“I’ve just come from Virginia,” he explained to a scrawny-looking clerk inside. “I need to find Mr.Fallow.”
“Mr.Fallow is a popular man,” the clerk muttered.
Victor licked the crease of his lips, stepping forward. “Has someone else been looking for him?”
The man’s eyes narrowed under his spectacles, and he hesitated before answering Victor’s question—a telltale sign that he was about to lie. “Plenty of people around here need an attorney.”
Victor swallowed hard, grinding his fists together to contain his frustration. “I’m looking for one man in particular,” he said pointedly. “His name is Alden Payne, and he’s traveling here from Boston to work for Mr.Fallow, accompanied by a slave.”
The man shrugged. “Mr.Fallow will return in a few weeks. Perhaps he will have seen your friend.”
The clerk was clearly lying to him. Either Alden and Isaac had already joined this Mr.Fallow or they remained in Sacramento, waiting for his return.
“If Mr.Payne hasn’t arrived yet, he will be here soon,” Victor said. “It’s urgent that I speak with him.”
The man looked back down at the book on the desk, completely uncooperative. “If your Mr.Payne visits, I will pass along a message.”
“There’s no need to inform him, but once I find a tolerable hotel, I’ll bring you the address so you can notify me.”
The clerk looked up again. “If you’re looking for a place to stay, there’s a new establishment in town, catering specifically to gentlemen like yourself.”
Victor lifted his chest. “What’s the name of this place?”
“The Kirtland House. It’s over on the corner of G and Third Street.”
He picked his bag up off the floor. “If Mr.Payne arrives, you can find me at the Kirtland House, then.”
The man gave a sharp nod. “I will let you know if he appears.”
Chapter 29
Sacramento City
July 1854
An urgent knock woke Isabelle from her sleep. She didn’t remember her dream, but her cheeks were wet, her pillow damp. In the weeks since Alden and Isaac had arrived, she had awakened often to a bath of tears, to the return of her old nightmares and then the tremendous sadness of what she’d lost.
While they were still in Baltimore, Aunt Emeline would come into her room after the nightmares, softly humming the hymn about God’s amazing grace. As a younger woman, she had embraced those lyrics, letting them settle into all the hidden places, in those dark corridors that she dared not open to anyone but a God who loved her.
Now, in these early morning hours, she hummed the lyrics again on her own, trying to remind herself of all the blessings she’d gained in the past nine years. A family, for a season. Her freedom. A profession she enjoyed and a place where people respected her. And most important perhaps, the means to help other slaves whenever God brought someone like Micah or Isaac her way.
The knock continued, growing louder, and she reached for her dressing gown, wrapping it securely around her waist. Then she lit a candle and hurried across the sitting room to find Stephan standing on the other side of the door, fully clothed.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“We need your help.”
She scanned the empty dining room behind him. “Who needs my help?”
Stephan motioned to the side, and a Negro woman stepped into the candlelight. “This is Persila.”
Isabelle suppressed a groan, but she couldn’t stop the tears that flooded her eyes again. The woman’s hair was matted, her clothing torn and dirty. Blood trickled down from her right ear, and her face was bruised. “Who did this to you?”
“My master,” the woman said painfully, leaning against Stephan to stand. “He thought I stole money from him.”
“Did you steal something?”
“No, ma’am. Master Webb lost most of his money gambling, but he can’t tell his missus what he done.”
