The three men were silent as they turned toward Isabelle. And with great strength, she smiled back at them. She was the only one who knew the answer.
“Would you like me to consult with Miss Labrie again?” Alden asked.
“No,” the judge said, growing frustrated. “Miss Labrie, who sold you?”
“Eliza Duvall,” she answered clearly. “Victor’s wife.”
Victor’s cheeks flooded with red. “It’s illegal in the state of Virginia for a woman to sell her husband’s property.”
“That may be so,” Alden said. “But we are no longer in the state of Virginia.”
“I have something else.” Victor reached for the portfolio he’d left on his chair. “It’s the deed of ownership for Mallie. She and all my slaves were passed on to me after my father’s death.”
Isabelle held her breath as the judge reviewed the paper. When he looked up again, he seemed confused. “This isn’t a deed of ownership.”
Alden stepped forward. “What is it?”
“It’s a deed of manumission, saying that the slave girl named Mallie is eligible to obtain her freedom when she turns twenty-one.”
Victor swore.
The judge looked over at Isabelle. “Have you turned twenty-one?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Judge Roth turned back toward Victor, studying his ragged clothing. “Do you know how to read, sir?”
“I don’t know what that has to do with—”
“You might ask someone to inspect any other deeds you have.”
Victor placed a pile of papers on the desk. “One of these is the certificate of birth for Isaac.”
The judge rummaged through the papers until he found it. Then he turned toward Alden. “As long as you and Miss Labrie produce Mr.Duvall’s slave boy in the morning, I’ll release you both with a fine.”
Chapter 44
Columbia
August 1854
There she blows.
The words of Captain Ahab played in Victor’s mind as he looked down on Mallie, sleeping in her hotel room bed, just like he’d found her many times back at her room in West End. He’d bribed one of the men downstairs to unlock her door, saying he’d had a fight with his wife and she refused to let him back in.
He didn’t care what a measly justice of the peace said. Nor did he care about the ruling of any court of law or what his cursed father did to humiliate him.
Mallie was his white whale, his rose among weeds. He would not leave California without her.
Back in Virginia, no one would care about a manumission paper. They all knew Mallie was his, including Eliza. And Eliza would pay for stealing Mallie away and then lying to him.
He took a draw on the cigar he’d taken from one of the miners and let the smoke settle over her bed. Then he slid the bowie knife out of the sheath and held it up in the glimmer of moon. The light danced off it, a silver glint on the wall.
“Hello, Mallie,” he whispered.
She awoke with a start, and her eyes grew wide with alarm when she saw him and his knife. She sat up, pulling her bedcovers over her chest.
“What are you doing here, Victor?”
