Chapter 36
Sierra Foothills
August 1854
A flock of silvery birds crested beside their stagecoach and then glided back down toward a lake in the valley, the water glistening like gold in the afternoon sunlight. Yesterday, the stagecoach had rumbled across a plain composed of scrub oaks and channels of river. Then it began to climb up into the foothills west of the Sierra Nevada.
The smoke from Sacramento’s fire was far behind them now, though they’d seen the black smoke from several camps in the hills. The trail of fire, their driver called this rock-studded road.
In the distance, Isabelle could see the jagged Sierras, each peak still dusted with snow. The town of Columbia lay somewhere below these mountains, at the edge of a wall that no stagecoach could climb.
The indigo ripples beyond them reminded her of the sea billowing and crashing in a storm. It seemed impossible to travel through these foothills by coach, but as their party jostled up and down this narrow road, the two miners who’d joined them said they’d taken this route many times. They’d arrived safely to their destination each time—only once had they been robbed. They said this with pride, as if they’d somehow cheated fate.
There was no Rodney out here in the wilderness to deter bandits from relieving stagecoaches of their gold, though the revolvers the two miners carried along with the driver’s double-barreled shotgun might send them running. While her luggage was belted onto the top of the coach, she’d packed the iron lockbox with her gold coins and Aunt Emeline’s gift in a valise made of tapestry and tucked it securely under her skirt.
While Alden attempted to read a book on the bench beside her, Isaac’s nose was pressed against the dusty glass. This morning he’d watched the fog pooling on the valley floor, and once it lifted, he’d counted the clouds flitting past them in the wind. Now he was searching for bear or wildcats in the fir trees, neither of which she hoped he’d find.
Outside her window were clusters of wild peas and blooms of mustard, weaving threads of lavender and yellow between the trees. For three years, she’d heard the stories about the mining towns from her guests, earning her living from people seeking the gold hidden in quartz veins at the base of the Sierras, but she’d never once visited the interior.
What would it be like to live in this wilderness, so far from the elegance in her hotel?
She never expected to leave Sacramento City, but now that Victor had found her trail, she could never go back to the place that had become home. An image of a bloodhound flashed into her mind, its tail curled up, droopy ears sweeping the ground.
Victor could spend his days in the remains of the city if he wanted, his hunting nose to the ground, but he wouldn’t find her. She hadn’t left a trace of her whereabouts or even told Sing Ye where she had gone.
Her one regret when they’d left was not saying good-bye to Sing Ye, but it wouldn’t take Victor long to knock on the cottage door. Better for Nicolas and Sing Ye to tell him that she’d simply disappeared.
There was freedom ahead for her now. An opportunity to start over again on her own. She had the resources to buy a new hotel if she wanted or tuck herself away in hiding until she journeyed up to Vancouver Island on her own.
“You’ll like Columbia,” the miner named Samuel told them. “They’re digging out thousands of dollars’ worth of gold each week, and it doesn’t seem to be slowing down.”
“How exactly does one make a claim there?” Alden asked.
“You find a plot of open land, ten feet by ten, and stake it off,” Samuel explained. “All you need is a shovel, pail, and a decent rocker to start your mining.”
“Doesn’t seem like there would be much land left to claim,” she said.
“There’s plenty of land away from the town. My little claim has already yielded about four thousand in gold.”
Alden shook his head. “Sounds too good to have any truth to it.”
“’Tis true enough, but four thousand doesn’t last as long in the mining towns as in other places.”
The other man elbowed him. “That’s because plenty of establishments in Columbia are more than willing to strip you of your find.”
“How long have you two been married?” Samuel asked, clearly wanting to change the subject.
“Oh, no—” Alden started, but Isabelle interrupted him.
“For ten years.”
Isaac turned swiftly toward her, his eyes wide, but neither he nor Alden disputed her.
She should have discussed this with Alden before she claimed to be his wife, but she feared what might happen if word spread that an unmarried woman was arriving in this town. And if Victor did decide to look for her out here, she didn’t want anyone to remember the name of Isabelle Labrie.
“Not many ladies venture out to the western slope,” Samuel said.
“More will come,” she assured him.
“I certainly hope you’re right.”
Alden glanced back down at his book, and in her window, she saw his reflection. She’d thought him handsome when they were younger, with his firm jaw and kind gray eyes. Even in his youth, Alden had been almost as tall as Victor. Now he would tower over the man.
A long time ago, Victor had claimed that he loved her, said that she was his rose blossoming in a field of weeds. Then he would lock her door, and she knew what was next. She’d fought him as a girl, everything within her crying out against what she was certain must be wrong. Even when her master said it was right.
In the end, no matter how hard she resisted, Victor had won. He didn’t care that he hurt her. And no one else cared when she pleaded for help in the darkness. She was a slave, subject to punishment for her refusal to breed.
When she shivered, Alden glanced over at her, but he didn’t say anything. She’d been scared when she was younger that Alden might hurt her too, but—gratefully—he never seemed to really see her.
If Alden couldn’t find Judah in Columbia, perhaps he’d try his hand at mining gold. She would select a new name for herself, both first and last. The two miners in the stagecoach knew her as Isabelle—or Mrs. Payne—but once they all dispersed, she doubted she would see them or even Alden again.
Strangely enough, she would be sad to say good-bye to Alden. Back in Sacramento, she’d equated him with the rest of the Payne family, but now it seemed his opposition toward slavery matched her own. He had worked with Stephan to free Persila, and he wanted Isaac to be free as well.
Her heart ached at the thought of saying good-bye to Isaac, one more farewell in a string of losses these past months. But once Alden found a home for him—or the laws changed—Isaac would be free to seek out an education as he grew into a man.
She glanced down at Alden’s book.
La Loi. The Law.
It was a French book, translated by a British man, that he’d obtained in Aunt Emeline’s cottage. The English had abolished slavery twenty years ago, thanks to reformers like William Wilberforce, who spent his life fighting the institution.
If only the United States would follow suit, granting every man, woman, and child the same opportunity to embrace freedom. But it would take someone strong like Wilberforce to change these laws, someone courageous enough to stand up to the injustice around them.
Someone willing to sacrifice his or her own freedom in order to set slaves free.