Starlight edged through the curtains on the window, offering an escape into the peaceful world of sleep, but still her eyes wouldn’t rest. Hours ago, she’d been excited to see Ross, counting down the months until they married. What would she say when he returned now?
Another thought crept slowly into her mind, startling her.
Perhaps Ross hadn’t really been planning to marry her at all. He’d made good use of their partnership over the years, of the money that Aunt Emeline had invested into their work. Perhaps he’d been mining as well in the city, except he’d been trying to extract gold from the pockets of her and Aunt Emeline to supplement what he found in the diggings.
In hindsight, Ross hadn’t volunteered to compensate her or her aunt when he’d decided to head east to the goldfields. Aunt Emeline had asked a local attorney to draw up papers that clarified their agreement, and Ross signed them without comment.
Isabelle had stored the papers downstairs, not bothering to read what she’d thought to be inconsequential, but the terms on that contract would be critical now. Slipping out of her bed, she reached for her silk robe and lantern before moving down the steps, into the lobby.
The front door was already locked, the curtains over the picture window closed. Even if all her guests were asleep, she still took the precaution of locking the door to the dining room as well.
Behind the counter, she pushed aside the chair from her desk and folded back the rug. When she pulled up on a latch between the planks, a wooden panel lifted up toward her. Then she climbed down the rungs of a wooden ladder, the lantern in her hand illuminating the small room between her building and the bank next door.
Both buildings had been built after the 1850 flood. The previous owner had installed this space between the walls of his two buildings to store gold as well as to hide on occasion from those angry at him and his questionable business practices. There was no back door to this building, so after hiding, he would escape through a hatch he’d built into the back wall, slipping into a small courtyard along the alleyway.
Eventually the people of Sacramento drummed the man out of town, but as far as she knew, they’d never discovered his hiding place. When Aunt Emeline bought the hotel, she’d asked Ross to bolt up the entrance into the building next door.
Isabelle’s light skimmed across the dirt floor, stopping when it reached the metal lockbox. She slipped off the silver chain from her neck and removed the key. Inside was her collection of gold, profits from hotel guests and dining room customers alike.
She also kept her most important papers hidden inside.
Rifling through the documents, she found the one that Ross had signed before he left. The wording in the contract left little room for dispute.
Ross was paid fairly for his co-ownership of the Golden Hotel, making Aunt Emeline the sole owner of their enterprise. In order to resume his co-ownership, he agreed to pay her aunt back the same amount he’d taken to finance his quest for gold. If he didn’t have the money to reinvest on his return, he and Emeline would discuss new terms, but her aunt was not obligated to partner with him again.
The document was signed by Aunt Emeline, Ross, and their attorney.
Isabelle read the terms one more time and locked it back in the box. After this, she and Aunt Emeline couldn’t go back into partnership with Ross, but what if he earned enough money to resume his ownership? She supposed they would have to sell him the hotel.
Sighing, Isabelle climbed back up the ladder and replaced the panel and rug. Then she returned to her room and lit a candle to celebrate this Christmas Eve on her own.
Chapter 6
Scott’s Grove
December 1853
Alden sat on the edge of his bed, fully clothed in his cord breeches and traveling cloak, his valise resting on the floor beside him as he listened to the clock outside his room strike the hour of midnight. Except for the grandfather clock, the house was silent now, had been for the past hour, but still he waited. He didn’t want anyone to disrupt his plans.
In the hours after dinner, while his family and their guests drank themselves into a stupor, he binged on black coffee. And his mind churned. The house staff had been up late cleaning after the party, but once they were asleep, he planned to sneak down and fetch the keys locked in his father’s desk.
The skill of lock picking was something he and Benjamin acquired a long time ago, motivated by the Belgian chocolates his father kept hidden in his office. They’d been careful as children—only taking one piece of chocolate for each of them before locking the drawer again. Tonight he’d be even more careful as he used a hairpin to retrieve the key that imprisoned Benjamin. And if he couldn’t find the key, he and Benjamin would figure out how to pick the lock on his shackles.
Standing up, he moved quietly toward his door and listened one more time before opening it. There were no sounds in the hallway. No padding of feet up the steps or rustling of skirts. If one of the slaves did see him, he doubted they would inform Master Payne, but he didn’t want anyone else to be indicted in what the local and national government considered a crime.
The federal government had passed the Fugitive Slave Act more than three years ago, a supposed compromise between the Northern and Southern states. The northern part of the country used to be a safe haven for runaway slaves, but now anyone caught helping runaways was either given a steep fine or imprisoned. Or when the law looked the other way, some people were feathered and tarred for loving their neighbors.
His father hadn’t yet given him the money to finance his last term in school, but his train ticket north was in the valise, and he had enough money to buy a ticket for Benjamin as well. As long as the conductor believed Benjamin to be a slave, traveling as his manservant, he should be able to transport him as far as Boston.
Patrick, his roommate at Harvard, was an abolitionist. Surely, he would have the contacts to help Benjamin find refuge up in Canada until they traveled out to California.
His own plans to finish school would be dashed—his father would never forgive him for this offense—but his conscience would be intact. And Benjamin’s life would be saved. Then he would work to secure tickets for both of them on one of the steamers going toward San Francisco. He could complete his education under Judah’s tutelage.
Slowly he stepped into the hallway, a candle in one hand, his bag clutched at his side. This decision sealed the fates of both him and Benjamin. After this, he could never return to Scott’s Grove.
He turned to close his door, but before it shut, a scream pierced through the darkness, echoing down the papered walls in the corridor. In an instant, he tossed his travel bag back into his room, followed by his cloak; then he rushed down the corridor toward his father’s chamber.
Someone yelled again—a man’s voice—and he heard crying. A woman weeping behind his father’s door.
