Epilogue
The steam from Isabelle’s cup swelled as she added a spoonful of clover honey to her tea. Leaning back in her upholstered chair, she glanced over the empty dining room of the Golden Rose, the hotel renamed in memory of Uncle William and Aunt Emeline’s daughter. After the rush of the breakfast meal, the room was at peace, the scent of summer flowers drifting over the new piano and the white-clothed tables.
So much had changed in the past three years since she and Alden married in the floral gardens outside town—with Sing Ye as her matron of honor, and Isaac standing proudly as Alden’s best man.
Judah had waved good-bye to Victor and his brig as it departed San Francisco. Then he returned to Sacramento to preside over the Paynes’ wedding ceremony on a Saturday afternoon. The following Monday, Alden joined his law practice.
At the end of 1854, Alden passed the bar exam before the Supreme Court and had since appeared before Judge Snyder with multiple cases for Fallow & Payne, many of them in his quest for abolition.
Alden had rescued her back in Columbia, and he’d asked nothing of her, patiently waiting as her wounds healed. And he was still patient as Isabelle embraced her role as a beloved wife and mother. Aunt Emeline would be so pleased. She had married a man who knew her fully and loved her for exactly who she was. And every day, she had the privilege of caring for her son.
It had taken six months for their family to restore the hotel, but Isaac enjoyed his job as steward, and she resumed her work as proprietor and maître d’. Alden had hidden the gold nugget he and Isaac discovered—waiting, he said, for its purpose to find them. She’d spent part of her savings on the court fines for harboring Persila; the rest had gone to the hotel restoration and buying finery like silk tablecloths, eggshell china, and gilded mirrors. But it was worth it. She’d once thought Sacramentans wouldn’t frequent her doors when they found out she’d been a slave, but they continued to come. In droves. Even Mr. Walsh continued eating here every night when he wasn’t in the mines.
Laws about fugitive slaves continued to change. Judah’s safe house—where Stephan hid Micah—had burned down during the fire, but she and Alden continued to harbor runaway slaves in the room below her desk. Rodney had left the city a year ago to try his hand in the mines, and the new sheriff pretended to be inept when it came to searching for runaways.
Isaac was her companion every evening while Alden worked, helping her serve the many customers who frequented the dining room. During the day, he had achieved his dream of attending school. While colored children still weren’t permitted in the common schools, a young woman from England had moved to Sacramento last year and started a school for Isaac and thirteen other black students. They were pioneers in their own way, planking a new road for the free blacks who continued coming to California in search of freedom.
The East Coast papers talked about a coming war between the Northern and Southern states, a fight to give liberty to those still enslaved. If that happened, Judah and Alden weren’t sure what would happen in California, as it stretched from the southern tip of their country up to the territory of Oregon. Some talked of splitting their state in half—a free Northern state and a Southern state for slave owners—but she continued to pray that freedom would come to every man, woman, and child who lived in their country.
Persila had written several times from Vancouver Island, giving her regular updates about Micah, whom she and Stephan had adopted as their son. Each time Isabelle heard of more free blacks moving north, she thought about asking Alden if they could join them, but God seemed to bind the Payne family to Sacramento for now.
Still, she watched the paddle wheelers coming into the wharf with trepidation, beating back the fear that sometimes flared in her heart. If Victor attempted to take her again, he would be the one tried for kidnapping. Both her emancipation paper and the one he’d signed to free Isaac were stored safely away in Judah and Alden’s office.
The door to their private rooms opened, and Alden stepped into the dining room. He’d stayed late at the office last night, preparing for a case.
“Good morning,” he said, kissing her.
She smiled as she poured him a cup of green tea, savoring once again the realization that Alden Payne loved her as much as she loved him.
Then she offered him some sugar.
He took a sip of the sweet drink. “I saw Ross Kirtland when I was coming home last night.”
“Indeed?”
“He wanted me to pass along his greetings.”
She traced her finger around the handle of her cup. The last she heard, Fanny had returned east, and Ross was operating another boardinghouse someplace outside town. Turned out, he had also proposed marriage to a woman who operated a haberdashery in Marysville. Once Fanny was gone, the new Mrs. Kirtland moved to Sacramento.
“He also asked if I thought you would ever consider selling the hotel.”
She shook her head. “I’m not selling anytime soon.”
Her husband’s smile renewed the joy in her heart. “I already told him.”
She motioned toward the small stack of envelopes by the teapot. “Isaac retrieved the mail before school.”
Alden picked up the top letter and looked at the address. She already knew who it was from—Rhody Payne, Alden’s youngest sister. Her husband read the letter as she perused the headlines of the Sacramento Union.
“My father passed away,” he said.
“I’m sorry.” She reached forward to take his hand. “Are you sad that you didn’t get to see him again?”
“I wish I missed him, but no.” He tapped the letter on the table. “He left Rhody the plantation and all the slaves.”
“Victor must be furious.”
“Rhody said that she invited Victor and Eliza to live with her and Mother, but only Eliza came.”
“Did she say anything about Naomi?”
He shook his head. “I will write her back today and ask.”
“Perhaps Naomi would like to come to California.”
He smiled again. “Perhaps.”
“Look at this,” Isabelle said, pointing at the advertisement in the paper. “A slave girl is being auctioned off this afternoon, outside the Southern Hotel. The owner is asking eight hundred dollars.”
“That’s the girl I’m defending this morning in court.”
“I don’t understand how Judge Snyder can justify auctioning off slaves in a free state.”
“If we don’t win this case . . .” Alden took a sip of his tea. “Perhaps it’s time to sell our nugget and put eight hundred dollars of it to good use.”
She smiled. “Isaac would approve.”
“No matter what happens in court, we’ll win today.”
She touched her shoulder as he spoke. The rose used to remind her of death, but now it reminded her of the delicate blooming of renewal. New life.
And the beauty of freedom—the greatest gift of all.