“You’re right. He’s much too smart to be a slave.”
“Oh, Victor,” she said, setting her glass onto a table. “Just because you fathered him does not mean he’s smart. In fact, quite the opposite.”
He fought to ignore her words. “I’m going to retrieve him.”
Eliza’s smile fell. “You’ll do nothing of the sort.”
“The boy reminds you too much of Mallie, doesn’t he?”
She shook her head. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“But you know exactly how I felt about Mallie.”
Her laugh was bitter. “And we know how she felt about you. Left you the first opportunity she had to run.” Standing, she walked toward the decorated tree and fingered the needles. “Perhaps that’s what Isaac is doing too. Running away from you.”
If only he could put his hands around that long neck, choke the life out of her. If the judge knew what it was like to live with this woman, he’d let him go without consequence. “I’ll find Isaac and bring him back.”
She stepped toward him, her voice hard. “If you go after him, I swear I’ll leave you.”
“Then that seals my decision.” Eliza may threaten, but she would never leave him. According to the law in Virginia, a divorced woman couldn’t own a single item of her husband’s property. Eliza had a firm appreciation for prestige and the finer things a plantation and their slaves could offer.
“This is ludicrous,” she said.
“What’s ludicrous?” John was standing in the doorway, his top hat in his hands.
Victor stepped toward him. “Alden took one of my slaves north with him.”
When John swore, Victor sneered at Eliza. He knew the man would understand.
“If you don’t go now,” John said, “you’ll never see your slave again.”
The chill from the hall swept over Victor. “Will he sell Isaac?”
“No. He’ll probably set him free.”
Eliza laughed again as he stomped back out of the room. He would find Alden and Isaac. And he would bring Isaac back home with him for good.
Chapter 12
Sacramento City
December 1853
The front door of the Golden Hotel flew open, shaking the paintings when it banged against the wall. Isabelle looked up from the ledger as a Negro boy dressed in torn breeches and a stained linen shirt rushed into the lobby.
The boy scanned the small room, and Isabelle recognized the look on his face. It was one of terror.
Outside the door, on the walk crowded with miners and businessmen, she heard a man yell, “Micah!”
She’d told Aunt Emeline that she wanted to be faithful to help whomever God sent her way. Perhaps God had directed this boy right to her. Perhaps now was the time to continue what her uncle and aunt started long ago.
“Hurry,” she said, beckoning the boy behind the counter and toward the elevated desk where she sat. Then she pushed aside her chair and lifted the panel to her hiding space.
The laws of this new state might support slave owners’ rights, but no matter what the government said, she could never send a boy back into slavery—if this boy was a slave.
She would have to evaluate his status later. For now, she had to be faithful to what God required of her.
The boy hesitated, staring down into the dark space. Outside the window stood a fleshy man dressed in a gray sack coat. His head ticked back and forth between his shoulders, like a clock keeping time.
