“Hopefully you’ll have time, then, to reconcile your marriage.”
He sighed. “I’m afraid there’s nothing left to reconcile.”
In his eyes, she saw the hope that she might not only give him money but also change her mind and marry him after Fanny was gone.
“You should save your money and return with her. Perhaps New York really is the place you belong.”
He stepped closer, his gaze intense. “My place is here in California.”
When she didn’t reply, an awkward silence crept between them.
“You’ll have to excuse me, Ross. I’m afraid I don’t have any more conversation left in me.”
“I understand,” he said, but still didn’t leave. “There’s one more thing . . .”
“What is it?”
“There’s a man staying at my house who showed me the oddest thing today.”
She didn’t want to take the bait. “Is this important?”
“He said he was searching for his slave.”
She sighed, the weight heavy on her heart. “It seems as if everyone is looking for a slave.”
“This wasn’t just any slave,” he said slowly. “It was the picture of a child, but the eyes—they looked just like yours.”
She clutched the edge of her desk as she considered his words. It felt as if she were back on the ship to California, the room rocking back and forth. She tried to refocus her gaze. Calm her voice. Still, everything seemed blurry.
“What is this man’s name?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Victor Duvall.”
In that moment, it felt as if the entire ship slammed into a rock.
Ross took his leave, but she didn’t even realize he’d gone until the bell chimed across the room.
Nine years had passed since she had left the Duvall house. Nine years of a new life for her, learning and working as a freed woman.
Had Victor been searching for her all this time? And had Mr. Payne come to Sacramento as well to find out if she belonged to the Duvalls?
But that didn’t make sense. Mr. Payne knew exactly where she was.
If her old master found her, he wouldn’t hesitate to do exactly what Mr. Webb had done to Persila. He would beat and humiliate her, then take her back before Judge Snyder if he must.
And there was nothing she could do to fight him.
She slid her chair back and hurried to lock the lobby door. Like Persila, she had to run before her master found her.
Fanny giggled like an elf as she slid off her high-topped shoes and tossed them next to the bureau. He wished she’d given the slightest contest, but she’d followed him willingly up to his room, to the edge of the horsehair mattress on his bed.
Victor hushed her when she giggled again. “Mr. Kirtland will hear.”
She dangled her stockinged foot in front of him, the shadow of it dancing on the wall in the lantern light. “Ross won’t be back for hours.”
“And you’re not concerned about your guests?”
“We don’t have silly rules here, like at Isabelle’s place.”
He locked the door and sat down beside her on the ticking that covered the mattress. The entire room stank of camphene from the lamp. “Who is Isabelle?”
She wrinkled her nose, her pretty lips crunched together in a pout. “That awful Miss Labrie at the Golden Hotel.”
His mind wandered back to that confident, pure lilt in the voice of the woman who’d publicly disputed the act of slavery. Miss Labrie, he was certain, would prove to be more of a challenge than the woman beside him.
And less inclined to brain-numbing drivel.
She reached for his arm. “I don’t want to think about Isabelle.”
“Neither do I,” he lied.
She laughed again, twirling her foot until it knocked the leather portfolio off the bureau.
He dove for it, placing it back on top of the dresser. “Don’t touch that.”
She ignored his words, bending toward it. “What is it?”
He shoved her hand away. “I said don’t touch it.”
“You shouldn’t keep secrets from me.” She crossed her arms, seemingly offended.
“I’m not here to banter, Fanny.”
Scooting away from her, he fumbled with the three buttons on his pleated dress shirt. Then he took it off. He’d finish what he started, and then he’d go visit this Isabelle.
When he looked back over, Fanny had his portfolio in her lap. The flap was open, and she was staring down at the sketch of Mallie.
Irate, he yanked the portfolio out of her hands, the papers scattering on the floor.
“Fool,” he mumbled as he dropped to his hands and knees, shoving the papers back into the case. He had tired of the woman’s silliness long ago. Unlike Mr. Kirtland, he did not intend to let her or any other woman control him.
He placed the portfolio inside a drawer this time. If she tried to open it, he’d make certain she remembered that no matter what he asked, she must obey.
When he returned to the bed, Fanny wasn’t smiling anymore. Instead, her gaze was focused on the drawer. “Why do you have a sketch of Isabelle?”
His eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I said—” Looking up, she studied his eyes for a moment before shrugging. “Never mind.”
He reached for her arm. “Tell me what you just said.”
“Let me go,” she said, shaking her arm to break free.
But he wouldn’t let go until she told him the truth. “What about Miss Labrie?”
“I—I just wondered why you had a portrait of her.”
He squeezed her arm as he mulled over her words. Then he let go.
After all these years—was it possible that Mallie was right here in Sacramento, hiding behind the title of Miss Labrie? Her skin was almost as light as any white person’s, and her beauty would enchant all the men in this city. Add to it a cultured accent and perhaps an education, and she would be free to move in circles that would have rejected her back in Virginia.
He clasped his hands together, the reality of it pouring over him.
Not only was he close to retrieving Isaac, but he would be able to regain Mallie as well—a refined, beautiful woman who must do as he pleased.
His family was all right here, waiting for him.
Was that the reason Alden brought Isaac to Sacramento? Had Mallie somehow orchestrated this to reunite with her son? Oh, it was perfect. There would be a reunion all right, just not what Alden or Mallie were expecting.
He pulled the white shirt back over his head and quickly rebuttoned it.
She sat up straighter, rubbing her arm. “Where are you going?”
“I’m finished playing games, Fanny.”
“I wasn’t playing a game.”
“You’ve been distracted.” He stood, taking the portfolio from the drawer and then reaching for his frock coat and wallet. “But I’ve heard that Miss Labrie is more than accommodating.”
When she swore at him, the pieces seemed to fall into place: Mr. Kirtland’s recognition when he saw Isaac’s face, and then his denial. Victor knew the proprietor had been lying, but he hadn’t seen Isaac after all. He’d seen Mallie.
It was impossible for any man to forget her eyes.
He stopped by the door. “Perhaps I will find your husband with Miss Labrie as well.”
He heard the glass shatter, felt the heat of the lantern’s flames, but they didn’t burn him.
A steady coolness flooded over him as he asked someone outside for directions to the Golden Hotel. Finally, after all these years, he would recover what was rightfully his.
Chapter 33
Sacramento City
July 1854
They found the Webbs residing on the second floor of a boardinghouse built of rotting wood and covered with rusted tin. In the corridor outside their door, Alden and Stephan listened as Mr. and Mrs. Webb yelled at each other about their money, their future, their only slave.
Alden’s mind
flashed back to his former nursemaid, cowering in his father’s room, and he wondered where Persila was in the midst of the fighting.
If he heard Persila cry out, he’d break down the door.
In the past weeks, he’d inquired after the Webbs at all of Sacramento’s hotels and most of the boardinghouses. There was no sign hanging at the front of this house, but even if there had been, he never would have suspected the Webbs would rent a room in such a run-down place. But perhaps they flaunted their power over Persila for this very reason. Perhaps because they owned little else.
When they heard feet stomping toward the door, Alden and Stephan backed farther down the corridor.
“You best be done with that mending when I return,” a man shouted before slamming the door. Then he hurried down the front steps.
Stephan stepped forward and knocked on the door.
Mrs. Webb’s face was a pasty white blotched with red. Strands of graying hair fell from her bun, and there were several holes in her dressing gown. Her gaze slipped over Stephan, landing on Alden. “What are you doing here?”
“We’ve come for Persila.”
She cackled. “You think you can just take her?”
“If you’re unwilling to negotiate a deal.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What sort of deal?”
“That depends on you, Mrs. Webb. My friend and I are hoping for a reasonable one.”
He held her gaze even as he positioned his foot against the door to prop it open.
“What if I don’t want to negotiate?”
Alden shrugged. “Then we’ll just take her.”
“You can’t do that.”
He glanced over at Stephan, and the two of them elbowed their way past her, into the cramped room.
“Get out,” Mrs. Webb cried behind them.
Persila was sitting on the floor, mending items from a basket. The Webbs, it seemed, had found another way to generate income from her work.
“Hello, Persila,” he said.
Her eyes lit when she saw the men, but her gaze plunged quickly back to her mending. Stephan sat on the frayed rug beside her while Alden faced Mrs. Webb.
“Would you like to discuss the terms?”
Mrs. Webb eyed her and then looked back up at him. “I won’t take less than five hundred.”
“Dollars?”
“Of course, dollars.”
“Do you have her papers?” Alden asked.
Mrs. Webb removed a canvas portfolio from the bureau and took out two sheets of paper. Alden perused them slowly. They must hurry before Mr. Webb returned, but he wanted to make the woman before him nervous. He suspected that she’d already spent the five hundred dollars in her head.
“Alden?” Stephan urged.
He glanced down at Mrs. Webb, the papers secured in his hands. “We will purchase her for three hundred dollars.”
Mrs. Webb laughed again. “Five hundred.”
He sighed as he inched back. “Then it seems we can’t compromise. You’ll have no slave and no money.”
She stopped laughing when he bolted the door behind him. “If you steal her, Mr. Webb will send the police after you.”
“The police won’t find us,” he assured her before looking around the room. “What shall I use to tie you up?”
Her face paled.
“I’m sure Mr. Webb will be back soon to rescue you.”
She shook her head. “He won’t return for hours.”
Stephan looked as relieved as Alden about that news.
“Are you certain you don’t want to negotiate?” he asked.
Mrs. Webb crossed her arms. “I’ll take four hundred.”
Alden stalled again, even though he knew his answer. He and Stephan had discussed their plan as they’d walked here. If they pooled resources, they had four hundred between them, with a small reserve left.
“I think we can compromise with four hundred as long as there are no more delays.” He nodded at Stephan, and the man rushed from the room. “While my colleague collects the money, please fetch Persila and me a cup of tea.”
Mrs. Webb grumbled all the way to the door.
Persila dropped her mending back into the basket after Mrs. Webb left, and he took Stephan’s seat on the floor. His stomach clenched when he examined the blood matted on her face and the cut above her eye. Even if they didn’t respect Persila, the Webbs—or the judge for that matter—should have given her the opportunity to clean her wounds.
“I’m sorry I didn’t find you earlier.”
Her gaze widened. “You were looking for me?”
“Of course,” he said. “Isaac insisted that I tell you he’s had multiple baths since we stepped off that ship.”
She managed a small smile. “How is that boy?”
“As precocious as ever.”
“Tell him that I miss him.”
“I will.”
“Alden—”
“What is it?”
She fidgeted with the thread beside her. “I’m not worth four hundred dollars.”
“You’re worth much more than that, but it’s all we had to offer.”
She looked back up at him. “You could buy a lot for that money.”
“But your freedom is priceless, Persila.”
“The Webbs don’t deserve any more money.”
“No, but I don’t want you to live as a runaway.” He leaned back against the window shade, glancing at the strips of faded paper dangling from the wall and the three pallets set up on the floor. “How did the Webbs acquire enough money to buy you in the first place?”
“Master Webb won me gambling.” She pulled her knees up to her chest. “And he’s going to come after me when he returns, even with new papers. He needs my income to keep gambling.”
Alden checked the timepiece in his pocket. It was 5:15. “There’s a paddle wheeler leaving for San Francisco at six. You and Stephan can both travel up to Vancouver Island, where everyone is free.”
As her smile grew wider, he took her hand. “One day soon, I’d like to send Isaac up to live with you so he can be free too.” In some small way, he hoped Isaac might also help replace the child Persila had lost long ago.
“Oh, Alden,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I adore that boy, but he would be devastated to leave you.”
“He needs a good mother.”
“And a good father.” She laughed softly. “All you need to find is a wife.”
The door opened, and Mrs. Webb shuffled inside with two cups of tea. She reluctantly handed both of them to Alden, and he gave the second cup to Persila, though neither he nor Persila dared to try it.
“When will your man be back?” Mrs. Webb asked.
“Stephan will return soon.” It wouldn’t take him long to locate Alden’s dwindling supply of money and say good-bye to Miss Labrie.
As the three of them waited in silence, he prayed Stephan would indeed return soon. If he and Persila didn’t leave on that boat, Mr. Webb and a crowd of sympathizers might find them. At the very least, the man would drag them back before the judge, refuting the sale of his slave. The worst scenario involved some rope and a tree.
Minutes later, there was a frantic knock on the door, and Mrs. Webb opened it.
“We must hurry,” Stephan insisted.
Mrs. Webb didn’t move. “I’ll go at my own pace.”
“The city is on fire.”
Mrs. Webb leaped toward the window, and when she yanked up the shade, Alden saw smoke billowing several blocks away. They had no time left for games.
“Do you have the money?” she asked.
Stephan nodded, but he didn’t hand it to her. Instead, he dug into his carpetbag and gave Alden the little money left from his stash, along with several pieces of paper, a pen, and inkwell. Alden dropped the gold coins in his pocket and drafted the manumission paper on the bureau, trying not to think about the loss of time or the looming fire.
“Good riddance,” Mrs. Webb said as she signed it.
The
remaining transaction happened at lightning speed. After they paid Mrs. Webb, Persila eagerly ripped her old ownership papers into pieces.
Mrs. Webb glanced back out the window. “Here comes my husband.”
The two men and Persila fled down the back steps and raced through the smoky street, toward the wharf. The waiting paddle wheeler gave a long blast on its horn.
With the fire, it might leave early tonight.
“I bolted the iron shutters and door at the hotel,” Stephan told him as they ran. “No one was inside.”
“Where did Miss Labrie and Isaac go?”
“Probably to her aunt’s cottage near City Cemetery. It’s up on the knoll.”
They stepped onto the wharf, and Alden sighed with relief when he saw the paddle wheeler still moored at the other end.
As they raced across the long pier, the deckhand untied the mooring line from a piling. Alden shouted, but if the man heard, he ignored them, signaling for the captain to leave.
Persila cried out as the steamer slid away, but Stephan sprang forward, leaping onto the deck. Then he stretched out his arms for Persila. Alden swept her up and passed her across the watery divide.
Both Stephan and Persila waved as the boat began paddling briskly toward the coast. Then Alden turned, hurrying toward the cottage on the knoll.
Chapter 34
Sacramento City
July 1854
Isabelle didn’t light a candle in the sitting room. If Victor could track her to Sacramento, he could easily locate her aunt’s home. Better to stay in the dark tonight, pretending that no one was in the cottage. Perhaps Stephan could help her gain passage with Persila up to Vancouver Island tomorrow. Then she would give him the keys to her hotel.
After Ross left the hotel, she had found Isaac in the kitchen. While he retrieved his and Alden’s things, she’d thrown some clothing and personal effects into a carpetbag. She should have left Alden a note on her desk as well and salvaged her money and Aunt Emeline’s box from their hiding space, but her mind had been all muddled.
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