Chapter 5
Sacramento City
December 1853
Isabelle rinsed her face in the basin of cold water and slathered her face and arms with a milky cucumber-and-lemon cream. Then she climbed between the clean sheets of a bed located on the hotel’s third floor.
She’d given Fanny the two rooms she’d been occupying next to the dining room—they reminded her too much of Ross to stay there anyway. The feather mattress should help the woman’s rocking world settle, though the truth of what Ross had done might set it churning again.
The people of Sacramento were too preoccupied to celebrate Christmas Eve, but back in Baltimore, she and Aunt Emeline would have strewn an evergreen tree with popcorn and bows. Then Uncle William would read from the old family Bible about the journey of a woman who’d birthed a remarkable baby in her youth.
A baby who ended up saving the world.
Fanny didn’t seem to realize it was Christmas Eve. Or perhaps she didn’t care. After her long journey, all Fanny wanted was to bathe, eat, sleep—and find her husband.
Isabelle couldn’t begin to comprehend what would happen when Ross did return.
His face flashed into her mind, his dark-blond hair parted neatly in the middle, the beard he trimmed faithfully even when most men in California no longer bothered with the cost or hassle of doing so. She’d stopped trusting men a long time ago, but he had won her trust with his confidence and because of his compassion toward her aunt.
She’d thought she had found a man who would be faithful to her, a man she could trust, but it was all a façade. A California mirage. He hadn’t left behind a sister in New York or a fine hotel. According to Fanny, he’d never owned or even managed any other sort of establishment. Fanny’s father had hired Ross to work on his stud farm, though he hadn’t worked there long. Ross and Fanny were married six months after he came to their farm, long enough to earn the rest of the money he needed to travel west.
He had been as unqualified as she and Aunt Emeline when it came to hotel management. Perhaps even more so. At least Uncle William and Aunt Emeline had operated the mercantile in Baltimore. Her aunt had kept the accounts for that business and helped Uncle William purchase supplies for their shop, especially items for their female clientele. Then she’d taught Isabelle how to operate the business in the hours after school.
Isabelle had trusted Ross when he’d said he loved her. That he wanted to spend his life with her. But all along, he’d been hiding the fact that he was already married.
Her hand brushed over her right shoulder; then she tucked it back under the covers. She had secrets of her own—no one except Emeline knew about her past, and even her aunt didn’t know the entire story. She’d intended to tell Ross everything before she married him and let him decide if he wanted to proceed.
Even if California was a sanctuary, a place for people to hide from their pasts, it wasn’t right to keep secrets from the man—or woman—you intended to marry. Especially if your secret was that you happened to already have a wife!
How could she have been so wrong about Ross?
As she lay on the guest bed, the mattress stuffed with dried grass, she felt no ill will toward Fanny—it wasn’t her fault that Ross had played them both for fools. She should have questioned the many letters from his sister, his relentless pursuit of wealth when she wanted security through the steady business of their hotel, his lack of communication from the diggings even after he’d asked her to become his wife.
She had no intention of telling Fanny the complete truth about her and Ross’s relationship. First of all, she was mortified that she had considered marrying another woman’s husband. And second, she wasn’t certain how Fanny would react when she found out what Ross had done.
Better to wait until Ross returned. He’d caused this mess—he should be honest about his deception.
She clasped her hands together, holding them against her chest. Was her heart forever scarred from loving a man? Perhaps she would never be able to marry.
Starlight edged through the curtains on the window, offering an escape into the peaceful world of sleep, but still her eyes wouldn’t rest. Hours ago, she’d been excited to see Ross, counting down the months until they married. What would she say when he returned now?
Another thought crept slowly into her mind, startling her.
Perhaps Ross hadn’t really been planning to marry her at all. He’d made good use of their partnership over the years, of the money that Aunt Emeline had invested into their work. Perhaps he’d been mining as well in the city, except he’d been trying to extract gold from the pockets of her and Aunt Emeline to supplement what he found in the diggings.
In hindsight, Ross hadn’t volunteered to compensate her or her aunt when he’d decided to head east to the goldfields. Aunt Emeline had asked a local attorney to draw up papers that clarified their agreement, and Ross signed them without comment.
Isabelle had stored the papers downstairs, not bothering to read what she’d thought to be inconsequential, but the terms on that contract would be critical now. Slipping out of her bed, she reached for her silk robe and lantern before moving down the steps, into the lobby.
The front door was already locked, the curtains over the picture window closed. Even if all her guests were asleep, she still took the precaution of locking the door to the dining room as well.
Behind the counter, she pushed aside the chair from her desk and folded back the rug. When she pulled up on a latch between the planks, a wooden panel lifted up toward her. Then she climbed down the rungs of a wooden ladder, the lantern in her hand illuminating the small room between her building and the bank next door.
Both buildings had been built after the 1850 flood. The previous owner had installed this space between the walls of his two buildings to store gold as well as to hide on occasion from those angry at him and his questionable business practices. There was no back door to this building, so after hiding, he would escape through a hatch he’d built into the back wall, slipping into a small courtyard along the alleyway.
Eventually the people of Sacramento drummed the man out of town, but as far as she knew, they’d never discovered his hiding place. When Aunt Emeline bought the hotel, she’d asked Ross to bolt up the entrance into the building next door.
Isabelle’s light skimmed across the dirt floor, stopping when it reached the metal lockbox. She slipped off the silver chain from her neck and removed the key. Inside was her collection of gold, profits from hotel guests and dining room customers alike.
She also kept her most important papers hidden inside.
Rifling through the documents, she found the one that Ross had signed before he left. The wording in the contract left little room for dispute.
Ross was paid fairly for his co-ownership of the Golden Hotel, making Aunt Emeline the sole owner of their enterprise. In order to resume his co-ownership, he agreed to pay her aunt back the same amount he’d taken to finance his quest for gold. If he didn’t have the money to reinvest on his return, he and Emeline would discuss new terms, but her aunt was not obligated to partner with him again.
The document was signed by Aunt Emeline, Ross, and their attorney.
Isabelle read the terms one more time and locked it back in the box. After this, she and Aunt Emeline couldn’t go back into partnership with Ross, but what if he earned enough money to resume his ownership? She supposed they would have to sell him the hotel.
Sighing, Isabelle climbed back up the ladder and replaced the panel and rug. Then she returned to her room and lit a candle to celebrate this Christmas Eve on her own.