She closed her eye and then opened it again. “Where’s Isaac?”
He nodded toward the window. “In my room.”
At least, he hoped that Isaac was still there, reading the book he’d started when Alden left for court this morning.
“You should stay with him until Victor and I are gone.”
He lifted her from the bed, holding her close to him. “You’re not going anywhere with Victor.”
“It’s too late.”
He shook his head. “I’m not going to let him touch you again.”
He extinguished the lantern, and she rested her head on his chest as he walked down the steps of the hotel, out into the street. A crowd of miners, loitering outside a saloon, glanced over.
When one of the men stepped forward, Alden hung his head, seemingly disappointed. “Too much to drink.”
The men left them alone.
Instead of taking Isabelle up into his room, Alden carried her toward the edge of town. There, he found Judah and his friends still waiting in the darkness.
“Isabelle,” Alden prompted, nudging her hair with his forehead. “Please wake up.”
She groaned again before lifting her head. Judah raised the lantern, and she opened her good eye wide enough to see Victor lying in the farm wagon, his arms and legs bound together.
“They’re going to escort him all the way to San Francisco,” Alden said. “A colleague there is looking for a deckhand willing to go east.”
“He won’t work,” Isabelle whispered.
“The captain of the ship will make sure he earns his keep.”
Judah stepped forward to close the end gate on the wagon, but Isabelle stopped him, reaching out her hand. “Please let me.”
Alden stepped closer, and with Judah’s help, Isabelle raised and locked the wooden gate.
“What are you doing?” Someone asked behind them, and he turned to see Isaac, staring up at him in the light of a kerosene lamp.
“You’re supposed to stay in the room,” Alden scolded.
“I’ve been wandering around all evening, looking for both of you.” He eyed Isabelle resting in Alden’s arms. “Why won’t you tell me what’s happening?”
Alden nodded toward the wagon, and Isaac leaned forward to peek over the edge. Then his eyes grew wide. “Is that Master Duvall?”
Alden nodded.
“Is he dead?”
“No, just drunk. He won’t ever bother you or Isabelle again.”
Judah climbed onto wagon bench. “I’ll see you back in Sacramento.”
Alden nodded. “We’ll return as soon as we can travel.”
With the money from his gold find, he had more than enough to leave tomorrow, but he’d stay here until Isabelle’s body healed. And then if she would have him, he hoped she might accept his proposal to legally become Mrs. Payne.
The three of them listened to the rattle of wheels across the rocks, bustling away from Columbia. Judah, he was certain, would make sure that Victor never bothered them again.
Isaac lifted his lantern. “Good-bye, Master Duvall,” he whispered.
Alden turned, and when he looked down at the boy, he saw gold flecks amidst the brown of his eyes, reflecting in the light.
His mouth dropped open. He’d looked at the boy a thousand times in the past months, but he hadn’t really noticed the color of his eyes. Isaac wasn’t just a fellow slave owned by the Duvall family. Isaac was Isabelle’s son.
No wonder she would do anything to rescue him, like Naomi trying to rescue Benjamin. Did Isabelle think he would condemn her for this?
Her eyes had closed again as she rested against him.
“You’re free,” Alden told Isaac. “Victor signed the papers.”
“Completely free?”
“Forever,” he replied. “Both of you are free.”
Isabelle lifted her head a few inches. “I have something I’d like to say.”
“You can say anything you want now.”
Isaac took her hand. “Can you say it to me too?”
“Absolutely,” she said quietly. “I want to tell you first.”
Chapter 47
Columbia
August 1854
Every bone in Isabelle’s body ached, but her heart was full. Alden had somehow acquired a dozen pillows, and he’d propped her up on all of them so she could rest while they talked. Then he brought over her lockbox and papers and the clothing left in the hotel room across the street.
Victor had assaulted her body, but it was the oddest thing. All the fear she’d had pent up inside her had dissipated earlier that day. As an adult, in the light of truth, she finally saw Victor Duvall for what he really was—a bitter, troubled, controlling man who would never be happy, no matter how many slaves he acquired for his kingdom.
A man who no longer held any power over her.
After Alden left to retrieve the last of her things, Isaac hopped onto the end of the bed. “Can we talk now?”
“Certainly.” She smiled. “If you’ll do me a favor.”
“What is it?”
“Somewhere in the stack of things Alden brought over is a special blanket.”
He searched through the pile until he found it, and she held her memories on her lap, stitched together with teal and ivory.
“Isaac,”—she took a deep breath—“I’m afraid your mother wasn’t a princess. Nor did she run away with another slave.”
He eyed her curiously. “How do you know?”
Tears began filling her eyes again. She prayed he wouldn’t reject her when he discovered the truth. “Because I’m your mother. I birthed you when I was fourteen.”
He inched closer to her, studying her face in confusion. “You’re my mother?”
Isabelle braced herself for his disappointment. “I’m so sorry.”
He swung his arms around her neck, hugging her. “I’m not sorry.” Then he stepped away, concern draining away his grin. “Did I hurt you?”
“You haven’t hurt me at all.” Instead, joy washed over her pain, flooding the channels of grief carved inside her. “I never meant to leave you. Mrs. Duvall told me you were dead.”
Isaac shook his head. “She’s a wicked woman.”
“I believe you’re right.” She held out the blanket. “I made this for you, before you were born.”
He reached out his hand slowly. Reverently. “You made it for me?”
When she nodded, he clutched it to his chest. “No one’s ever made anything just for me before.”
“I’d like to make you lots of things in the future.”
“You don’t have to make me anything else.” He looked down at the blanket as if it were crocheted with strands of gold. “I always wanted to have a mother just like you.”
She leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “And I could not be prouder to have you as my son.”
When she pulled him close to her again, all the years lost between them seemed to disappear into tears and laughter.
Minutes later, Alden stepped back into the room, carrying her valise filled with sundries. He glanced at the two of them. “You’re both smiling.”
“We’ve been talking,” Isaac said, scooting away.
She wanted to reach for him, as if he might vanish again, but he knew the truth now and wanted to stay with her.
Alden searched her face. “I see.”
Isaac hopped off the bed. “Miss Labrie is my mother.”
Alden smiled with them. “I know.”
“How did you know?” Isabelle asked.
“Your eyes.”
Isabelle clasped her hands together. “I have a proposition to make.”
Alden set the bag on the dressing table and collapsed into a chair. “I don’t know if I can handle any more propositions.”
“It’s an important one,” she said. “Instead of going back to Sacramento, I’ve decided to go to Vancouver Island with the other freed slaves. And I—I would like to take Isaac with me.”
Alden lea
ned toward her. “You don’t have to worry about Victor. Judah will make sure he’s on that ship going east.”
“But he might return one day, and if he did—I can’t bear to think of him taking back my son.”
Isaac crossed his arms. “I think the three of us need to stick together. Here in California.”
Alden nodded. “I agree.”
But Alden didn’t meant it. One day he would meet a woman whom he’d want to marry. He wouldn’t want to be burdened with her too. “In Victor’s eyes—and others here—Isaac and I will always be slaves.”
“I don’t see a slave when I look at either of you,” Alden said, glancing at both of them. “In Isaac, I see a boy who is smart and kind and funny. He’s one of the hardest-working fellows I know and a faithful friend.”
Her heart pounded as his gaze settled on her again. “When I look at you, Isabelle, I see a beautiful, genteel woman who is capable and strong. A woman I’d be deeply honored to have as my wife.”
She drank in Alden’s words, savoring every one, but she couldn’t allow him to give up his future for her. “You don’t have to be a martyr, Alden.”
“A martyr?” His eyebrows climbed with his question, and then he left his chair, sitting on the bed beside her. “I don’t think you understand.”
“But I do—”
He turned back toward Isaac. “Do you mind if we have a moment?”
Isaac groaned. “You never let me stay around for the important things.”
“I actually need your help.” He leaned down beside him, whispering as if she couldn’t hear. “Right now, I need a moment to convince your mother to marry me.”
Isaac eyed Alden. Then he picked up his book. “I suppose I can read a few more pages in the parlor, but don’t take all night. She and I have a lot of catching up to do.”
He closed the door behind him, and Alden took her hand.
“Isabelle.” He knelt before her. “My love for you is stronger than the quartz threaded through these mountains, and it’s as endless as the gold embedded in them. If you don’t feel the same about me, I understand, but if you do, it would be the greatest privilege for me to be your husband.”
“I have Negro blood running through me,” she reminded him, as if he’d forgotten. She might be proud of her ancestry, but every child they had, if they had any children, could have Isaac’s brown skin.
“I love you and every ounce of blood flowing through your veins.” He took her hand. “I will care for Isaac as my son and any other children that God may bless us with.”
As she pulled his hand close to her heart, she smiled. “Then I would be honored to be your wife as well.”
Her face warmed as he leaned closer to her, whispering. “I don’t want either of us to hide in the shadows anymore.”
When he kissed her, the storm raging through her began to settle, her heart finding calm in the safety of his affection. Even the pain from her wounds was soothed in his love.
Isaac cleared his throat by the door. “Are you two done yet?”
“Not exactly.” Alden stepped away, but his gaze was still locked on her.
“I’m hungry for oysters.”
They all laughed. “I suppose we could find some in this town,” Alden said.
Isaac’s nose crinkled. “I sure hope you don’t keep kissing like that.”
Alden put his arm around Isaac’s shoulders. Then he glanced back over his shoulder like a kid, conspiring with her in his wink.
She closed her eye again as she rested back against the pillows.
Mother. Wife. Guardian of truth and light. She would step boldly into this new life, embracing the love of her family and these beautiful new names.
No longer was she alone.
Epilogue
The steam from Isabelle’s cup swelled as she added a spoonful of clover honey to her tea. Leaning back in her upholstered chair, she glanced over the empty dining room of the Golden Rose, the hotel renamed in memory of Uncle William and Aunt Emeline’s daughter. After the rush of the breakfast meal, the room was at peace, the scent of summer flowers drifting over the new piano and the white-clothed tables.
So much had changed in the past three years since she and Alden married in the floral gardens outside town—with Sing Ye as her matron of honor, and Isaac standing proudly as Alden’s best man.
Judah had waved good-bye to Victor and his brig as it departed San Francisco. Then he returned to Sacramento to preside over the Paynes’ wedding ceremony on a Saturday afternoon. The following Monday, Alden joined his law practice.
At the end of 1854, Alden passed the bar exam before the Supreme Court and had since appeared before Judge Snyder with multiple cases for Fallow & Payne, many of them in his quest for abolition.
Alden had rescued her back in Columbia, and he’d asked nothing of her, patiently waiting as her wounds healed. And he was still patient as Isabelle embraced her role as a beloved wife and mother. Aunt Emeline would be so pleased. She had married a man who knew her fully and loved her for exactly who she was. And every day, she had the privilege of caring for her son.
It had taken six months for their family to restore the hotel, but Isaac enjoyed his job as steward, and she resumed her work as proprietor and maître d’. Alden had hidden the gold nugget he and Isaac discovered—waiting, he said, for its purpose to find them. She’d spent part of her savings on the court fines for harboring Persila; the rest had gone to the hotel restoration and buying finery like silk tablecloths, eggshell china, and gilded mirrors. But it was worth it. She’d once thought Sacramentans wouldn’t frequent her doors when they found out she’d been a slave, but they continued to come. In droves. Even Mr. Walsh continued eating here every night when he wasn’t in the mines.
Laws about fugitive slaves continued to change. Judah’s safe house—where Stephan hid Micah—had burned down during the fire, but she and Alden continued to harbor runaway slaves in the room below her desk. Rodney had left the city a year ago to try his hand in the mines, and the new sheriff pretended to be inept when it came to searching for runaways.
Isaac was her companion every evening while Alden worked, helping her serve the many customers who frequented the dining room. During the day, he had achieved his dream of attending school. While colored children still weren’t permitted in the common schools, a young woman from England had moved to Sacramento last year and started a school for Isaac and thirteen other black students. They were pioneers in their own way, planking a new road for the free blacks who continued coming to California in search of freedom.
The East Coast papers talked about a coming war between the Northern and Southern states, a fight to give liberty to those still enslaved. If that happened, Judah and Alden weren’t sure what would happen in California, as it stretched from the southern tip of their country up to the territory of Oregon. Some talked of splitting their state in half—a free Northern state and a Southern state for slave owners—but she continued to pray that freedom would come to every man, woman, and child who lived in their country.
Persila had written several times from Vancouver Island, giving her regular updates about Micah, whom she and Stephan had adopted as their son. Each time Isabelle heard of more free blacks moving north, she thought about asking Alden if they could join them, but God seemed to bind the Payne family to Sacramento for now.
Still, she watched the paddle wheelers coming into the wharf with trepidation, beating back the fear that sometimes flared in her heart. If Victor attempted to take her again, he would be the one tried for kidnapping. Both her emancipation paper and the one he’d signed to free Isaac were stored safely away in Judah and Alden’s office.
The door to their private rooms opened, and Alden stepped into the dining room. He’d stayed late at the office last night, preparing for a case.
“Good morning,” he said, kissing her.
She smiled as she poured him a cup of green tea, savoring once again the realization that Alden Payne loved her as much as
she loved him.
Then she offered him some sugar.
He took a sip of the sweet drink. “I saw Ross Kirtland when I was coming home last night.”
“Indeed?”
“He wanted me to pass along his greetings.”
She traced her finger around the handle of her cup. The last she heard, Fanny had returned east, and Ross was operating another boardinghouse someplace outside town. Turned out, he had also proposed marriage to a woman who operated a haberdashery in Marysville. Once Fanny was gone, the new Mrs. Kirtland moved to Sacramento.
“He also asked if I thought you would ever consider selling the hotel.”
She shook her head. “I’m not selling anytime soon.”
Her husband’s smile renewed the joy in her heart. “I already told him.”
She motioned toward the small stack of envelopes by the teapot. “Isaac retrieved the mail before school.”
Alden picked up the top letter and looked at the address. She already knew who it was from—Rhody Payne, Alden’s youngest sister. Her husband read the letter as she perused the headlines of the Sacramento Union.
“My father passed away,” he said.
“I’m sorry.” She reached forward to take his hand. “Are you sad that you didn’t get to see him again?”
“I wish I missed him, but no.” He tapped the letter on the table. “He left Rhody the plantation and all the slaves.”
“Victor must be furious.”
“Rhody said that she invited Victor and Eliza to live with her and Mother, but only Eliza came.”
“Did she say anything about Naomi?”
He shook his head. “I will write her back today and ask.”
“Perhaps Naomi would like to come to California.”
He smiled again. “Perhaps.”
“Look at this,” Isabelle said, pointing at the advertisement in the paper. “A slave girl is being auctioned off this afternoon, outside the Southern Hotel. The owner is asking eight hundred dollars.”
“That’s the girl I’m defending this morning in court.”
“I don’t understand how Judge Snyder can justify auctioning off slaves in a free state.”
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