Her stomach rolled, her mind racing at the thought of being locked back in that chamber in Virginia—her personal slave pen, where she was subject at any hour to Victor’s sick whims.
Mrs.Duvall would hate her even more now, and there was nothing she could do about it.
She rocked back against the pillows.
Some judges esteemed moral law over a federal mandate, but it seemed Judge Roth would never give Isaac to her, even in her freedom. Federal law recognized the bloodline of the female parent, not the father. Isaac had been born a slave, and if she’d didn’t make a deal with Victor, her son would remain one for the rest of his life.
Victor desperately wanted what he couldn’t have; she’d known it from the time she was a girl. The more she fought Victor, the more he refused to give up. If she willingly gave him what he desired, he lost interest for a season, basking in his power.
On their walk back to the hotel last night, Alden had told her they would find a way to rescue Isaac, but only a miracle would help them now. Alden wouldn’t understand why she had agreed to return with Victor, perhaps even if she told him the truth about Isaac, but no matter what she must endure, she could never let Isaac go back with him.
Thank God her son was alive and free. She would cling to the hope of his future.
Standing up, she walked to the window and looked at the brick building across the street. Alden had tried to secure the room next to hers last night, but the hotel was booked, so he and Isaac had stayed in a room above the bowling alley. For just a moment yesterday, as they stood before the judge, she’d seen something new in Alden’s eyes. Wonder, perhaps. And dare she think it, something like love.
But she no longer trusted her instincts about love. Back in Sacramento, she’d thought that Ross cared for her and that Alden was a loathsome slave owner. Victor, it seemed, had messed up her ability to distinguish who she could trust and who was out to deceive her.
It was a foolish thought to think that Alden might care for her anyway. She was more than a tainted woman. She was ruined, as wrecked as the streets of Sacramento after the fire. Aunt Emeline might have called her Isabelle. Beloved. A daughter of God. But Victor would call her something else. Terrible names that no woman should ever hear, names she feared she would begin to believe again.
In the darkness, she prayed that Victor would make good on his word and leave Isaac here. And then she asked, if possible, that she could be free as well to raise her son.
By the time the sun rose, she had washed, dressed, and pinned up her hair. Alden knocked on the door at seven, and she opened it. He looked exhausted too.
“Could you sleep?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not well.”
“I saw your lantern early this morning.”
“I was—” She paused. “I was praying.”
“Me too.”
She glanced behind him. “Where’s Isaac?”
“I asked him to stay and read in our room.”
“But the judge said—”
“We’re going to fight this. I’ll pass the bar and take it all the way up to the Supreme Court if I must.”
She contemplated again telling him the truth about Isaac, but fighting for her son in court wouldn’t work. The law wasn’t on her side. She’d longed to hug Isaac one last time, but perhaps it was for the best. If she held him in her arms again, she might not release him.
Isaac was free now, and she wanted him to be free for the rest of his life, not worried about the mother he’d left behind. As much as she wanted to tell him the truth—that she loved him with all her heart—perhaps genuine love meant that she needed to let him go. That was the one thing that Victor had never been able to do.
She stepped out into the parlor and locked the door behind her.
“I’m sorry I didn’t remember who you were until last night,” Alden said as they moved toward the stairs.
She shook her head. “I was a different person back in Virginia.”
“You were just as beautiful.”
“I didn’t feel very beautiful.”
“I didn’t understand—” He stumbled over his words. “I should have helped you back then.”
When he stopped on the top step, she looked into his eyes. “You can’t rescue everyone, Alden.”
