Soon, she’d told them. Soon, she could step into the cottage, knowing that the woman she’d loved was gone. And soon, she hoped, she’d be able to press forward confidently in this world on her own.
Her guardian was gone now, but she couldn’t continue drifting. She would have to find strength to stand on her own feet and face whatever was next, knowing the God of Aunt Emeline and Uncle William—the God who sent His son—was with her too.
Standing, she wiped the tears from her eyes and began to walk back between the scrubs and iron fences and the mishmash of wooden and marble tombstones. The spring sun was welcome relief from the doldrums caused by the winter’s rain. The storms had come swiftly into California and were already gone.
Still Ross hadn’t returned home.
She’d received two more letters from him in the past months, a repetition of his previous words. He’d found gold. He couldn’t wait to marry her in the spring.
But April had passed, and she’d begun to wonder if perhaps there was another woman in Marysville vying for his attention. Ironic, given he already had two women waiting for him in Sacramento.
She walked through the cemetery’s gatehouse, and wind rustled the branches of a lone tree as she neared the street. Several blocks ahead, the Sacramento River bent toward the busy wharf. She could see the twin stacks of one of the steamboats that brought supplies and Argonauts alike from San Francisco. The paddle wheels on the sides of the boat churned the water, lapping it against the banks. A steady rhythm between man and nature.
She and Fanny had slipped into a comfortable rhythm as well, working together to accommodate their guests at the Golden. In lieu of a friendship, they’d developed a polite camaraderie, never stepping back into the mire of what had or had not happened between Isabelle and Ross. After Aunt Emeline died, Fanny stopped asking questions about the past, and Isabelle was grateful that she didn’t have to answer the inquiries. She was quite content just sipping tea together each morning, reading the papers, knowing that Fanny would be gone soon.
She’d finally told Fanny that she received word that Ross was in Marysville, but instead of going to find him, the woman opted to stay in the city. Fanny had said she preferred to wait and enjoy the fruits of Ross’s labor when he returned.
When Isabelle reached Fourth Street, she turned right. Lorinda Washburn, the only dressmaker in Sacramento, lived in a small house on this street, and as Isabelle passed her window, she saw Fanny inside, being fitted, it seemed, for a new wardrobe.
Fanny had no money to pay for clothing, but she’d still been visiting Lorinda about once a week, placing orders that she wouldn’t be able to redeem until Ross returned. Reality didn’t seem to daunt her. Fanny was convinced that Ross would take back the hotel, and she was preparing to take her place as hostess.
Sighing, Isabelle walked into the lobby. If Ross were able to buy back his half, she’d transfer the entire ownership of the hotel to him. No matter the arrangement, she couldn’t work alongside him and Fanny.
Stephan was helping Janette in the kitchen, preparing for dinner. He had retrieved a box from the steamboat that arrived this morning—a butteryqueso chancofrom Chile, chocolate from Domingo Ghirardelli’s company in San Francisco, and almonds from Spain. Janette was focused on her preparations of atorta capresefor dessert, a chocolate almond cake powdered with sugar.
“Have you seen Fanny?” Janette asked, her dress and hair powdered with sugar as well.
Isabelle nodded. “She’ll be back soon.”
“She’s been gone all morning.”
Janette complained more often these days about Fanny’s long absences, and Isabelle couldn’t blame her. The person who labored the least among them was living in the best rooms, seeming to do what she pleased. If Ross wasn’t planning to return, Fanny needed to go find him.
The lobby bell chimed, and Isabelle hurried to the next room. As she moved through the dining room, she pressed her hands against the chignon she’d twisted at the nape of her neck, checking the loose curls that fell on each side of her head. Then she straightened her gray day skirt and white blouse.
When she rounded the corner, she saw the back of a man dressed in a blue flannel shirt, jean trousers, and high boots pulled up almost to his knees. The typical attire of a miner. But then she stopped in the archway. Frozen. She knew the shape of those shoulders, the dark-blond hair that had grown long over his collar.
Nine months after walking out of the Golden, Ross had returned.
She stepped back, poised to run away, but it was too late. He spun on the heels of his boots, his lips breaking into a smile. Then he rushed across the lobby to her, arms outstretched.
Before she could speak, he wrapped her in his arms. Kissed her lips.
Stunned, she stepped away, her stomach ill. She’d rehearsed this moment for months, and yet she couldn’t seem to remember what she’d intended to say to the man in front of her.
He was grinning, oblivious to her reluctance. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it back before April,” he said. “Did you get my letters?”
She nodded slowly.
“I felt like I was close to something big, and boy, was I.” He dug into the pocket of his coat and removed a buckskin pouch. Inside was a small nugget of gold. “I wanted to surprise you.”
He handed the gold to her, and she stared down at her hand, her palm open. “I can’t accept this.”
His grin faded. “But I found it for you.”
She held the nugget out toward him. “I’m sure your wife will appreciate it.”
He lowered the bag in his hands, studying her face instead of the gold. “Have you changed your mind?”
