Another crew fought the fire inside buildings with their axes, blowing their brass trumpets when they needed help. The rest of the volunteers pumped water through the engine’s hose or hauled up buckets of water from the river to douse flames. Shards of glass blew out from the rubble of saloons around them, liquor exploding in a turquoise blaze. The courthouse was consumed in minutes.
As Alden worked alongside the firemen, he prayed that Miss Labrie and Isaac were safe in the cottage, that Stephan and Persila would find their way to freedom without complication, that the volunteers could contain the fire before it consumed this tinderbox of a town.
As the first rays of dawn crept through the haze, Sacramento City was subdued into a fenland of smolder. The Golden Hotel was still standing, thanks to the swollen slats of iron on the windows and front door, but he couldn’t attest to its structure. The wooden buildings on both sides of the hotel were destroyed.
Once the fire was contained, he hurried away from the wharf, following Stephan’s directions to the cottage far from the center of town. No one answered his first knock, but when he called out, Miss Labrie opened it. Her dress was covered with soot, her hair tangled in curls. In her arms, she clutched some sort of box.
He glanced over her shoulder and saw a mound of canvas bags, but he didn’t see anyone in the room. “Is Isaac here?”
“He’s asleep.”
He sighed with relief, grateful they were both safe. “Is he okay?”
She nodded.
“Thank you for taking care of him.”
He’d thought Miss Labrie was lovely the first time he’d seen her at the hotel, but she looked even more beautiful in the faint morning light, covered with the ashes from the fire, than she had looked in her tailored gowns, serving the elite of Sacramento. The fire, it seemed, refined both her strength and beauty.
“Come inside,” she urged. “Quickly.”
When he stepped into the sitting room, she slid the metal bolt behind him, locking the door. And the niggling thought haunted him again. He was almost certain that he’d seen her before, somewhere in years past, but it was as if his memory was veiled by smoke as well, like a dream that had faded away.
She glanced toward the curtain drawn over the window. “Where is Stephan?”
“He’s with Persila.”
“Were you able to rescue her?”
“We were.”
“Thank God.” She collapsed onto the sofa, the wooden box secured in her lap. “I need to see Stephan this morning.”
“I’m afraid he’s already gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“He and Persila were able to board a paddle wheeler when the fire started.”
She took a deep breath. “Are they traveling to Vancouver Island?”
When he nodded, her shoulders fell. “I’m happy for them, but”—she looked down at the rug—“I wish I could have said good-bye.”
“Stephan asked me to thank you for all that you’ve done. He said he intends to find a boy named Micah up north, and I have a suspicion that he intends to marry Persila too, if she’ll have him.”
“I hope she will. He will treat her with honor and respect.” She smoothed her hands over the box. “I’m confused about one thing, Mr.Payne.”
He sat in the chair across from her. “What is it?”
“Are you or are you not Isaac’s owner?”
He contemplated his words before he spoke. “I’m his guardian.”
“Is he a freed slave?”
He crossed his legs, leaning back against the stiff upholstery. “It’s a bit complicated.”
“I don’t think freedom is complicated at all.”
