She was deemed unfit for marriage.<\/p>\n
They said I\u2019d never get married. In four years, twelve men looked at my wheelchair and walked away. But what happened next shocked everyone, including me.<\/p>\n
My name is Elellanar Whitmore, and this is the story of how I went from being rejected by society to finding a love so powerful it changed history itself.<\/p>\n
Virginia, 1856. I was 22 and considered defective goods. My legs had been useless since I was 8. A horseback riding accident had shattered my spine and trapped me in this mahogany wheelchair my father had commissioned.<\/p>\n
But here\u2019s what no one understood. It wasn\u2019t the wheelchair that made me unfit for marriage. It was what it represented. A burden. A woman who couldn\u2019t be with her husband at parties. A person who, presumably, couldn\u2019t have children, couldn\u2019t manage a household, couldn\u2019t fulfill any of the duties expected of a Southern wife.<\/p>\n
Twelve marriage proposals arranged by my father. Twelve rejections, each more brutal than the last.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe can\u2019t walk down the aisle.\u201d \u201cMy children need a mother to chase them.\u201d \u201cWhat\u2019s the point if she can\u2019t have children?\u201d This last rumor, completely false, spread like wildfire through Virginia society. A doctor began speculating on my fertility without even examining me. Suddenly, I wasn\u2019t just disabled. I was defective in every way that mattered to America in 1856.<\/p>\n
When William Foster, a fat, drunken fifty-year-old, rejected me despite my father\u2019s offer of a third of our estate\u2019s annual profits, I knew the truth. I would die alone.<\/p>\n
But my father had other plans. Plans so radical, so shocking, so completely outside of all social norms that, when he told me, I was certain I\u2019d misunderstood.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m entrusting you to Josiah,\u201d he said. \u201cThe blacksmith. He\u2019ll be your husband.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at my father, Colonel Richard Whitmore, owner of 5,000 acres and 200 enslaved people, certain he had lost his mind.<\/p>\n
\u201cJosiah,\u201d I whispered. \u201cFather, Josiah is enslaved.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, I know exactly what I\u2019m doing.\u201d<\/p>\n
What I didn\u2019t know, what no one could have predicted, was that this desperate solution would turn into the greatest love story I would ever experience.<\/p>\n
First, let me tell you about Josiah. They called him the brute. He was seven feet ten, or even less than an inch tall. 300 pounds of pure muscle, the product of years spent at the forge. Hands capable of bending iron bars. A face that made even the biggest men recoil when he entered a room. Everyone was terrified of him. Slaves and freemen alike kept their distance. White visitors to our plantation would stare at him and whisper, \u201cDid you see how big he is? Whitmore has created a monster in the forge.\u201d<\/p>\n
But here\u2019s what no one knew. Here\u2019s what I was about to find out. Josiah was the kindest man I\u2019d ever met.<\/p>\n
My father called me into his study in March 1856, a month after Foster\u2019s refusal. A month after I had stopped believing I would ever be different on my own.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo white man will marry you,\u201d she said bluntly. \u201cThat\u2019s the reality. But you need protection. When I die, this inheritance will go to your cousin Robert. He\u2019ll sell everything, give you a pittance, and leave you dependent on distant relatives who don\u2019t want you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen leave me the estate,\u201d I said, even though I knew it was impossible.<\/p>\n
\u201cVirginia law doesn\u2019t allow it. Women can\u2019t inherit independently, especially not\u2026\u201d He pointed to my wheelchair, unable to finish his sentence. \u201cSo what do you suggest?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJosiah is the strongest man on this estate. He\u2019s intelligent. Yes, I know he reads secretly. Don\u2019t look so surprised. He\u2019s healthy, capable, and, from what I\u2019ve heard, kind despite his size. He won\u2019t abandon you because he\u2019s legally obligated to stay. He\u2019ll protect you, provide for you, take care of you.\u201d<\/p>\n
The logic was terrifying and flawless.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you ask him?\u201d I insisted.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot yet. I wanted to tell you before.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat if I refuse?\u201d<\/p>\n
At that moment, my father\u2019s face aged ten years. \u201cThen I\u2019ll continue to look for a white husband, we\u2019ll both know I\u2019ll fail, and you\u2019ll spend your life after my death in boarding houses, dependent on the charity of relatives who consider you a burden.\u201d<\/p>\n
He was right. I hated that he was right.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan I meet him? Talk to him before making this decision, for both of our sakes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure. Tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n
The next morning they brought Josiah home. I was standing near the living room window when I heard heavy footsteps in the hall. The door opened. My father entered, and then Josiah bent down\u2014really bent down\u2014to fit through the door.<\/p>\n
My God, he was enormous. Six feet ten inches of muscle and curvaceousness, shoulders barely touching his frame, hands marked by forge burns that seemed capable of shattering stone. His face was weathered, bearded, and his eyes darted around the room, never resting on me. He stood with his head bowed slightly, his hands clasped, the posture of a slave in a white man\u2019s home.<\/p>\n
That brute was a fitting nickname. He looked like he could demolish the house with his bare hands. But then my father spoke.<\/p>\n
\u201cJosiah, this is my daughter, Elellaner.\u201d<\/p>\n
Josiah\u2019s eyes rested on me for half a second, then returned to the floor. \u201cYes, sir.\u201d His voice was surprisingly soft, deep, yet soft, almost gentle.<\/p>\n
\u201cEllaner, I explained the situation to Josiah. He understood that he would be responsible for your care.\u201d<\/p>\n
I managed to speak, even though I was shaking. \u201cJosiah, do you understand what my father is proposing to me?\u201d<\/p>\n
Another quick glance at me. \u201cYes, miss. I will be your husband, I will protect you, I will help you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you agreed to this?\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked confused, as if the concept that her consent might matter was foreign to him. \u201cThe colonel said I should, miss.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut do you really want it?\u201d<\/p>\n
The question took him by surprise. His eyes met mine. Dark brown, surprisingly gentle for such a fearsome face. \u201cI\u2026 I don\u2019t know what I want, miss. I\u2019m a slave. Usually what I want doesn\u2019t matter.\u201d<\/p>\n
The honesty was brutal and ruthless at the same time. My father cleared his throat. \u201cPerhaps you should talk in private. I\u2019ll be in my study.\u201d<\/p>\n
He left, closing the door and leaving me alone with a seven-foot-tall slave man who was supposedly my husband. Neither of us spoke for what seemed like hours.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you want to sit down?\u201d I finally asked, pointing to the chair in front of me.<\/p>\n
Josiah looked at the delicate piece of furniture with its embroidered cushions, then at her imposing figure. \u201cI don\u2019t think that chair would hold me, miss.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, the sofa.\u201d<\/p>\n
He sat carefully on the edge. Even sitting, he towered over me. His hands rested on his knees, each finger like a small club, marked with scars and calluses.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you afraid of me, miss?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShould I be?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, miss. I would never hurt you. I swear.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey call you the brute.\u201d<\/p>\n
He winced. \u201cYes, miss. Because of my size. Because I look scary. But I\u2019m not brutal. I\u2019ve never hurt anyone. Not on purpose.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you could if you wanted to.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI could.\u201d He looked me in the eye again. \u201cBut I wouldn\u2019t. Not with you. Not with anyone who doesn\u2019t deserve it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Something in his eyes \u2013 sadness, resignation, a sweetness that didn\u2019t suit his appearance \u2013 made me make a decision.<\/p>\n
\u201cJosiah, I want to be honest with you. I don\u2019t want this any more than you probably do. My father is desperate. I\u2019m not a good match for marriage. He thinks you\u2019re the only solution. But if we\u2019re going to do this, I need to know. Are you dangerous?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, miss.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you cruel?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, miss.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you going to hurt me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNever, Miss. I swear it on everything I hold sacred.\u201d<\/p>\n
His sincerity was undeniable. He truly believed what he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo I have another question. Can you read?\u201d<\/p>\n
The question took him by surprise. A flash of fear crossed his face. Reading was illegal for slaves in Virginia. But after a long moment, he said softly, \u201cYes, miss. I taught myself. I know it\u2019s not allowed, but I\u2026 I couldn\u2019t help it. Books are gateways to places I\u2019ll never visit.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you reading?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhatever I can find. Old newspapers, sometimes books I borrow. I read slowly. I haven\u2019t learned well, but I read.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHave you ever read Shakespeare?\u201d<\/p>\n
His eyes widened. \u201cYes, miss. There\u2019s an old copy in the library that no one touches. I read it last night, when everyone\u2019s asleep.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat plays?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHamlet, Romeo and Juliet, The Tempest.\u201d His voice grew enthusiastic despite himself. \u201cThe Tempest is my favorite. Prospero controlling the island with magic. Ariel longing for freedom. Caliban treated like a monster, yet perhaps more human than anyone else.\u201d He stopped abruptly. \u201cExcuse me, miss. I\u2019m talking too much.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I said, smiling. I was smiling genuinely for the first time in this strange conversation. \u201cKeep talking. Tell me about Caliban.\u201d<\/p>\n
And something extraordinary happened. Josiah, the enormous slave known as the Brute, began discussing Shakespeare with an intelligence that would have impressed university professors.<\/p>\n
Caliban is called a monster, but Shakespeare shows us that he was enslaved, his island stolen, his mother\u2019s magic ignored. Prospero calls him a savage, but Prospero has arrived on the island and claimed ownership of everything, including Caliban himself. So who is the real monster?<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you consider Caliban a character you can empathize with?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI see Caliban as a human being, treated as less than human, but still human.\u201d His voice trailed off. \u201cLike\u2026 like slaves.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI finished.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, miss.\u201d<\/p>\n
We talked for two hours about Shakespeare, books, philosophy, and ideas. Josiah was self-taught; his knowledge was fragmentary, but his mind was sharp, his thirst for knowledge evident. And as we talked, my fear melted away.<\/p>\n
This man was no brute. He was intelligent, kind, thoughtful, trapped in a body that society viewed and saw only as a monster.<\/p>\n
\u201cJosiah,\u201d I said finally, \u201cif we do this, I want you to know something. I don\u2019t think you\u2019re a brute. I don\u2019t think you\u2019re a monster. I think you\u2019re a person stuck in an impossible situation, just like me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. \u201cThank you, miss.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCall me Elellanar. When we\u2019re alone, call me Elellanar.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI shouldn\u2019t, miss. It wouldn\u2019t be appropriate.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing in this situation is fair. If we\u2019re going to be husband and wife, or whatever this arrangement is, you should use my last name.\u201d<\/p>\n
He nodded slowly. \u201cElellanar.\u201d My name and his deep, gentle voice rang out like music.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen you should know something too. I don\u2019t think you\u2019re unfit for marriage. I think the men who rejected you were fools. A man who can\u2019t see beyond the wheelchair, to see the person inside, doesn\u2019t deserve you.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was the kindest thing anyone had said to me in four years.<\/p>\n
\u201cWill you do it?\u201d I asked. \u201cWill you accept my father\u2019s plan?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d he replied without hesitation. \u201cI will protect you. I will take care of you. And I will try to be worthy of you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I\u2019ll try to make the situation bearable for both of us.\u201d<\/p>\n
We sealed the deal with a handshake, his enormous hand engulfing mine, warm and surprisingly gentle. My father\u2019s radical solution suddenly seemed less impossible.<\/p>\n
But what happened next? What I learned about Josiah in the months that followed. That\u2019s when this story takes an unexpected turn.<\/p>\n
The agreement formally came into force on 1 April 1856.<\/p>\n
My father performed a small ceremony, not a legal wedding since slaves were not allowed to marry, and certainly not one that white society would recognize, but he gathered the servants, read some Bible verses, and announced that Josiah would henceforth take care of me.<\/p>\n
\u201cSpeak with my authority regarding Eleanor\u2019s welfare,\u201d my father told everyone present. \u201cTreat her with the respect her position deserves.\u201d<\/p>\n
A room adjacent to mine was prepared for Josiah, connected by a door but separate, so as to maintain a semblance of decorum. He moved his few personal effects from the slave quarters there: a few clothes, some secretly accumulated books, the tools from the forge.<\/p>\n
The first few weeks were awkward. Two strangers trying to navigate an impossible situation. I was used to having housekeepers. He was used to heavy labor. Now he was responsible for intimate tasks. Helping me get dressed, carrying me when the wheelchair didn\u2019t work, attending to needs I\u2019d never imagined discussing with a man.<\/p>\n
But Josiah handled everything with extraordinary sensitivity. When he had to pick me up, he asked permission first. When he helped me dress, he averted his gaze whenever possible. When I needed help with personal matters, he preserved my dignity even when the situation was intrinsically indecent.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know it\u2019s an uncomfortable situation,\u201d I told him one morning. \u201cI know you didn\u2019t choose it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNeither do you.\u201d He was reorganizing my bookshelf. I\u2019d mentioned wanting it alphabetized, and he\u2019d taken on the task. \u201cBut we\u2019re managing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre we?\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at me, his imposing figure somehow nonthreatening as he knelt beside the bookshelf. \u201cEllaner, I\u2019ve been a slave all my life. I\u2019ve worked grueling labor in heat that would kill most men. I\u2019ve been whipped for my mistakes, sold and cast out by my family, treated like a voiced ox.\u201d He gestured around the comfortable room. \u201cLiving here, caring for someone who treats me like a human, having access to books and conversation\u2026 This isn\u2019t suffering.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you\u2019re still a slave.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, but I\u2019d rather be a slave here with you than free but lonely somewhere else.\u201d He went back to reading his books. \u201cIs it wrong to say that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t think so. I think he\u2019s sincere.\u201d<\/p>\n
But here\u2019s what I didn\u2019t tell him. What I still couldn\u2019t admit to myself. I was starting to feel something. Something impossible. Something dangerous.<\/p>\n
By the end of April, we\u2019d settled into a routine. In the morning, Josiah would help me with the preparations, then take me to breakfast. Afterwards, he\u2019d return to the forge while I took care of the household accounts. In the afternoon, he\u2019d return and we\u2019d spend time together.<\/p>\n
Sometimes I watched him work, fascinated by how he transformed iron into useful objects. Sometimes he read to me, and his reading improved significantly thanks to access to my father\u2019s library and my private lessons. In the evenings we talked about everything: his childhood on another plantation, his mother who had been sold when he was ten, and his dreams of freedom that seemed unattainable.<\/p>\n
And I talked about my mother, who died when I was born. About the accident that paralyzed me, about the feeling of being trapped in a body that didn\u2019t work and in a society that didn\u2019t want me. We were two outcasts who found comfort in each other\u2019s company.<\/p>\n
In May, something changed. I had watched Josiah work at the forge, heating the iron until it was red hot, then shaping it with precise strokes.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you think I could try?\u201d I asked suddenly.<\/p>\n
He looked up in surprise. \u201cTry what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe work of forging. Hammering something.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEleanor, it\u2019s hot and it\u2019s dangerous and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2014and I\u2019ve never done anything physically demanding in my life because everyone thinks I\u2019m too fragile, but maybe with your help I could.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at me for a long time, then nodded. \u201cGood, now I\u2019ll fix it safely.\u201d<\/p>\n
He placed my wheelchair next to the anvil, heated a small piece of iron until it was workable, placed it on the anvil, and then gave me a lighter hammer.<\/p>\n
\u201cHit right there. Don\u2019t worry about the force. Just feel the metal move.\u201d<\/p>\n
I struck a blow. The hammer hit the iron with a soft thud. It barely left a mark.<\/p>\n
\u201cAgain. Put your back to it.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hit harder. Better hit. The iron bent slightly.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood. Again.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hammered repeatedly. My arms burned. My shoulders ached. Sweat poured down my face. But I was doing physical labor, shaping the metal with my own hands. When the iron cooled, Josiah lifted the slightly bent piece.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour first project. It\u2019s not much, but you did it.\u201d He put down the iron. \u201cYou\u2019re stronger than you think. You\u2019ve always been strong. You just needed the right business.\u201d<\/p>\n
From that day on, I spent hours at the forge. Josiah taught me the basics: how to heat metal, how to hammer it, how to shape it. I wasn\u2019t strong enough for heavy work, but I could make small objects: hooks, simple tools, decorative pieces.<\/p>\n
For the first time in 14 years, since the accident, I felt physically capable of doing something. My legs didn\u2019t work, but my arms and hands did. And in the forge, that was enough.<\/p>\n
But something else was happening, too. Something I couldn\u2019t control.<\/p>\n
June brought a different revelation. One evening we were in the library. Josiah was reading Keats aloud. His reading had improved to the point of understanding complex texts. His voice was perfect for poetry. Deep, resonant, capable of giving weight to every line.<\/p>\n
\u201cA thing of beauty is an eternal joy,\u201d he read. \u201cIts beauty increases. It will never fade into nothingness.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you really believe that?\u201d I asked. \u201cThat beauty is eternal.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI believe that beauty in memory is eternal. The object itself may fade, but the memory of beauty remains.\u201d<\/p>\n
What\u2019s the most beautiful thing you\u2019ve ever seen?<\/p>\n
She was silent for a moment. Then: \u201cYesterday at the forge, covered in soot, sweating, laughing as you hammered that nail. It was beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n
My heart skipped a beat. \u201cJosiah, I\u2019m sorry. I shouldn\u2019t have\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d I moved the wheelchair closer to where he was sitting. \u201cSay it again.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou were beautiful. You are beautiful. You have always been beautiful, Elellanar. The wheelchair doesn\u2019t change that. The broken legs don\u2019t change that. You are intelligent, kind, brave, and, yes, physically beautiful.\u201d Her voice grew prouder. \u201cThe twelve men who rejected you were blind idiots. They saw a wheelchair and stopped looking. They didn\u2019t see you. They didn\u2019t see the woman who learned Greek just because she could, who read philosophy for pleasure, who learned to forge iron despite having broken legs. They didn\u2019t see any of this because they didn\u2019t want to.\u201d<\/p>\n
I reached out and took his hand, his huge, scarred hand, capable of bending iron, but holding mine as if it were made of glass. \u201cDo you see me, Josiah?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, I see you all. And you are the most beautiful people I have ever met.\u201d<\/p>\n
The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. \u201cI think I\u2019m falling in love with you.\u201d<\/p>\n
The silence that followed was deafening. Dangerous words. Impossible words. A white woman and a black man enslaved in Virginia in 1856. There was no room in society for what I felt.<\/p>\n
\u201cEllaner,\u201d he said carefully. \u201cYou can\u2019t. We can\u2019t. If anyone knew, they would\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat would they want? We already live together. My father already married me to you. What difference does it make if I love you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe difference is safety. Your safety. My safety. If people think this arrangement is dictated by affection rather than obligation.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t care what people think.\u201d I stroked his face with my hand, reaching out to touch him. \u201cI care what I feel. And for the first time in my life, I feel love. I feel someone sees me. Really sees me. Not the wheelchair. Not the disability. Not the burden. You see Ellanar. And I see Josiah. Not the slave. Not the brute. The man who reads poetry, creates wonderful things with iron, and treats me with more kindness than any free man has ever had.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf your father knew.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy father arranged everything. He brought us together. Whatever happens, it\u2019s partly his fault.\u201d I leaned forward. \u201cJosiah, I understand if you don\u2019t feel the same way. I understand it\u2019s complicated and dangerous. Maybe I\u2019m just lonely and confused. But I needed to tell you.\u201d<\/p>\n
He was silent for so long. I thought I\u2019d ruined everything. Then: \u201cI\u2019ve loved you since our first real conversation. When you asked me about Shakespeare and actually listened to my answer. When you treated me like my thoughts mattered. I\u2019ve loved you every day since then, Elellanar. I never thought I\u2019d say that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSay it now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI love you.\u201d<\/p>\n
We kissed. My first kiss at 22, with a man who, according to society, shouldn\u2019t have existed for me, in a library surrounded by books that would condemn what we were doing. It was perfect.<\/p>\n
But perfection doesn\u2019t last long in Virginia in 1856. Not for people like us.<\/p>\n
For five months, Josiah and I lived in a bubble of stolen happiness. We were cautious, never showing affection in public, maintaining the facade of devoted prot\u00e9g\u00e9 and designated guardian. But in private, we were simply two people in love.<\/p>\n
My father either didn\u2019t notice, or chose not to. He saw that I was happier, that Josiah was attentive, that the situation was working. He didn\u2019t question the time we spent alone. The way Josiah looked at me, the way I smiled in his presence.<\/p>\n
In those five months, we built a life together. I continued to learn the art of blacksmithing, creating increasingly complex pieces. He continued to read, devouring books from the library. We talked incessantly about our dreams of a world where we could be together openly, about the impossibility of those dreams, about how to find joy in the present despite the uncertainty of the future.<\/p>\n
And yes, we became intimate. I won\u2019t go into the details of what happens between two people in love. But I will say this: Josiah approached physical intimacy the same way he approached everything with me, with extraordinary sensitivity, attentive to my well-being, with a reverence that made me feel loved and not used.<\/p>\n
By October, we had created our own world within the impossible space society had forced us into. We were happy in a way neither of us could have ever imagined possible.<\/p>\n
Then my father discovered the truth and everything fell apart.<\/p>\n
December 15, 1856. Josiah and I were in the library, lost in each other, kissing with the freedom of those who believe they are alone. We didn\u2019t hear my father\u2019s footsteps. We didn\u2019t hear the door open.<\/p>\n
\u201cElellaner.\u201d His voice was icy.<\/p>\n
We broke apart abruptly. Guilty. Exposed. Terrified. My father stood in the doorway, his expression a mixture of shock, anger, and something else I couldn\u2019t quite decipher.<\/p>\n
\u201cFather, I can explain.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re in love with him.\u201d Not a question, but an accusation.<\/p>\n
Josiah immediately knelt down. \u201cLord, please. It\u2019s my fault. I never should have\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSilence, Josiah.\u201d My father\u2019s voice was dangerously calm. He looked at me. \u201cElellanar, is it true? Are you in love with this slave?\u201d<\/p>\n
I could have lied. I could have claimed that Josiah had raped me, that I was a victim. It would have saved me and condemned Josiah to torture and death. I couldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, I love him and he loves me. And before you threaten him, know that the feeling is mutual. I was the one who initiated our first kiss. I was the one who sought this relationship. If you have to punish someone, punish me.\u201d<\/p>\n
My father\u2019s face went through a series of expressions: anger, disbelief, confusion. Finally: \u201cJosiah, go to your room immediately. Don\u2019t come out until I send for you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGentleman-\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
Josiah left, casting me one last anguished look. The door closed, leaving me alone with my father. What happened next? My father\u2019s words in that study changed everything, but not in the way I expected.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you understand what you\u2019ve done?\u201d my father asked in a low voice.<\/p>\n
\u201cI fell in love with a good man who treats me with respect and kindness.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou fell in love with property, a slave. Elellaner, if this got out, you\u2019d be ruined beyond repair. They\u2019d say you were crazy, flawed, perverse.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey\u2019re already saying I\u2019m a problematic person and unsuitable for marriage. What\u2019s the difference?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe difference is in protection. I gave you to Josiah to protect you, not\u2026 not for this.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen you shouldn\u2019t have brought us together.\u201d I was screaming, years of frustration finally spilling out. \u201cYou shouldn\u2019t have married me off to someone intelligent, kind, and sweet if you didn\u2019t want me to fall in love with him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI wanted you to be safe, not at the center of a scandal.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m safe. Safer than I\u2019ve ever been. Josiah would rather die than let anyone hurt me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd what will happen when I die? When the inheritance passes to your cousin? Do you think Robert will let you keep a slave husband? He\u2019ll sell Josiah the very day I\u2019m buried and lock you up in some institution.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen release him. Release Josiah. Let\u2019s go. We\u2019ll go north. Will\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe North is not a promised land, Elellanar. A white woman with a black man, former slave or not, will face prejudice everywhere. Think your life is difficult now? Try living as an interracial couple.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI am not interested.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, yes. I\u2019m your father, and I\u2019ve spent your whole life trying to protect you, and I won\u2019t let you get into a situation that will destroy you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBeing without Josiah will destroy me. Don\u2019t you understand? For the first time in my life, I\u2019m happy. I\u2019m loved. I\u2019m appreciated for who I am, not for what I can\u2019t do. And you want to take all of that away from me because society says it\u2019s wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n
My father sank into a chair, suddenly looking his full 56 years. \u201cWhat do you want me to do, Ellanar? Bless him? Accept him?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI want you to understand that I love him, that he loves me, and that no matter what you do, that won\u2019t change.\u201d<\/p>\n
Outside, silence reigned between us. The December wind rattled the windows. Somewhere in the house, Josiah waited to learn his fate.<\/p>\n
Finally my father spoke, and what he said shocked me more than anything that had happened before. \u201cI could sell him,\u201d my father said softly. \u201cSend him to the Deep South. Make sure I never see him again.\u201d<\/p>\n
My blood ran cold. \u201cFather, please\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLet me finish.\u201d He raised a hand. \u201cI could sell it. That would be the right solution. Separate you. Pretend it never happened. Find you somewhere else.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease don\u2019t do that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I won\u2019t.\u201d A glimmer of hope flashed in my chest. \u201cFather?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI won\u2019t do it because I\u2019ve watched you these past nine months. I\u2019ve seen you smile more in nine months with Josiah than in the previous fourteen years. I\u2019ve seen you become confident, capable, happy. And I\u2019ve seen the way he looks at you, as if you were the most precious thing in the world.\u201d He rubbed his face, suddenly looking ancient. \u201cI don\u2019t understand it. I don\u2019t like it. It goes against everything I was raised to believe. But\u2026\u201d He paused. \u201cBut you\u2019re right. I brought you together. I created this situation. Denying that you would form a genuine connection was naive.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, what are you saying?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m saying I need time to think, to find a solution that won\u2019t leave you both unhappy or destroyed.\u201d He stood up. \u201cBut Elellanar, you have to understand. If this relationship continues, there\u2019s no place for it in Virginia, in the South, maybe anywhere. Are you ready to face that reality?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf it means being with Josiah, yes.\u201d<\/p>\n
He nodded slowly. \u201cThen I\u2019ll find a way. I don\u2019t know what it is yet, but I\u2019ll find a way.\u201d<\/p>\n
He left me in the library, my heart pounding, hope and fear clashing inside me. Josiah was called back an hour later. I told him what my father had said. He slumped into a chair, overwhelmed.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe has no intention of selling me. He has no intention of selling you. He will help us.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow can we help you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said he would try to find a solution.\u201d<\/p>\n
Josiah ran his hands through his hair and cried, deep, trembling sobs of relief and disbelief. I held him as tightly as I could from my wheelchair, and we clung to the fragile hope that maybe, somehow, my father could make the impossible possible.<\/p>\n
But none of us could have predicted what would happen next. My father\u2019s decision two months later would change not only our lives, but history itself.<\/p>\n
My father pondered for two months. Two months during which Josiah and I lived in anxious uncertainty, awaiting his decision. We continued with our routines\u2014working at the forge, reading, talking\u2014but everything seemed temporary, contingent on whatever solution my father had in mind.<\/p>\n
At the end of February 1857, he called us both into his study.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve made my decision,\u201d he said without preamble. We were sitting across from each other, me in my wheelchair, Josiah perched on one of the two chairs, both holding hands despite the inappropriateness of the situation.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s no way this will work in Virginia or anywhere else in the South,\u201d my father began. \u201cSociety won\u2019t accept it. The laws explicitly forbid it. If I keep Josiah here, even if I declare him your protector, suspicions will grow. Sooner or later someone will investigate, and you\u2019ll both be ruined.\u201d<\/p>\n
My blood ran cold. It seemed like the prelude to a separation.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo,\u201d he continued, \u201cI offer you an alternative.\u201d He looked at Josiah. \u201cJosiah, I will release you legally, formally, with papers that will be valid in any court in the North.\u201d<\/p>\n
I couldn\u2019t breathe.<\/p>\n
\u201cElellaner, I will give you $50,000, enough to start a new life, and I will provide you with letters of introduction to abolitionist contacts in Philadelphia who can help you get settled there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you\u2026 are you freeing him?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes. What if we went north together?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYES.\u201d<\/p>\n
Josiah made a sound, half sob, half laugh. \u201cLord, I don\u2019t\u2026 I can\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can. And you will.\u201d My father\u2019s voice was firm, but not unkind. \u201cJosiah, you protected my daughter better than any white man could have. You made her happy. You gave her confidence and abilities I thought she\u2019d lost forever. In return, I give you freedom and the woman you love.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFather,\u201d I whispered, tears streaming down my face. \u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t thank me yet. It won\u2019t be easy. There are abolitionist communities in Philadelphia that will welcome you, but you\u2019ll still face prejudice. Elellanar, as a white woman married to a black man\u2026 Yes, married. I\u2019m arranging a legal marriage before you leave. You\u2019ll be ostracized by many. You\u2019ll face economic, social, and perhaps even physical hardship. Are you sure you want that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSafer than anything I\u2019ve ever been.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
She was deemed unfit for marriage. They said I\u2019d never get married. In four years, twelve men looked at my wheelchair and walked away. But<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":9320,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-9319","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-viral-articles"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/viralscontent.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9319","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/viralscontent.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/viralscontent.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/viralscontent.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/viralscontent.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=9319"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/viralscontent.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9319\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":9321,"href":"https:\/\/viralscontent.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9319\/revisions\/9321"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/viralscontent.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/9320"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/viralscontent.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=9319"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/viralscontent.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=9319"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/viralscontent.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=9319"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}