“I’d like more oysters.”
“Then we’ll find you some.” It wouldn’t be hard. It seemed that every establishment in this town sold oysters along with champagne. She and Isaac ate their oysters with buttered bread and a bottle of root beer.
He pointed toward the box. “What’s that?”
“It’s a gift that my aunt left for me.”
He rested on the edge of the bed. “What’s in it?”
She looked at the boy sitting beside her in wonder, marveling at the genuineness in his brown eyes, the curiosity in his voice. She’d been worried this past week that she might see Victor in him, but Isaac was confident and kind and thoughtful. Nothing like the man who’d fathered him.
“I don’t know what’s inside.”
He stared down at it. “Why haven’t you opened it?”
“I suppose it’s because I’m scared.”
“Is there something scary inside?”
“No.” She smiled at him even as tears formed again in her eyes. It seemed she’d been an open spigot of water the past week. “It’s my aunt’s last gift to me, and I suppose I’m afraid to say a final good-bye.”
“But what if it’s not good-bye?” he asked. “What if there’s something inside that will last forever?”
She blinked back the tears. “You sure ask a lot of questions.”
“Master Duvall says I’m insatiable.”
“Inquisitive might be a better word.”
“But I don’t get angry when someone can’t answer my questions.”
“Did Master Duvall”—she pressed a finger to the edge of each eye, trying to keep her tears at bay—“did he ever hurt you?”
The boy shrugged his shoulders.
Had Victor seared him with the brand when Isaac was too young for memories or had he waited until Isaac was older? If only she’d been able to protect him.
“I understand,” Isabelle said tenderly. “Someone hurt me once too.”
Isaac nodded his head, gazing down at the box again. “Why don’t you open it now?”
She placed her hand on the cover, remembering that last day with Emeline when she’d told her aunt that she would treasure her gift. And she had treasured the box, just not what was inside.
Could she really open it now? Part of her wanted to unlock it, but part of her still wasn’t ready.
Then again, if a fire ripped through this town like it had in Sacramento, she might never know what Aunt Emeline wanted her to have.
Taking a deep breath, she carefully pulled her necklace with the two keys over her head. Then she used the smaller key to unlock the clasp.
She thought she might find jewelry or another valuable from her aunt, but there were only three pieces of a gray parchment paper stored inside, each folded in half.
Isaac tried to look over her sleeve. “What is it?”
“Papers,” she said. “I haven’t been able to read them yet.”
He dutifully scooted away, waiting as he watched her.
The first piece was a letter from Aunt Emeline, written in her elegant script.
