“But I won’t.” A glimmer of hope flashed in my chest. “Father?”
“I won’t do it because I’ve watched you these past nine months. I’ve seen you smile more in nine months with Josiah than in the previous fourteen years. I’ve seen you become confident, capable, happy. And I’ve seen the way he looks at you, as if you were the most precious thing in the world.” He rubbed his face, suddenly looking ancient. “I don’t understand it. I don’t like it. It goes against everything I was raised to believe. But…” He paused. “But you’re right. I brought you together. I created this situation. Denying that you would form a genuine connection was naive.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I need time to think, to find a solution that won’t leave you both unhappy or destroyed.” He stood up. “But Elellanar, you have to understand. If this relationship continues, there’s no place for it in Virginia, in the South, maybe anywhere. Are you ready to face that reality?”
“If it means being with Josiah, yes.”
He nodded slowly. “Then I’ll find a way. I don’t know what it is yet, but I’ll find a way.”
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.
“He has no intention of selling me. He has no intention of selling you. He will help us.”
“How can we help you?”
“He said he would try to find a solution.”
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.
But none of us could have predicted what would happen next. My father’s decision two months later would change not only our lives, but history itself.
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—working at the forge, reading, talking—but everything seemed temporary, contingent on whatever solution my father had in mind.
At the end of February 1857, he called us both into his study.
“I’ve made my decision,” 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.
“There’s no way this will work in Virginia or anywhere else in the South,” my father began. “Society won’t 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’ll both be ruined.”
My blood ran cold. It seemed like the prelude to a separation.
“So,” he continued, “I offer you an alternative.” He looked at Josiah. “Josiah, I will release you legally, formally, with papers that will be valid in any court in the North.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Elellaner, 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.”
“Are you… are you freeing him?”
“Yes. What if we went north together?”
“YES.”
Josiah made a sound, half sob, half laugh. “Lord, I don’t… I can’t.”
“You can. And you will.” My father’s voice was firm, but not unkind. “Josiah, you protected my daughter better than any white man could have. You made her happy. You gave her confidence and abilities I thought she’d lost forever. In return, I give you freedom and the woman you love.”
“Father,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. It won’t be easy. There are abolitionist communities in Philadelphia that will welcome you, but you’ll still face prejudice. Elellanar, as a white woman married to a black man… Yes, married. I’m arranging a legal marriage before you leave. You’ll be ostracized by many. You’ll face economic, social, and perhaps even physical hardship. Are you sure you want that?”
“Safer than anything I’ve ever been.”
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