There were only two mops in the galley. Perhaps the captain would let Persila make her missus tea if Isaac joined him in the labor.
The sun beat down on Alden’s back as he wet his mop. Off the leeward side, a school of bluefish escorted them through the water, and when Isaac joined him on deck, the boy leaned over the railing as if he might jump overboard to swim with the fish. Like Benjamin and his diving stage.
Isaac didn’t need to find a field of gold in California. He needed to play the games that Alden and Benjamin once played. He needed an education so he could use his mind and not have to hide behind ignorance any longer. A place to read and grow and change the ignorance of others. Perhaps a black family would adopt him into their home in San Francisco so he could have a mother and father to care for his needs.
As he and Isaac mopped together, Alden prayed this new state would remain true to moral law, offering freedom to all men, women, and children. Black and white.
Chapter 19
Sacramento City
February 1854
Isabelle leaned back against the pillows on the feather bed, holding Aunt Emeline in her arms as if she were a baby. She didn’t want to let her aunt go, afraid she might slip away for good.
Sing Ye said that Emeline had awakened during the night, asking for her, but her aunt had fallen back asleep before Isabelle arrived that morning. And she’d yet to awaken again.
After much pleading, the doctor had come to the cottage, but he didn’t stay long. After listening to the whisper of Aunt Emeline’s heartbeat with his wooden stethoscope, he spooned a bitter syrup of black tea and morphine between her lips. Then he left Isabelle the bottle.
The morphine relieved her pain, and while Isabelle was grateful for her relief, there were so many more things she wanted to say. It was long past noon now. Even though Sing Ye had tried to coax her into the next room to eat, Isabelle refused to leave until she thanked her aunt one last time.
Stephan would oversee dinner tonight at the hotel and any needs of their clientele while she was gone. Fanny would loathe answering to Stephan, but her steward knew how to care for their guests. And he was completely reliable.
On the painted wall at the end of the bed was the picture she’d given Aunt Emeline for Christmas—the one of the port at Marseille. Beside it was a portrait of Uncle William and Aunt Emeline together in her flower garden on the outskirts of Baltimore, years before Isabelle met them. Uncle William had a thick mustache that masked most of his lips, but his smile flooded up into his eyes. Aunt Emeline’s hair had been rolled tightly into curls on both sides of her head, a sprig of flowers pinned in the middle. A lace collar draped wide over her shoulders, and her smile was as infectious as her husband’s.
Uncle William had been an ardent abolitionist, using his mercantile as a meeting place for like-minded people. Aunt Emeline had cared well for the people who spent a night or two hiding out in their home.
They had both done so much for her—educating and supporting her, bringing her to California with them. She’d never known what a family was until they adopted her into theirs.
Her heart ached.
She couldn’t envision what her life would be like with her aunt gone. Couldn’t fathom the future without her. Aunt Emeline was her anchor. Her lighthouse in the storms. Her savior.
Almost a decade ago, when the doctors thought Isabelle would die, Aunt Emeline had nursed her back to health. Then she’d risked everything for Isabelle, just as she had done when she purchased Sing Ye from the steamer in San Francisco.
If only she could rescue her aunt now.
This morning, Isabelle asked the doctor if she could bring Aunt Emeline to the hospital, but he’d said she was too ill for the journey across the city. And she would surely be more comfortable spending her final hours at home.
Isabelle wanted to fight him—the man didn’t know for certain that these were Aunt Emeline’s last hours—but she’d finally concurred after the doctor said Isabelle would be a greater help to her aunt by easing her pain instead of trying to cure a body beyond repair.
Tears trickled down Isabelle’s cheeks, and she wiped them off with the sleeve of her blouse. She knew her aunt was sick, but she’d fought so hard against the realization that Aunt Emeline might really leave her, like Uncle William had done. That Isabelle would be alone once again.
The room was plenty warm from the fireplace that Sing Ye kept burning in the next room, but Isabelle still shivered.
She hated being alone.
The hours passed, and Isabelle dozed off, her head back against the pillows. The sky was dark when she woke again, a lantern glowing on a small table near the windowsill.
Aunt Emeline began to stir. Then she opened her eyes.
A smile graced her lips when she saw Isabelle. “Child,” she said softly. “Why are you holding me?”
Isabelle looked down at her, returning her smile. “Because years ago, you used to hold me.”
Carefully she scooted to the edge of the bed, laying her aunt gently on top of the quilt and cushioning her fragile body with pillows and blankets.
Aunt Emeline’s soft gaze lingered on her. “You were always such a good girl, Isabelle.”
