Sometimes it was hard to make sense of what was right and what was wrong, but it seemed to her that Fanny was being the selfish one. How could the woman expect more from Isabelle than she’d already given? And why would she want her husband working alongside a woman he’d claimed to love?
The Kirtlands had left an hour ago, neither of them saying good-bye to her. Relief flooded through her at their departure. Fanny’s presence had been a heavy weight on her heart these past six months, a constant reminder of Ross’s deception. And now they were both free.
She’d never wanted to operate this hotel on her own, but with Stephan and Janette’s help—and the two Chinese women she’d hired to clean the rooms—she could do it.
As she finished her tea, it occurred to her that she needed to visit Judah Fallow. Right away. The lawyer had visited her twice at the hotel this spring, asking her to sign some papers in his office for Aunt Emeline’s estate, but the very signing of papers seemed like she was saying good-bye once again.
Now that Ross had returned, she needed to finalize everything about the ownership of the hotel. She didn’t know the particulars of how one would contest a will, but she guessed the Kirtlands could figure it out.
After assigning the daily chores to the maids, Isabelle unhooked her favorite straw hat from the lobby wall and tied the pale-blue ribbon under her chin. Then she boarded a horse-drawn omnibus east to J and Twelfth Streets, where Judah had hung his own hat in a building shared with a dry goods store. His door was locked; a sign on it said the office would open by eleven. She didn’t want to spare an hour for idleness, but it seemed she had no choice.
Instead of returning to the hotel, she decided to walk further east until she came to Burns Slough. Sutter Floral Gardens was located near this bank, a respite at the edge of a dusty city devoid of much color or pleasant fragrance. Jacob Knauth had designed a pleasure garden here with serpentine walkways that wove between the plots of flowers he’d brought with him from Europe. Arbors covered several walkways, their vines dotted with clusters of green grapes, and two summerhouses stood among the gardens for people to retreat to during the summer heat.
Before she returned to Judah’s office, she ordered a bundle of flowers to be delivered to the hotel that afternoon. It was a new season for her, and she intended to celebrate with an abundance of color. New life.
At ten minutes after eleven, Horace Potts—Judah’s young clerk—walked across the interior corridor of the building, his boot heels clapping on the wood before he unlocked the office door. Then he invited Isabelle inside.
The room was sparse, with its plain desk, cabinet stuffed with books and papers, and one wooden chair for clients. A curtainless window gave light, but the only view was of the back alleyway.
She sat on the stiff chair. “Where’s Judah?”
“He went off to Columbia for the season.”
She groaned. Why couldn’t people here stay in one place? “He was handling my aunt’s estate.”
“Oh yes,” Horace said. “He said he stopped by your hotel to request you sign some papers.”
“He didn’t tell me he was leaving town!”
“I’m sorry, Miss Labrie.” Horace tugged on the drawer of a cabinet. “Judah left the papers here for you.”
Horace rifled through a stack of envelopes until he found one with her aunt’s name. Inside were two papers—a handwritten copy of Aunt Emeline’s will, and the deed to the Golden Hotel.
The will was exactly as her aunt had said it would be—the hotel and its assets were hers. The house was for Sing Ye. Aunt Emeline didn’t mention the trinket box or any other assets in her will.
“I just need you to sign the bottom of the will to show you’ve read the document and agree to take over ownership of the hotel.”
As she wrote her name on the paper, the finality of it dropped like an anvil on her chest. Then it seemed to take wings and fly away. Aunt Emeline was gone. Ross was gone. And now the hotel was hers.
Taking a deep breath, Isabelle took the deed in her hand. Then she thanked the young man and turned to take her leave.
Outside the building, she stopped to rest on a bench along the sidewalk, leaning back to savor the warm rays of sunshine on her face, the crisp parchment paper secured by the tips of her gloves. More women were coming to Sacramento, but there was still less than one woman for every ten men, and only a few women were overseeing businesses on their own. But she’d managed the hotel successfully while Ross was gone. She would continue the legacy of the Labrie family here in California—a tradition of working hard, serving others, helping those in need.
She would improve the legacy too. She’d hire more Negro and Chinese women, and with Fanny gone, perhaps she could harbor more runaways. Stephan could help them find passage up to Vancouver Island.
Her heart beat faster at the thought. At the renewed hope for her future.
Mr. Bridges had left Sacramento, resigned to return to Texas without his slave, and as long as she didn’t draw attention to herself, no one would suspect her of using the finest hotel in Sacramento to help former slaves.
She opened her eyes again, ready to face her future firmly on her own. When she looked up the planked street, she saw a man walking toward her, a young Negro boy at his side. The boy was just a few years younger than Micah.
Sighing, she rose to her feet, straightening the ribbon on her hat. Unlike hers, the future of this boy was completely controlled by whoever chose to own him. Her heart saddened at the thought of him being enslaved in their free state.
Before she took a step, her gaze traveled to the gentleman beside the boy. He was a few inches taller than she was and quite distinguished-looking in his black waistcoat and white shirt. His hair was parted neatly in the middle, and his face was clean-shaven—an anomaly in a city where most men grew beards.
When the man met her gaze, her heart seemed to stop. It had been years since she’d seen him, but she knew exactly who was walking toward her. Alden Payne—Mrs. Duvall’s younger brother.
Stunned, she couldn’t seem to move her feet, couldn’t even find her breath. She had expected Ross to return to Sacramento, but she’d never thought she would see anyone from the Payne family again. Never thought any of them would ever leave Virginia.
She fought to breathe so she wouldn’t pass out on the sidewalk. Fought the urge to run.
Had anyone else traveled west with him?
She dropped her head as they passed, gazing down at the deed in her hand. Mr. Payne wasn’t likely to recognize her, but she couldn’t risk it.
Once he and the boy entered the building, Isabelle picked up her heavy skirt with one hand and rushed back to the hotel. Her heart racing, she locked the doors to the lobby and hid the deed under her desk, inside the metal lockbox with her gold and other valuable papers. Then she sat down on her chair, unable to move again.
Finally she was free, untethered in a sense, to begin dreaming again. Why was her past coming back to haunt her now?
Instead of dreaming, all she wanted to do was take the next steamboat out of Sacramento.
But this time, she had no one to help her run.
“How long is Judah going to be in Columbia?” Alden asked Horace. The clerk was at least five years his junior, but he seemed efficient. And trustworthy. Had Judah already given away the apprenticeship, thinking Alden wouldn’t come?
“He’ll be there at least another month. Two at the most.”
“Are you his apprentice?”
“No,” Horace said. “I’m just handling the paperwork while he’s gone. Is he expecting your arrival?”
“Not for another six months.”
“I’ll send him a letter, but correspondence to the diggings is faulty,” Horace said. “You should try your luck in Columbia as well while you wait. They’re finding millions in gold out there.”
After cashing in most of his banknotes in San Francisco for gold coins, he had enough in his wallet to pay for a month in this town. If he spent
it on transportation to Columbia—and didn’t strike gold—he wouldn’t have the money to return.
“I think I’ll wait here in Sacramento.”
“Suit yourself.”
“I need to find a room until Judah returns,” Alden said. “A hotel fit for a child.”
The man glanced down at Isaac. “There’s only one decent place in town, but I don’t know if they’ll take—”
Alden stopped him. “I’ll try our luck.”
The man’s directions took them to a hotel located near the river. The building was three stories tall, built of brick with a white granite façade on the front. There were two balconies above the sidewalk, and lacy curtains pulled over the windows.
Isaac whistled when he saw the place. “It looks like a plantation house.”
“I suppose it does.”
“If they won’t let me inside, I can sleep out back,” Isaac offered.
“If they won’t let you sleep here, I’ll join you outside.”
He hoped the people would be welcoming. And he hoped the accommodations were much different from the place they’d stayed in San Francisco.
Isaac hopped up onto the walkway, lugging his heavy bag with him. His new trousers needed to be hemmed, but he was quite proud of his store-bought clothing and neat haircut. Alden had purchased him calfskin boots as well, but Isaac refused to wear them, carrying them instead in his luggage.
A bell chimed when Alden opened the door, and inside the lobby, he found a woman sitting behind the counter.
“I wanted to inquire—” he began, but stopped talking when she looked up at him, his words jumbling in his mind. It had been months since he had been near such a beautiful, well-bred woman. A lady.
Her dark-brown hair was pinned back at the nape of her neck with curls draping over both of her ears, and she wore a pale-blue summer dress, the kind of dress the women back in Virginia would have worn to a garden party. The women back home would be aghast at her suntanned arms and face, but here it would be almost impossible to fight the rays of sun. And the sunlight did something magical with her eyes as well as it streamed through the window. Their caramel color was flecked with gold.
On second thought, the beauty of the women he knew back east didn’t even compare to the lady before him. He guessed the men in Sacramento were as intrigued by the gold in this woman’s eyes as they were by the dust they found along the rivers.
He managed a smile—the silence growing awkward between them as she moved out from behind her desk, then stood tall before him at the counter. Hostile.
Was she angry that he’d brought a Negro boy into her hotel?
Isaac stepped forward beside Alden, standing on his tiptoes so he could look over the counter. “This is a right pretty place you have.”
Her demeanor shifted as she smiled down at Isaac. “Thank you.”
Isaac grinned back at her. “It smells like lemons in here.”
“Do you like lemons?”
When he nodded his head, she rang a bell.
Her smile vanished again when she looked back at Alden. She didn’t seem to have a problem with a dark-skinned guest, but clearly she had a problem with him.
“Would you have a room available for us, Mrs.—”
She didn’t offer her last name. “Unfortunately, we are completely full.”
Isaac pointed up at a list of rules on the wall. “We won’t drink liquor or spit on the floor,” he said confidently. “And we’ll take a bath at least twice every week.”
She looked surprised at his ability to read. “I’m certain you would make a fine guest, but there’s simply no room.”
“I can sleep in the alley,” Isaac offered.
Her lips opened to speak, but a Negro steward, dressed in formal attire, walked through the entrance at the side. “Did you need me, Miss Labrie?”
She nodded, pointing down at Isaac. “Could you bring my friend here a glass of lemonade?”
“Of course.” The steward bent down, talking to Isaac. “Are you staying at the hotel?”
Isaac shook his head sadly. “You don’t have any room for us.”
The steward glanced up at Isabelle before looking back at Isaac. “Fortunately, we just had a room open on the third floor.”
Miss Labrie’s eyes narrowed again as she faced the steward. “I’m afraid that room is already taken.”
“Our guest on the third floor is moving to a new place.”
Miss Labrie looked back at Alden. “Please excuse me while I consult with my employee.”
“Of course.”
After Miss Labrie left with her steward, the only sound remaining was the slow tick of the clock on the wall. Outside the window, he heard the whistle blast of a steamboat, the clank of wagon wheels plodding over boards in the road.
And he realized that his world had finally stopped rocking.
Isaac turned toward him. “Did you say something mean to Miss Labrie?”
“Did you hear me say something unkind?”
“No, but—I’m pretty sure that Missus Eliza liked me better than that Miss Labrie likes you.”
“It was nice of her to offer you lemonade.”
“You can have a sip of mine.” Isaac straightened his collar. “Maybe it will make you sweeter.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You have to compliment a woman, Master Payne. Or she’ll think you don’t like her.”
“I’m afraid a compliment from me would have made her more angry.”
“Or it might have gotten us a room,” Isaac replied. “I don’t want to go back to that hotel in San Francisco.”
“Me either.”
“Then think of something nice to say when she returns.”
Chapter 26
Sacramento City
May 1854
Isabelle paced in the kitchen between the wooden counter and oven. Stephan stood quietly by the bundle of flowers delivered from the gardens that afternoon, waiting for her to speak.
She was angry at her steward. Angry at herself.
She was supposed to keep her loathing of slavery secret, and yet the resentment inside her flared, jetting up like a waterspout. If she couldn’t control her anger, Alden might remember her too.
She shuddered to think what might happen if he did remember.
Years ago, Isabelle used to watch him when he visited the Duvall’s, wondering if he would choose to follow in the way of his brother-in-law and father or if one day he might emancipate the people he owned. But Alden had grown up now, becoming another Master Payne. Apparently, he’d selected California as his residence over the Virginia plantation, and he’d brought the horrific institution of slavery west with him.
No one here suspected that she’d once been enslaved. Her skin—even slathered with the cucumber-and-lemon cream—might be a shade darker than some of the people from the East Coast, but other women’s skin darkened here in the sun. In Virginia, Mrs. Duvall had called her a mulatto—a constant reminder that while her skin was a light olive color, Negro blood ran through her veins. In the Southern states, she would always be considered a slave.
But Aunt Emeline hadn’t called her a slave. She’d called her beloved—helping lighten her skin, purchase a new wardrobe, educate her with a private tutor so she could escape her past. Reinvent herself as a treasured niece. With the power of a new name and wardrobe, Isabelle became a new person. And with the love and care of her adopted uncle and aunt, she thrived.
She wanted to be faithful to help children like Isaac, but she didn’t want Mr. Payne staying in her hotel, didn’t want to hear any stories about his life in Virginia or live with the constant threat of something sparking his recollection. Nor did she want to be reminded about the horror she’d left behind or the memory of the baby she’d held in her arms for a glimpse of a moment before he slipped away.
She unwrapped the string holding together the parcel of flowers, trying to focus on the beauty of the coral chrysanthemums, lavender peonies, and
creamy-white iris. She couldn’t allow herself to journey back again in her mind, to the pain buried deeply in the recesses of her heart.
Even if Stephan didn’t know about her past, he shouldn’t have stepped in like that, undermining her authority in front of Alden and his boy.
Finally, she looked back up at him. “I don’t want them staying here.”
“Them?” he asked cautiously. “Or is it just the master you don’t want in the hotel?”
“The master,” she retorted. “I don’t want him or any other slave owner as a guest.”
“But we can do more good if the boy and his master stay right here, under our roof, than if they stay in another hotel.”
She shook her head. “I won’t be an accomplice to the evil.”
“But what if we could overcome the evil?” Stephan lowered his voice. “We could help the boy escape.”
“If he went missing like Micah, Rodney would put us both in jail.”
“We’ll find a way,” he insisted.
She wanted to be faithful like Aunt Emeline, but if her past were exposed, it would ruin everything for her here in Sacramento—her reputation and her business. No one would want to stay in a hotel run by a Negro—a former slave—no matter how elegant the décor or delicious the food. And much worse, Alden might put her back into chains and return her to Victor Duvall.
She shivered. So much had changed in the past nine years, yet it didn’t matter in the eyes of the law how strong or intelligent or capable she was. The color of her skin didn’t even matter. Negro blood lapped inside her veins, flowing down from her mother’s side of the family.
The blood siphoned from her father didn’t count. Men could legally impregnate any of their slaves—married and maiden women alike—in order to add to their chattel. The more slaves to sell, the more money to be had. And somehow, they were able to deny these slaves were also their children. They sold their sons and daughters without grieving the loss.
She picked up two of the mums, slipping the stems into a vase.
But what if Stephan was right? What if she could help the boy in her lobby find freedom? She’d been angry when Fanny accused her of being selfish, but in this case, perhaps it was true. A great opportunity had been set before her—she could not only help a child but also free a Payne slave from the torment of his master.
Beneath a Golden Veil Page 15