“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.”
