He tilted his head, a quizzical look straining his eyes. “He went to San Francisco yesterday.”
In all the confusion, she’d forgotten that she had sent him on a steamboat with instructions for commissioning a seamstress to make new tablecloths for the dining room. And now he wouldn’t return until this evening—much too late to manage the place in her absence.
It had been a strange position for her, delegating work to a member of the Payne family. She’d thought it might give her some sense of satisfaction, justice, even, for what had happened to her as a girl, but Mr.Payne willingly agreed to do even menial chores these past weeks without complaint.
She sat on the piano bench beside Isaac and listened to him play a simplified version of “The Watchman.” While she appreciated Mr.Payne’s willingness to work hard, the fact remained that he owned a slave. And her affection grew every day for the boy sitting beside her.
“Is Mr.Payne still treating you kindly?”
“He always treats me kindly.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said and waited as he played a few more notes. He played well for a child but especially for a slave, typically banned from an owner’s piano.
“Have you ever thought about what it would be like to be free?” she asked.
“Think about it all the time, but Master Payne treats me as if I’m free.”
“As your owner, he could sell you at any time.”
“Master Payne wouldn’t do that,” he said, returning his hands to his lap.
“Unfortunately, it’s happened many times to slaves with decent owners.”
He nodded. “My old owner gave me away, and I was plenty glad of it.”
“When you’re ready, I can help you find a place where you’ll be completely free.”
“Thank you, Miss Labrie.”
“And now ...” She listened as the clock in her room struck one. Sing Ye may not have heard about the trial yet, but perhaps she would assist Isaac at the hotel. “Can you ask my friend to help you look after the hotel until Mr.Payne or I return? Her name is Sing Ye—Mrs.Barr.”
“Where are Stephan and Janette?”
“Janette’s not working today, and Stephan ...” She hesitated. “He has been detained for a few hours.”
He seemed to contemplate her words before responding. “Missus Barr and I will take good care of this place.”
“I know you will.”
After she gave him the address, Isaac skipped off between the tables toward the front door. Then she stood slowly and began her short walk to the courthouse.
How was she supposed to stay hidden in the shadows now?
Chapter 31
Sacramento City
July 1854
Icall to the stand Miss Isabelle Labrie.”
Victor strained his neck, trying to see the woman walking toward a chair beside Judge Snyder, but the courtroom was so crowded that he couldn’t see much beyond the sea of gawking heads. The trial, it seemed, was more entertainment than a circus in this town.
The runaway slave wasn’t a child. It was a woman named Persila, the slave of a man who’d thundered multiple times during the past two hours against the injustice in California’s justice system. Persila was his slave—he had the ownership papers to prove it. And if he were back in Georgia, Mr.Webb said, there would have been no trial. He’d have taken his property home early that morning and punished her privately for her offense.
Until yesterday, Mr.Webb said, he’d treated his slave with remarkable care, spoiling her with a light workload and the best of food. But then his slave had gotten jealous and lied to his wife. No court, he declared, should interfere in a domestic dispute.
Before calling Miss Labrie, Mr.Webb’s lawyer had drawled on about the fact that his client was a visitor from the Southern states. He pontificated about the Fugitive Slave Act, which penalized anyone caught helping a runaway. Mr.Webb interjected often with his own opinions until Judge Snyder said he’d heard enough. Then he took a long recess before anyone else gave testimony.
