“We’re still establishing law in California,” Mr.Clement said. “Unfortunately, most people here would rather string someone up than take their cases before a judge.”
“I thought slavery was illegal.”
“Officially, slave owners can only bring slaves into this state if they’re just passing through, but I know Southerners who brought slaves here back in ’49 and haven’t left yet.” Mr.Clement drummed his fingers on the paper. “How can I help you?”
“I’m actually looking for work as a lawyer.”
“Have you practiced before?”
“Not yet, but I finished more than two years at Harvard Law School.”
Mr.Clement shook his head. “The judges around here don’t care one whit about law school. They won’t hear you until after you’ve been admitted into the bar.”
“I need to apprentice first.”
“I don’t have any time to train an apprentice,” Mr.Clement said, looking back down at his paper. “You best find work doing something else.”
“Do you know a man by the name of Judah Fallow?”
Mr.Clement glanced back up. “Last I heard, Judah went to Sacramento City.”
Hope began rising inside him again. “How do I get to Sacramento City?”
“If you take a paddle wheeler up the river tonight, you’ll arrive by morning.” Mr.Clement nodded toward Isaac. “Best keep your eye on him. Passions around here are high on both sides.”
“I’ll do that,” he said, before thanking the man.
He would collect his laundry later today and go back to the wharf with Isaac to find one of the paddle wheelers. Perhaps he had a job waiting for him in California after all.
Chapter 25
Sacramento City
May 1854
As Isabelle sipped her morning tea, Fanny’s angry words stung her ears. And her heart. She wanted to be a faithful servant like Aunt Emeline, not selfish.
Sometimes it was hard to make sense of what was right and what was wrong, but it seemed to her that Fanny was being the selfish one. How could the woman expect more from Isabelle than she’d already given? And why would she want her husband working alongside a woman he’d claimed to love?
The Kirtlands had left an hour ago, neither of them saying good-bye to her. Relief flooded through her at their departure. Fanny’s presence had been a heavy weight on her heart these past six months, a constant reminder of Ross’s deception. And now they were both free.
She’d never wanted to operate this hotel on her own, but with Stephan and Janette’s help—and the two Chinese women she’d hired to clean the rooms—she could do it.
As she finished her tea, it occurred to her that she needed to visit Judah Fallow. Right away. The lawyer had visited her twice at the hotel this spring, asking her to sign some papers in his office for Aunt Emeline’s estate, but the very signing of papers seemed like she was saying good-bye once again.
Now that Ross had returned, she needed to finalize everything about the ownership of the hotel. She didn’t know the particulars of how one would contest a will, but she guessed the Kirtlands could figure it out.
After assigning the daily chores to the maids, Isabelle unhooked her favorite straw hat from the lobby wall and tied the pale-blue ribbon under her chin. Then she boarded a horse-drawn omnibus east to J and Twelfth Streets, where Judah had hung his own hat in a building shared with a dry goods store. His door was locked; a sign on it said the office would open by eleven. She didn’t want to spare an hour for idleness, but it seemed she had no choice.
Instead of returning to the hotel, she decided to walk further east until she came to Burns Slough. Sutter Floral Gardens was located near this bank, a respite at the edge of a dusty city devoid of much color or pleasant fragrance. Jacob Knauth had designed a pleasure garden here with serpentine walkways that wove between the plots of flowers he’d brought with him from Europe. Arbors covered several walkways, their vines dotted with clusters of green grapes, and two summerhouses stood among the gardens for people to retreat to during the summer heat.
Before she returned to Judah’s office, she ordered a bundle of flowers to be delivered to the hotel that afternoon. It was a new season for her, and she intended to celebrate with an abundance of color. New life.
At ten minutes after eleven, Horace Potts—Judah’s young clerk—walked across the interior corridor of the building, his boot heels clapping on the wood before he unlocked the office door. Then he invited Isabelle inside.
The room was sparse, with its plain desk, cabinet stuffed with books and papers, and one wooden chair for clients. A curtainless window gave light, but the only view was of the back alleyway.
She sat on the stiff chair. “Where’s Judah?”
