All these years, he’d never even known her name. “Thank you for being a mother to me.”
“I wish I could tell you that I did it from the kindness of my heart, but I cared for you the best I could alongside my own son. You’ve grown into a good man, Alden Payne. A strong one. If you come back here after school, I fear it will all be taken away.” She met his gaze with a new boldness. “You need to leave this plantation and never look back. Go someplace where you can use that brilliant mind God gave you and your passion to help other people.”
Isaac peeked around the stairwell, staring at both of them before he focused on Alden. Then he pointed toward his mouth. “My tongue won’t stay lassoed.”
Alden sighed. “Say what you want.”
“I’ll never look back.”
He stared at the boy. “What?”
“If you take me with you, my eyes will stay on the road. I won’t even steal a glance behind us.”
Alden was considering his words when Naomi spoke again, her voice laden with grief. “Take him instead of me. So he won’t suffer the same fate as Benjamin.”
Looking back at her, he reached out, taking her calloused hand into his. “Benjamin was like a brother to me.”
“Oh, Alden.” Tears filled her eyes before she spoke again. “Benjamin wasn’t just like a brother to you. He was your brother.”
Her words stung more than the whip his father had lashed across his face. The scales blinding his eyes dropped, everything falling into place. Benjamin’s skin may have been dark, but he was smart and confident and bold—just like the man who’d fathered him.
“Does my mother know?” Alden asked.
When she nodded her head, his stomach roiled.
“And Benjamin?”
“I told him when he was twelve.”
“Isaac,” he said, turning toward the boy. “Please find Thomas.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell him to prepare the carriage.”
He and Isaac would leave Scott’s Grove straightaway. And he would never return.
Chapter 9
Sacramento City
December 1853
Gray fog clung like plaster to the sky as Isabelle plodded up the knoll to her aunt’s cottage—a prefabricated house, paintedwhite and then trimmed with green in Baltimore before being shipped in pieces around Cape Horn.
She’d splurged and bought two hen eggs along with fresh cream to make eggnog for her aunt. In one hand, she held the pitcher of Aunt Emeline’s favorite drink. In her other was a satchel with her Christmas gift. The Methodist church had celebrated with a service this morning, but Aunt Emeline had been too ill to attend. She’d stayed home with Sing Ye, a young Chinese woman who tended to her care.
When Isabelle arrived, her aunt was sitting up against a heap of pillows on her bed, her yellow quilt folded back over her nightdress. Outside the window was a fenced garden blooming with pansies and calendulas, thriving in the warmth of California’s winter.
Even on gray days, her aunt’s home always felt cheery. A respite in a constantly changing city. A safe haven for the women Aunt Emeline loved.
Isabelle scooted a chair to the bedside. “How are you feeling today?”
Aunt Emeline smiled. Her lips were cracked, but her eyes glowed with kindness. “I’m happy that both my girls are here.”
Sing Ye picked up the porcelain basin on the side table. “You are just as lovely as your aunt.”
“Thank you,” Isabelle replied. “I think you are quite lovely as well.”
