart. She wanted to be a faithful servant like Aunt Emeline, not selfish.