We kissed. My first kiss at 22, with a man who, according to society, shouldn’t have existed for me, in a library surrounded by books that would condemn what we were doing. It was perfect.
But perfection doesn’t last long in Virginia in 1856. Not for people like us.
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 protégé and designated guardian. But in private, we were simply two people in love.
My father either didn’t notice, or chose not to. He saw that I was happier, that Josiah was attentive, that the situation was working. He didn’t question the time we spent alone. The way Josiah looked at me, the way I smiled in his presence.
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.
And yes, we became intimate. I won’t 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.
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.
Then my father discovered the truth and everything fell apart.
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’t hear my father’s footsteps. We didn’t hear the door open.
“Elellaner.” His voice was icy.
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’t quite decipher.
“Father, I can explain.”
“You’re in love with him.” Not a question, but an accusation.
Josiah immediately knelt down. “Lord, please. It’s my fault. I never should have…”
“Silence, Josiah.” My father’s voice was dangerously calm. He looked at me. “Elellanar, is it true? Are you in love with this slave?”
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’t.
“Yes, 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.”
My father’s face went through a series of expressions: anger, disbelief, confusion. Finally: “Josiah, go to your room immediately. Don’t come out until I send for you.”
“Gentleman-“
“No.”
Josiah left, casting me one last anguished look. The door closed, leaving me alone with my father. What happened next? My father’s words in that study changed everything, but not in the way I expected.
“Do you understand what you’ve done?” my father asked in a low voice.
“I fell in love with a good man who treats me with respect and kindness.”
“You fell in love with property, a slave. Elellaner, if this got out, you’d be ruined beyond repair. They’d say you were crazy, flawed, perverse.”
“They’re already saying I’m a problematic person and unsuitable for marriage. What’s the difference?”
“The difference is in protection. I gave you to Josiah to protect you, not… not for this.”
“Then you shouldn’t have brought us together.” I was screaming, years of frustration finally spilling out. “You shouldn’t have married me off to someone intelligent, kind, and sweet if you didn’t want me to fall in love with him.”
“I wanted you to be safe, not at the center of a scandal.”
“I’m safe. Safer than I’ve ever been. Josiah would rather die than let anyone hurt me.”
“And 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’ll sell Josiah the very day I’m buried and lock you up in some institution.”
“Then release him. Release Josiah. Let’s go. We’ll go north. Will—”
“The 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.”
“I am not interested.”
“Well, yes. I’m your father, and I’ve spent your whole life trying to protect you, and I won’t let you get into a situation that will destroy you.”
“Being without Josiah will destroy me. Don’t you understand? For the first time in my life, I’m happy. I’m loved. I’m appreciated for who I am, not for what I can’t do. And you want to take all of that away from me because society says it’s wrong.”
My father sank into a chair, suddenly looking his full 56 years. “What do you want me to do, Ellanar? Bless him? Accept him?”
“I want you to understand that I love him, that he loves me, and that no matter what you do, that won’t change.”
Outside, silence reigned between us. The December wind rattled the windows. Somewhere in the house, Josiah waited to learn his fate.
Finally my father spoke, and what he said shocked me more than anything that had happened before. “I could sell him,” my father said softly. “Send him to the Deep South. Make sure I never see him again.”
My blood ran cold. “Father, please…”
“Let me finish.” He raised a hand. “I could sell it. That would be the right solution. Separate you. Pretend it never happened. Find you somewhere else.”
“Please don’t do that.”
“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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