"They said I would never get married." In four years, twelve guys have glanced at my wheelchair and turned to go. But everyone, including me, was taken aback by what transpired next. This is the tale of how I, Elellanar Whitmore, went from being shunned by society to discovering a love so strong that it altered the course of history. Virginia in 1856.
At the age of 22, I was regarded as damaged goods. Since I was eight years old, my legs had been worthless. I was locked in this mahogany wheelchair my father ordered after a riding accident broke my spine. However, this is what no one comprehended. My wheelchair did not prevent me from getting married. It was what it stood for.
A burden. A wife who was unable to support her husband at social gatherings. Someone who was allegedly incapable of managing a family, having children, or performing any of the responsibilities required of a Southern lady. My father organized twelve bids. Twelve rejections, each more severe than the last one. "She is unable to comprehend down the aisle."
"My kids require a mother who can pursue them." "If she can't conceive, what's the point?" The last rumor, which was wholly untrue, went viral throughout Virginia society. Without even doing an examination, a doctor made assumptions about my fertility. Suddenly, I wasn’t simply handicapped. I was flawed in every aspect that was significant to America in 1856.
I was aware of the reality by the time 50-year-old, obese, inebriated William Foster turned me down even though my father had offered him a third of our estate's yearly revenues. I was going to pass away by myself. My father, however, had different ideas. When he informed me about his plans, I was certain I had misheard them since they were so radical, startling, and entirely outside of any societal norms.
He responded, "I'm giving you to Josiah." "The blacksmith." He’ll be your husband.’ I was certain that my father, Colonel Richard Whitmore, who owned 200 slaves and 5,000 acres, had gone insane as I gazed at him. "Josiah," I muttered. ‘Father, Josiah is enslaved.’ "Yes, I am fully aware of what I'm doing." I had no idea that this desperate remedy would turn into the most amazing love story of my life.Novels with love stories
However, no one was aware of this. This is what I was going to find out. Josiah was the gentlest man I’d ever meet. In March 1856, a month after Fosters's rejection, my father invited me to his study. A month later, I had given up on the idea that I would ever be anything but alone. He stated plainly, "No white man will marry you." "That is the truth."
However, you must be protected. Your cousin Robert will inherit this fortune upon my death. "Then leave me the estate," I responded, realizing that it was not conceivable. "He'll sell everything, give you some pittance, and leave you dependent on distant relatives who don't want you." It is prohibited under Virginia law. Women are not able to inherit on their own, especially not
Unable to continue, he pointed at my wheelchair. "So, what do you recommend?" The strongest man on the ranch is Josiah. He's smart. Yes, I am aware that he reads covertly. Don't appear shocked. Despite his stature, he is capable, healthy, and, from what I've heard, gentle. Because he is required by law to stay, he won't desert you.
"He will take care of you, provide for you, and protect you." The reasoning was airtight and terrifying. "Have you asked him?" I insisted. ‘Not yet. I wanted to tell you first.’ ‘And if I refuse?’ At that moment, my father's face seemed ten years older. "After I'm gone, you'll spend your life in boarding houses, dependent on charity from relatives who see you as a burden, and I'll keep trying to find a white husband, and we'll both know I'm going to fail."Books of historical fiction
He was right. I detested the fact that he was correct. "May I meet him?" Before you decide on this for the two of us, actually have a conversation with him. "Obviously, tomorrow." The following morning, they took Josiah to the residence. I heard heavy footsteps in the hallway as I stood at the parlor window. The door parted. Josiah really crouched to fit through the doorway after my father came in.Books about True Crime
He was huge, my goodness. Seven feet of strength and sinew, hands scarred from forge burns that appeared capable of crushing stone, and shoulders that barely cleared the frame. His eyes wandered about the room, never focusing on me, and his face was bearded and worn. The moniker "brute" was true; he had the stance of an enslaved person in a white person's home, with his hands clasped and his head slightly lowered.
He appeared capable of demolishing the home with just his hands. However, my father then said something. "This is Elellanar, my daughter, Josiah." Josiah's gaze briefly shifted to me before returning to the ground. "Yes, sir." His voice was low, almost kind, and unexpectedly deep. "Ellaner, I've told Josiah about the situation."
"He is aware that he will be in charge of your care." I managed to find my voice, but it was shaky. "Josiah, do you comprehend what my father is suggesting?" Another fleeting look at me. "Yes, Miss." "And you've agreed to this?" "I'm to be your husband, to protect you, to help you." He appeared perplexed, as though the idea that his agreement was important was alien to him.
"I should, miss," the colonel responded, "but do you want to?" He was astonished by the question. His gaze locked with me. Dark brown, surprisingly soft for a face so intimidating. "I..." Miss, I'm not sure what I want. I am a slave. Usually, it doesn't matter what I desire. The truth was fair and terrible. My father cleared his throat.
‘Perhaps you two should chat quietly. I'll be studying. He shut the door behind him, leaving me by myself with a seven-foot enslaved guy who was meant to marry me. For what seemed like hours, neither of us said anything. Do you want to take a seat? At last, I pointed to the chair across from me and asked. Josiah stared at the tiny item with its embroidered cushions, then at his huge frame.
"Miss, I don't think that chair would hold me." "Well, the sofa." He took his time sitting on the brink. He towered over me even while he was seated. His hands were on his knees, each finger callused and scarred like a little club. "Miss, are you scared of me?" ‘Should I be?’ "No, Miss." You would never be harmed by me. "They call you the brute," I swear.Women's empowerment coaching
He winced. "Yes, Miss." Because of my size. because I appear intimidating. I'm not cruel, though. I've never caused harm to anyone. "Not intentionally," but you could if you so desired. "I could." He looked directly into my eyes once again. However, I wouldn't. Not you. Not nobody who didn’t deserve it.’ I made a decision based on something in his eyes—a tenderness, grief, or resignation that didn't fit his looks.
"Josiah, I want to tell you the truth." I don't want this any more than you most likely do. My dad is in a difficult situation. I can't get married. He believes that you are the only answer. But I need to know whether we're going to do this. Do you pose a threat? "No, Miss." "Are you cruel?" "No, Miss." "Will you harm me?" "Never, Miss."
"I swear on everything I consider sacred." There was no denying the sincerity. He trusted his words. I have another question after that. Are you able to read? He was taken aback by the question. His face flashed with fear. Reading was unlawful for enslaved persons in Virginia. But after a lengthy pause, he responded softly, "Yes, miss." I learned on my own.
"I am aware that it is prohibited, yet I I couldn’t stop myself. Books open doors to places I'll never be able to visit. "What have you read?" "Whatever I am able to locate." I occasionally borrow books and old newspapers. I read slowly. I read, but I didn't learn correctly. "Have you read Shakespeare?" His eyes grew wide. "Yes, Miss." Nobody ever touches an old copy at the library.
"I read it while everyone was asleep at night." "Which performs?" "The Tempest, Romeo and Juliet, and Hamlet" Despite himself, his voice became enthusiastic. ‘The Tempest is my favorite. Prospero uses magic to rule the island. Ariel longs to be free. Despite being viewed as a monster, Caliban may be the most human of all.
He came to a sudden stop. I apologize, Miss. I'm saying too much. "No," I said with a smile. For the first time in this strange exchange, I was truly grinning. "Continue speaking." Tell me about Caliban. And a remarkable event took place. Josiah, the enormous slave known as the brute, started talking about Shakespeare with a level of intelligence that would have astounded academics.
Caliban is referred to as a monster, yet Shakespeare reveals that he has been sold into slavery, had his island taken, and had his mother's magic disregarded. Caliban is referred to as "savage" by Prospero, who arrived on the island and said that he was the owner of everything, including Caliban. Who is the monster, then? ‘You regard Caliban as sympathetic?’ ‘I see Caliban as human, abused as less than human, but human nonetheless.
He fell silent. "Like... like enslaved people," I concluded. "Yes, Miss." For two hours, we discussed Shakespeare, literature, philosophy, and concepts. Josiah was self-taught and had a spotty knowledge base, but he had a quick intellect and a clear desire to learn. And my dread vanished as we conversed. There was nothing brutal about this man.
He was clever, kind, and kind, but he was imprisoned in a body that society regarded only as a monster. At last, I said, "Josiah, I want you to know something if we do this." I don’t believe you’re a brute. You're not a monster, in my opinion. I believe that, like me, you have been thrust into an unfeasible circumstance. Suddenly, tears filled his eyes.
"Thank you, Miss." "Call me Ellanar." "Call me Elellanar when we're alone." "Miss, I shouldn't. That wouldn't be appropriate. There is nothing appropriate about this circumstance. You should use my name if we're going to be married or whatever this arrangement is. He gave a slow nod. "Ellanar." My name in his deep, soothing voice sounded like melody.
Then you ought to be aware of something as well. You're not unmarriageable, in my opinion. The men who turned you down were idiots, in my opinion. A man doesn't deserve you if he can't look past a wheelchair to the person inside. It was the most considerate thing I had heard in four years. ‘Will you do this?’ I asked. "Are you going to accept my father's plan?" "Yes," without hesitation.
"I'll keep you safe." I'll take care of you. And I'll do my best to deserve you. And I'll do my best to make this tolerable for us both. His massive hand, warm and surprisingly kind, swallowed mine as we shook hands to clinch the deal. Suddenly, it appeared less hard to implement my father's extreme suggestion. However, what came next? What I learned over the next few months about Josiah...
At that point, the narrative turns into something no one could have imagined. The agreement began formally on April 1st, 1856. My father collected the domestic workers, read passages from the Bible, and said that Josiah was now in charge of my care. It was a short ceremony, not a formal wedding because enslaved people were not allowed to marry, and it would not be recognized by any white society.Books about True Crime
"He speaks with my authority regarding Eleanor's welfare," my father informed the group. "Give him the respect that his position merits." Josiah was given a room next to mine, which was connected by a door but kept apart out of a sense of decorum. He relocated his meager possessions from the slave quarters, including some clothing, a few books he had discreetly gathered, and equipment from the forge.
The initial weeks were uncomfortable. Strangers attempting to negotiate an impassable circumstance. I was accustomed to having female attendants. He was accustomed to hard work. He was now in charge of personal duties. supporting me with issues I never would have spoken with a male, helping me get dressed, and carrying me when the wheelchair wouldn't work.
But Josiah was so nice about everything. He sought permission before carrying me. He tried to avoid looking at me as he was helping me get dressed. He upheld my dignity when I required help with personal concerns, even in situations that were intrinsically undignified. One morning, I told him, "I know this is uncomfortable."
"I am aware that you did not select this." "You didn't either." He was putting my bookcase back in order. He had taken it upon himself as a project after I had expressed my desire for it to be alphabetical. "But we're managing." "Are we?" He glanced at me, his massive physique seeming non-threatening as he squatted by the shelf. "I've been a slave my entire life, Ellaner."
"I've performed backbreaking work in temperatures that would kill most men." I've been treated like an animal with a voice, sold away from family, and lashed for making errors. He waved around the cozy space. ‘This—living here, caring for someone who treats me like a human being, having access to reading and conversation—this is not hardship.’
"But you remain a slave." "Yes, but being enslaved here with you is preferable to being free but alone somewhere else." He went back to the books. "Is it incorrect to say that?" "I don't believe so." It seems honest to me. I didn't tell him this, though. what I was yet unable to acknowledge to myself. Something was beginning to happen to me.
Something inconceivable. Something perilous. By the end of April, we’d settled into a rhythm. Josiah helped me get ready in the morning and then carried me to breakfast. Then I worked on home accounting, while he went back to the forge. He would return in the afternoons, and we would hang around.
Occasionally, I would see him at work, captivated by the way he turned iron into practical items. He would occasionally read to me, and with my instruction and access to my father's library, his reading significantly improved. We would discuss everything in the evenings. about growing up on a different plantation. About his mother, who was sold when he was ten years old.
About seemingly unattainable goals of freedom. I would also discuss my mother, who passed away at the time of my birth. About the accident that crippled me, about feeling stuck in a body that didn’t work and a culture that didn’t want me. We were two abandoned individuals who found comfort in each other's presence. Something changed in May.
I had been observing Josiah as he worked at the forge, heating the iron until it burned orange and then precisely striking it into form. "Is it possible for me to try?" Abruptly, I inquired. He glanced up shocked. "What should I try?" ‘The forge work. hammering something. "Eleanor, I've never done anything physically demanding in my life because everyone assumes I'm too fragile, but maybe with your help." "And it's hot and dangerous and..."
After giving me a lengthy look, he nodded. "All right, let me securely set it up." He positioned my wheelchair next to the anvil, heated a little piece of iron till it was usable, set it on the anvil, then handed me a lighter hammer. "Hit right there." Strength is not a concern. Just feel the metal moving.’ I made a swing.
The hammer hit the iron with a faint thump. Barely made an impression. Once more. I swung more forcefully, saying, "Put your shoulders into it." A stronger hit. The iron gave a slight bend. "Well." Once more. I kept hammering. My arms were burning. My shoulders hurt. My face was dripping with sweat. However, I was truly working with my hands, molding metal. Josiah held out the slightly bent piece when the iron had cooled. "Your initial endeavor."
"You made it, even though it's not much." He put the iron down. "You underestimate your strength." You've always been resilient. All you needed was the appropriate activity. I worked at the forge for hours after that day. I learned the fundamentals from Josiah. How to shape, hammer, and heat metal.
I could manufacture minor things, but I wasn't strong enough for substantial labor. Hooks, basic tools, ornamental items. I felt physically capable for the first time in fourteen years since my injury. My hands and arms worked, but my legs did not. And that was sufficient in the forge. However, there was also another thing going on. Something beyond my control. June provided a different discovery.
One evening, we were at the library. Keats was being read aloud by Josiah. He could now read complicated materials since his reading skills had increased. His voice was ideal for poetry. Each line has weight because it is deep and resonant. He read, "A thing of beauty is a joy forever." Its beauty grows. It will never become insignificant.
I said, "Do you believe that?" "Is that beauty enduring?" "I believe that beauty in memory endures." The memory of beauty endures, even when the object itself may deteriorate. "What is the most exquisite thing you have ever witnessed?" He was silent for a while. Then, "Yesterday at the forge, you were sweating, laughing, and covered in soot as you hammered that nail." That was really lovely.
My heart skipped a beat. "I apologize, Josiah." I shouldn't have. "No." I moved my wheelchair closer to his seat. Say it once more: "You were stunning." You are stunning. Elellanar, you've always been stunning. That is not altered by the wheelchair. That is not altered by the non-functioning legs. In addition to being brave, compassionate, and bright, you are also physically attractive.
His voice became aggressive. "The twelve men who turned you down were blind fools." They stopped searching when they noticed a wheelchair. They failed to notice you. They missed the lady who read philosophy for joy, learnt to forge iron despite having non-functioning legs, and studied Greek simply because she could. They chose not to notice any of that, so they did not.
I extended my arm to grasp his massive, scarred palm, which could break iron but gripped mine as if it were glass. "Josiah, do you see me?" "Yes, I see you all." Furthermore, you are the most stunning person I have ever met. Before I could stop myself, the words slipped out. "I believe I'm developing feelings for you." The ensuing hush was overwhelming.
Words that are dangerous. Words that are impossible. A black guy in slavery with a white lady in Virginia around 1856. There was no room in society for what I was experiencing. ‘Ellaner,’ he said softly. "You are unable to." We are unable to. If anyone knew, what would they do? We already share a residence. I was already given to you by my father. "What's the difference if I love you?" "Safety is the difference." your security.
"My security." If individuals believe that this arrangement is a sign of love rather than duty... "I don't give a damn what people think." I reached out to touch him and cradled his face with my fingers. "I am concerned about my feelings." And for the first time in my life, I experience love. Someone seems to be observing me. truly observes me. Not the wheelchair. Not the impairment.
"Not the load." You see Ellanar. I also see Josiah. Not the slave. Not the brute. The man who reads poetry, crafts exquisite iron objects, and shows me more compassion than any free man has ever experienced "If your dad knew..." "My dad set this up." He brought us together. He bears some of the blame for whatever occurs.
I bent over. "Josiah, if you don't feel the same way, I understand." I am aware that this is risky and complex. Perhaps I'm simply confused and lonely. However, I had to inform you. He remained silent for so long, I believed I’d wrecked everything. "I've loved you since the first real conversation we had," comes next.
You really listened to my response when you questioned me about Shakespeare. when you gave me the impression that my opinions were important. Since then, Elellanar, I have loved you every day. I simply didn't think I could say it. "Say it now." "I adore you." We shared a kiss. In a library full with literature that would denounce what we were doing, I shared my first kiss at the age of 22 with a man society told me shouldn't exist.
It was flawless. However, in Virginia in 1856, perfection is short-lived. Not for individuals such as us. Josiah and I lived in a bubble of stolen joy for five months. We were cautious, never displaying affection in public, and kept up the appearance of appointed protector and obedient ward. In private, though, we were just two lovers.
My father either decided not to notice or failed to notice at all. He noticed that the arrangement was working, that Josiah was paying attention, and that I was happier. He didn't inquire about our time spent by ourselves. Josiah's gaze, the way I grinned at him. During those five months, we created a life together. I kept studying forgework and made ever more intricate items.
He kept reading, gobbling up books from the library. We spent limitless time discussing our aspirations for a society in which we could be together freely, the difficulty of such aspirations, and how to find happiness in the here and now despite the unknown future. Indeed, we developed a close relationship. I won't go into specifics about what occurs when two individuals fall in love.
However, I would add that Josiah treated physical intimacy with the same incredible kindness, care for my comfort, and regard that made me feel valued rather than exploited. By October, we had established our own universe within the unattainable realm that society had compelled us to inhabit.
In ways neither of us had anticipated, we were content. Everything fell apart when my father found out the truth. December 15, 1856. In the library, Josiah and I were engrossed in one another and kissed with the liberation of individuals who believed they were alone. My father's footsteps were not audible to us. I didn't hear the door open. "Ellanar."
He spoke in a cold tone. We leaped apart. guilty. Captured. Fearful. The expression on my father's face as he stood in the doorway was a mix of disbelief, rage, and something else I couldn't read. "I can explain, Father." "You have feelings for him." It is an allegation, not a question. Josiah fell to his knees right away. "Please, sir." It's my fault.
"I should never have." "Josiah, keep quiet." The calmness of my father's voice was perilous. He gave me a glance. ‘Elellanar, is this true? Do you have feelings for this slave? I may have spoken a falsehood. Could have said Josiah pushed himself on me, that I was a victim. It would have spared me while condemning Josiah to death and torture. I was unable to accomplish it.
‘Yes, I love him and he loves me. Remember that this was mutual before you threaten him. I kissed her for the first time. I went after this connection. Punish me if you're going to punish someone else. My father’s face went through a succession of emotions. Anger, incredulity, bewilderment. At last, "Josiah, please go to your room." Don’t leave it till I send for you.’
"Sir..." "Now," Josiah said, glancing back at me with agony. My father and I were left alone when the door closed. What took place after that? Everything was altered by what my father said in that study, but not in the way I had anticipated. "Are you aware of what you've done?" My dad inquired in a low voice. "I've fallen in love with a decent man who shows me kindness and respect."
You've developed feelings for property, namely a slave. Elellanar, you will be irreparably damaged if this is discovered. They will call you insane, flawed, and perverse. They already claim that I'm broken and unfit for marriage. What’s the difference?’ "Protection is the difference." I didn't give you to Josiah for this; I gave you to him to protect you.
"So you shouldn't have paired us up." Now I was yelling, letting out years of rage. "If you didn't want me to fall in love with someone intelligent, kind, and gentle, you shouldn't have given me to him." "I wanted you to be safe, not scandalous." "I'm secure." I've never felt safer.
"Josiah would perish before allowing anyone to harm me." What will happen to me after I pass away? When does your cousin inherit the estate? Will Robert allow you to maintain an enslaved spouse? On the day of my burial, he will sell Josiah and put you in an institution. ‘Then liberate him. Set Josiah free. Let's go. "We'll head north." "The North isn't some promised land."
Whether she is a former slave or not, Elellanar, a white lady with a black guy, will encounter discrimination everywhere. Do you feel that life is difficult right now? Consider being an interracial couple. "I don't care." "Well, I do." As your father, I have spent your whole life attempting to keep you safe, and I will not stand by as you put yourself in a scenario that will ruin you.
"I will be destroyed if I am without Josiah." Do you not comprehend? I'm happy for the first time in my life. I'm cherished. I am appreciated more for who I am than for what I am incapable of. And since society thinks it's wrong, you want to take that away. Suddenly, my father looked all 56 years old as he collapsed into a chair. Ellanar, what do you want me to do? Bless this? Accept it?
"I want you to know that no matter what you do, I will always love him and he will love me." Outside, silence spread between us. The windows shook in the December wind. Josiah was waiting to find out his fate somewhere in the home. When my father finally spoke, I was more stunned by what he said than by anything that had come before.
"I could sell him," my dad said. "Send him to the deep south." Make sure you don't see him ever again. My blood became icy. "Please, Father." "Let me finish." He raised a hand. "I could sell him." That would be the right course of action. Keep you apart. Act as though this never occurred. I'll find you another arrangement. "Please don't." "But I won't."
In my chest, hope wavered. ‘Father?’ ‘I won’t because I’ve seen you these last 9 months. In just nine months with Josiah, I've witnessed more smiles from you than in the preceding fourteen years. I've witnessed your growth in self-assurance, competence, and happiness, and I've seen how he views you as the most valuable thing in the world.
Suddenly appearing old, he massaged his face. "I don't get this." It doesn't appeal to me. It contradicts everything I was taught as a child. However, he hesitated. However, you're correct. I assembled you. I put myself in this predicament. It was naïve to deny that you would develop a true relationship. What are you saying, then? "I'm saying that I need time to reflect and come up with a solution that doesn't result in either of you being miserable or destroyed.
He stood. But you must comprehend, Elellanar. There is no room for this relationship in Virginia, the South, or indeed anyplace else if it persists. Are you ready to face the fact? "Yes, if it means spending time with Josiah." He gave a slow nod. Then I'll figure it out. I'll find a way, although I'm not sure what yet.
I was left in the library with a racing heart and conflicting feelings of dread and hope. An hour later, Josiah was called back. I told him what my dad had said. Overwhelmed, he fell into a chair. "He won't try to sell me." You won't be sold by him. He will assist us. "How can you help us?" "He promised to look for a solution." Josiah buried his face in his hands and let out long, trembling gasps of shock and relief.
We clung to the tenuous notion that perhaps my father would somehow make the unthinkable possible as I did my best to hold him from my wheelchair. However, nobody of us could have foreseen what would happen next. Two months later, my father made a decision that would alter not just our lives but also the course of history. My father deliberated for two months. Josiah and I lived in nervous suspension for two months as we awaited his decision.
We carried on with our daily activities, such as reading, talking, and working on the forge, but everything seemed ephemeral and dependent on whatever answer my father came up with. He invited us both to his study at the end of February 1857. Without preface, he declared, "I've made my decision." We sat across from him, myself in my wheelchair, Josiah perched on a too-small chair, both of us holding hands despite the impropriety.
My father started, "There's no way to make this work in Virginia or anywhere in the South." It won't be accepted by society. It is expressly prohibited by law. Suspicion will increase if I keep Josiah here despite his claim to be your guardian. Someone will eventually look into it, and you two will be ruined. My heart fell.
This sounded like the beginning of a breakup. "So, I'm giving you an alternative," he went on. He gave Josiah a glance. I was unable to breathe. "Josiah, I'm going to free you legally, formally with documents that will stand up in any northern court." "Ellanar, I'll give you $50,000, enough to start over, and I'll give you letters of introduction to abolitionist contacts in Philadelphia who can assist you in relocating there."
"You're... releasing him?" "Yes." "And allowing us to travel north together?" "Yes." Josiah let out a sound that was part chuckle, half sob. "Sir, I don't." "You can, and you will." "I can't." Although forceful, my father's voice was not harsh. "Josiah, you've done a better job of protecting my daughter than any white man could." You've brought her joy.
You've given her the self-assurance and skills I believed she would never have again. I'm giving you your freedom and the lady you love in exchange. "Father," I sobbed as I said. "Thank you." "Don't thank me just yet." It won't be simple. Although there are abolitionist communities in Philadelphia that will welcome you, racism will still exist. Elellanar is a white woman who is wed to a black man. Yes, I'm married.
Before you depart, I'm setting up a legitimate marriage. Many people will shun you. You'll have social, financial, and possibly physical difficulties. Do you really want this? ‘More certain than I’ve ever been about anything.’ "Josiah?" Josiah spoke with a lot of emotion. "Sir, I'll make sure Elellanar never regrets this for the rest of my life."
"I'll love her, care for her, and protect her." I promise. My father nodded. "Then we move forward." Here's what he withheld from us, though. what we would find out much later. He would lose everything as a result of this choice. The following week was hectic. Josiah's freedom papers were prepared by my father and attorneys, stating that he was no longer property and could travel without a pass or authorization.
Through a sympathetic Richmond clergyman, he set up our marriage, which was done in a small church with just my father and two witnesses. In front of God and the law, Josiah and I made vows. As I embraced my new life and paid tribute to my father, I changed my name to Eleanor Whitmore Freeman, retaining both.
Josiah married a free lady and became Josiah Freeman. On March 15, 1857, we departed Virginia in a private carriage that my father had organized. Two trunks might hold all of our possessions. Josiah took the freedom documents, clothing, books, and equipment from the forge like holy items. Before we departed, my father gave me a hug.
He said, "Write to me." Tell me you're safe. Tell me you're content. "I will, dad." I am aware of that. Ellanar, I also adore you. Go create a life now. Be joyful. Josiah gave my dad a handshake. "I'll keep her safe, sir." "That's all I ask, Josiah." "With my life, sir." We passed through Virginia, Maryland, and Delaware on our way north.
We are moving closer to freedom and further from enslavement with every mile. Josiah never stopped hoping that someone would stop us, demand his documents, or contest our marriage. But the documents were solid, and we proceeded into Pennsylvania without issue. In 1857, Philadelphia was a thriving metropolis with 300,000 residents, including a sizable free black community in areas like Mother Bethel.
We were able to get lodging thanks to my father's abolitionist contacts. A little apartment in a community where interracial couples were uncommon but not unheard of. Josiah used the funds from my father's gift to build a blacksmith business. His fame expanded swiftly. Because of his enormous stature and talent, he was able to perform tasks that other smiths couldn't.
Freeman's Forge became one of the district's busiest in less than a year. I oversaw the business side, handling contracts, maintaining accounts, and interacting with clients. Our success depended on my education and intellect, which Virginia society had considered useless. In November 1858, we welcomed our first kid. In honor of my father's middle name, we named the kid Thomas. He was flawless and in good health.
And I knew we had made the correct decision when I saw Josiah hold our kid for the first time—this kind giant holding a little infant with boundless tenderness. However, our tale doesn't stop there. What took place after that? Everything became true as we learned about love, family, and leaving a legacy. Four additional children followed Thomas.
Margaret in 1863, James in 1865, Elizabeth in 1868, and William in 1860. We raised them in freedom, taught them to be proud of both their heritages, sent them to schools that accepted black children. My legs, too. Josiah created an orthopedic device in 1865: metal braces that fastened to my legs and linked to a waist support.
I was able to stand and walk with these crutches and braces—awkwardly but authentically. I walked for the first time since I was eight years old. That day, as I stood in our house with tears running down my cheeks, I told Josiah, "You gave me so much." "You gave me children, love, and confidence."
"And now you've actually forced me to walk." "Ellaner, you always walked." He observed me as I took unsteady steps. "I simply gave you different tools." In 1862 and 1869, my father came here twice. He saw our house, our business, and our lives, and he got to know his grandkids. He saw that we were content and that his innovative solution had exceeded everyone's expectations. As required by Virginia law, he left his inheritance to my cousin Robert when he passed away in 1870. He did, however, leave me a letter.
I will be gone by the time you read this, my lovely Elellanar. I want you to know that it was the best choice I've ever made to give you to Josiah. I believed that I was setting up security. I was organizing love without realizing it. You were never unmarriageable. People were too blind to see your value. Thankfully, Josiah wasn't.
"My daughter, live well." Have joy. You are deserving of it. Love, Father. For 38 years, Josiah and I shared a home in Philadelphia. Together, we got old, saw our kids grow up, received grandkids, and created a legacy despite the unthinkable circumstances we had been placed in. 38 years to the day after we left Virginia, on March 15, 1895, I passed away.
My final words to Josiah, as he held my hand, were, "Thank you for seeing me, for loving me, for making me whole." Pneumonia rapidly stole my life. Josiah died the next day, March the 16th, 1895. Our kids understood the truth, even though the doctor said that his heart just stopped. Just as I couldn't have survived without him, he couldn't survive without me.
In Philadelphia's Eden Cemetery, we are interred together beneath a joint gravestone that says "Ellaner and Josiah Freeman." died in 1895 after being married in 1857. Love that was unattainable All five of our children had prosperous lives. Thomas went on to become a doctor. William went on to practice law and advocate for civil rights. Margaret became a teacher who educated thousands of black youngsters.
James went on to become an engineer and created structures all across Philadelphia. Elizabeth started writing. Our experience was detailed in Elizabeth's 1920 book, "My Mother, the Brute, and the Love That Changed Everything." The white woman was deemed unmarriageable by society. The individual who was enslaved was referred to by society as a savage. And how one of the most exquisite love tales of the 19th century was produced by a desperate father's unconventional answer.
Everything is documented in historical documents. Josiah's freedom documents, the marriage license, the founding of Freeman's Forge in Philadelphia in 1857, our five children—all of which are listed in Philadelphia birth records—and my increased mobility thanks to orthopedic devices—all of which are recorded in private correspondence. In March 1895, we both passed away within a day of one another and were interred in Eden Cemetery.
Published in 1920, Elizabeth's book went on to become an important historical account of interracial marriage and handicap in the 19th century. The Freeman family kept thorough archives, including letters from Colonel Whitmore and Josiah's Freedom Papers, which were given to the Historical Society of Pennsylvania in 1965. Our tale has been examined as an illustration of the history of interracial relationships and handicap rights throughout the age of slavery.
This was the tale of Josiah Freeman and Elellanar Whitmore. Due of her wheelchair, a woman was deemed unmarriageable by society. Because of his stature, society referred to this man as a brute. And the extraordinary choice made by a desperate father that provided them both with freedom, love, and a destiny no one could have imagined.
Elellanor was turned down by twelve men before her father took the unprecedented choice to sell her to a slave. Beneath Josiah's fearsome demeanor, however, was a kind and educated man who secretly studied Shakespeare and showed Elellanar more respect than any free man had ever shown. Their narrative questions preconceived notions about ethnicity, disability, and what qualifies a person for love.
Elellanar wasn’t broken since her legs didn’t work. She was powerful, intelligent, and competent. Josiah's bulk did not make him a brute. He was incredibly calm, contemplative, and lyrical. Even though Colonel Whitmore's choice was unexpected, it showed a bold realization that his daughter deserved love and respect more than social acceptance.
After releasing Josiah and providing them with resources and contacts, he moved them north to establish a life that Virginia would never permit. Because their love was so intense that neither could survive without the other, they developed a prosperous business, produced five successful children, lived together for 38 years, and passed away within a day of one another.
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