Had Mrs.Duvall thought that by getting rid of the slave girl, her husband’s affection would turn toward her? Or had Mrs.Duvall hoped to raise Isaac as her own?
The guilt that plagued Isabelle, haunting her dreams, was all based on a lie. She’d done nothing wrong. It was the Duvalls who’d conspired against her.
For so many years, she’d wondered what her son would have been like if he’d lived. What kind of man he would have become. Now it felt as if her baby had come back from the dead. Her stolen dream, the only person who’d ever really belonged to her, returned.
What a gift to see Isaac as a strong, smart, kind boy thriving under the care of a man who wanted the best for him. It was God’s gift to discover that Isaac had circumvented the cruelty of his father and gained freedom as well.
She tugged on the ends of her loose hair, as if it would help her brain make sense of all that had transpired.
Alden had said their situation was complicated. Had he helped Isaac run away? Perhaps that was the reason Victor had traveled to Sacramento—to make a grand display of his power, taking both her and Isaac back to Virginia with him.
She shuddered at the thought of what he would do if he found them.
As the sun began to settle beyond the willow trees, she wrapped her arms around her knees.
No matter what happened, she would never let Victor take Isaac away from her again. She’d protect him from the Duvalls with her life, if she must.
Soon, after Victor was gone, she and Isaac would return to the city, and she’d take him up to safety on Vancouver Island. Until then, she couldn’t risk telling him or anyone that she was a runaway slave. As long as Victor didn’t find them, her façade would protect both herself and her son from harm. And keep them together for the rest of their lives.
A rustle in the grasses startled her, and she jumped, thinking it might be a wildcat, but when she looked up, she saw Alden walking toward her.
She sat up, wiping her eyes on her sleeves before climbing up onto the flat edge of a rock.
He studied her for a moment. “Are you ill?”
She contemplated his words. Her body was well, but everything inside her felt sick.
He found a seat on a rock near her, his head resting in his hands. “It’s horrific what some slave owners do.”
She nodded, wanting him to think her tears were for the horror of the branding alone. He could never know about the rose and letter that marked her shoulder as well.
“Isaac thought you were mad at him.”
Her heart clenched. “Oh, no—”
“I told him that you just needed to exercise your legs since you weren’t able to swim. He seemed satisfied with that answer.”
She looked up into the swell of compassion in Alden’s eyes. “Why are you different?” she asked.
“I’ve never tried to be different.”
“I mean—” She had to tread cautiously, taking care not to reveal too much. “You said your family owns slaves.”
He picked up a stick and threw it into the river. “Unfortunately.”
“Yet you helped Persila escape from her owner. And you said you want Isaac to be free.”
“I’ve never been a proponent of slavery.”
“What would your family say?”
His gaze settled on the water. “My father would say that I’m a coward. That I’m weak-willed and pitiful for entangling my emotions with people he considers to be property.”
“I don’t think you’re a coward.”
His eyes found her again, and he flashed a wry smile. “That’s because you don’t know me very well.”
She wiped her eyes again, wishing she could tell him that she did indeed know him, back when she wore a linsey-woolsey dress and a cotton cap and spoke with the timid voice of a slave girl. “I think it’s quite brave of you to bring Isaac west.”
