Chapter 42
Near Columbia
August 1854
Alden loosened the dirt around rocks on his mining claim. When he first arrived in Columbia, he’d gone straight to the assay office to ask about Judah, but the assayer didn’t know him. So he bought a wooden rocker and two bedrolls from a Vermont man who said he was done with mining.
Two weeks ago he staked a claim along a gulch that channeled snow and rain runoff in the spring. This area seemed to be the heart of gold country, with quartz veins threading from every direction, entwined in the creases around the boulders.
After Alden claimed his patch of land, Isaac had begged to help him dig for gold. Since there was no school for him to attend in Columbia, Alden thought it healthy for Isaac to work. Isabelle agreed, as long as half the findings went to his care.
In the past weeks of mining, they’d barely made enough to care for either of them, but he and Isaac worked hard, like they had back on the ship, except this time they worked for themselves. Together, they could operate the rocker—Alden dumped in shoveled dirt, and Isaac poured pails of water into what was called a riddle box to trap the large rocks. Then they’d rock the long cradle for as long as it took for gold to free itself from the gravel and fall into cleats called riffles below.
It was Isaac’s job to open the slat and retrieve the gold.
Because the gulch was dry, they paid five dollars a day to the Tuolumne County Water Company for a ditch of water used to flush the gold away from the dirt. He and Isaac were bringing in about eight dollars in gold dust and flakes each day. There wasn’t anything left after they bought beans, a tin of crackers, and salt pork, but at least, as Isaac once said, they were both fortunate enough to eat. And they didn’t have to pay for lodging. After a hard day of digging, they washed off—thanks to the water company—and slept soundly in bedrolls under a tent housed between their four stakes.
If he didn’t find Judah before the rains, he’d look for other work until they’d saved enough for passage up north. He hoped that Isabelle would remain in Columbia. He was getting quite used to the idea of seeing her in the evenings when he and Isaac walked into town.
The sun was beginning to set, but they could work another hour in the flicker of twilight. They’d found enough today to reward their labor with a decent meal at one of the eateries. Hopefully Isabelle would join them.
As he shoveled another round of dirt into the rocker, he thought back again to those sacred moments along the riverbank where Isabelle had wept for Isaac’s childhood. And he wondered again about her years in Baltimore. Surely she’d seen slaves there, when she was a girl. Perhaps, until she’d met Persila and then Isaac, she hadn’t realized the cruelty of what a slave owner could do.
California was a new beginning for many people, yet they all carried the burden of their past with them, molded by the experiences of their youth. Isabelle had been cold to him back in Sacramento, but he’d glimpsed something from the depths of her heart on their trip here. And he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
She’d said she was leaving Sacramento because someone from her past wanted to harm her. Was this the Mr. Kirtland that Mr. Walsh referred to back at the Golden? Or was it someone upset that she had sympathized with the plight of runaways?
As he and Isaac rocked the cradle, both mud and gravel poured down into the gulch. Then Isaac checked the riffles. “Look at this!” he shouted.
Alden kneeled down beside him as Isaac reached in through the cleats and pulled out a water-smoothed nugget of gold the size of a walnut.
A few of the nearby miners glanced their way, and Alden swiftly picked up the pewter flask where they stored their gold dust and flakes. The mouth was too narrow for the nugget, so he pulled open the burlap bag where he kept coffee beans.
“Put it in here,” he instructed.
Isaac dropped their gold into the bag.
Alden felt the nugget among the beans, but he didn’t dare check on it. A nugget that big—if it really was gold—could launch a riot, and he didn’t want to tempt any unsavory characters to try to steal it during the mayhem.
He tossed their shovel and pan inside the tent. “We need to get to the assay office before it closes,” he whispered to Isaac.
They passed by dozens of claims along the gulch, greeting other miners as they hiked toward a treed hill. It was almost a mile back into Columbia, but if he and Isaac hurried, they could be there before the assayer locked his door.
“What should we do with it, if it’s worth something?” Isaac asked.
“I’m going to pay back Isabelle for our stagecoach ride here, and then I’m going to find a way up to Vancouver Island.”
Isaac hopped over a tree stump. “I like it here just fine.”
“Yes, but it’s still not as safe as it should be.”
“Not safe for slaves?”
“For any black person.”
As they neared the edge of town, they passed a herd of mule deer grazing among the rugged oaks. Then they stepped onto a clay street between a row of shanties and a fandango house pumping out Spanish music.
Alden patted the bag tucked inside his coat one more time. He’d trade it in for gold ingots, then he’d pay back Isabelle and ask her to secure the rest in her locked room. Hopefully, the assayer would keep mum about their find. Around here, word about a nugget this big would travel faster than the flames in Sacramento.
Main Street was crowded at the end of day, the oil lanterns from boardinghouses and shops pooling the streets with light. A man stepped out of an alley, startling Alden. His clothes were tattered and smelled as if they’d been recovered from a burning heap of trash. Sympathy washed over Alden at first, but the sentiment turned quickly to shock. Then fear.
It wasn’t just any vagabond standing in front of him. It was Victor Duvall, clutching a knife in both hands.
“Come here, boy,” Victor told Isaac, but his blade was pointed at Alden.
Instead of stepping forward, Isaac inched toward Alden’s side. Then Alden pulled him close. “What do you want, Victor?”
“What is rightfully mine.”
“Put down your knife,” Alden commanded.
A group of miners started to circle them, but none of them stepped up to help until a black miner moved in beside Alden, telling Victor as well to drop the knife.
Victor held his hand steady. “Not until he pays for what he’s done.”
“What has he done?” the miner asked.
“He stole everything from me.”
Alden clenched his fists, his arm secure around Isaac. “I didn’t steal anything.”
“You took the woman I loved, and then you kidnapped my son.”
The miner took a step back from Alden.
“He’s lying,” Alden spat.
The miner shook his head. “Stealing people is a crime.”
Victor moved toward him, the blade steady in his hands. “Where’s Mallie?”
“Who’s Mal—” Alden started. Then he stopped.
The crowd around him faded for an instant, and all he saw were hickory-brown eyes, laden with light. Those eyes, he remembered them now. They belonged to the beautiful slave girl back in Virginia, the one who used to bring coffee with jam and bread to his room early in the morning. The girl Eliza hated.
His stomach churned. Isabelle wasn’t a French woman from Baltimore. Not long ago, she had been Victor’s slave.
Had this man forced himself on Isabelle, like his father had done to Naomi?
He lurched forward to pummel the smirk off Victor’s face, but the miner near him reached for his arm. In seconds, a horde of miners surrounded both of them, a wall blocking Alden from his brother-in-law.
“Let’s take it before the justice of the peace,” one of the men said. “Judge Roth will want to resolve this tonight.”
Even as one man restrained his arm, Alden leaned down toward Isaac and whispered, “You and Isabelle must hide.”
When Isaac didn’t move, Alden nudged him away with his knee, praying the boy would run.