She Was Deemed Unmarriageable—So Her Father Gave Her to the Strongest Slave, Virginia 1856

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A Love Beyond Boundaries: The Story of Elellanar Whitmore and Josiah Freeman

In the year 1856, in the heart of Virginia, a story unfolded that would challenge the very fabric of society. My name is Elellanar Whitmore, and I was a 22-year-old woman deemed “damaged goods” by the standards of my time. Since a tragic riding accident at the age of eight, I had been confined to a mahogany wheelchair, custom-made by my father, Colonel Richard Whitmore, who owned vast lands and enslaved people. Society viewed my condition as a burden, a mark of shame that rendered me unmarriageable.

Twelve suitors had come and gone, each proposal arranged by my father, yet all had rejected me for reasons that cut deep. “She can’t walk down the aisle,” they would say. “My children need a mother who can run after them.” Each rejection felt like a dagger to my heart, reinforcing the belief that I was unworthy of love. The rumors spread; some even speculated about my ability to bear children, despite the fact that I had never been examined by a doctor. I was not just disabled; I was deemed defective.

Then came the day when my father, in a moment of desperation, made a decision that would change everything. “I’m giving you to Josiah,” he said, his voice steady but resolute. “He’ll be your husband.” I was stunned. Josiah? The blacksmith? My father was suggesting that I marry an enslaved man? The very idea was unfathomable. “Father, Josiah is enslaved,” I whispered, my heart racing.

“Yes, I know exactly what I’m doing,” he replied, and in that moment, I realized my father was not just trying to find me a husband; he was trying to protect me from a society that had already deemed me unworthy.

Josiah was known as “the brute,” a towering figure at seven feet tall, with muscles honed from years of labor at the forge. People feared him, believing his size made him dangerous. But what I would soon discover was that beneath his intimidating exterior lay a gentle soul, one who would change my life forever.

The following day, my father brought Josiah to meet me. As he entered the room, he ducked slightly to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe. His presence was overwhelming, yet his eyes were filled with a quiet humility. I could see the scars on his hands, evidence of hard work and hardship, but it was his voice that struck me. “Yes, miss,” he said softly, acknowledging my father, yet unable to meet my gaze.

My father explained the arrangement, and I could sense the confusion in Josiah’s eyes. “Do you understand what my father is proposing?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Yes, miss. I’m to be your husband,” he replied, but there was a sadness in his tone that resonated with me. We were both trapped in circumstances beyond our control.

After my father left us alone, we sat in silence, the weight of our situation pressing down on us. I finally broke the ice by asking if he would like to sit. He hesitated, unsure if the delicate chair could bear his weight. “I don’t think that chair would hold me, miss,” he said, and I realized how different our worlds were.

As we talked, I discovered that Josiah was not the monster society had painted him to be. He was intelligent, having taught himself to read in secret, despite the laws prohibiting education for enslaved people. He spoke passionately about the literature he had read, including Shakespeare. Our conversations flowed easily, revealing our shared humanity. In that moment, I began to see him not as a burden or a brute, but as a man of depth and kindness.

Days turned into weeks, and our lives intertwined in ways I had never imagined. Josiah cared for me with respect and dignity, helping me with tasks that others would have deemed too intimate. As we spent more time together, I found myself drawn to him in ways that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. I was falling in love with the man society had deemed unworthy.

One evening, as we sat in the library, Josiah’s voice resonated with warmth as he read poetry aloud. “A thing of beauty is a joy forever,” he recited, and I felt my heart swell. I wanted to tell him how I felt, but the fear of our reality loomed over us. “Josiah, I think I’m falling in love with you,” I finally admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes widened, and for a moment, the world around us faded. “You can’t,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “If anyone knew…” But I interrupted him, “I don’t care what people think. You see me for who I am, not the wheelchair or my disability.” He took my hand, his grip gentle yet firm, and I knew in that moment that we were bound by something greater than societal norms.

Our love blossomed in secret, and for five months, we lived in a bubble of happiness, careful to maintain the facade of duty. Yet, our joy was short-lived. One fateful day, my father walked in on us, and everything shattered. “Elellanar, is this true? Are you in love with this slave?” he demanded, his voice icy.

In that moment, I had a choice: to protect myself or to stand by the man I loved. I chose love. “Yes, I love him, and he loves me,” I declared, defying the expectations of my time. My father’s face twisted with disbelief, and he sent Josiah away, leaving me alone to face the consequences.

What happened next was unexpected. My father, seeing the bond we had formed, realized that his radical decision had led to something beautiful. “I could sell him,” he said, but then he paused, recognizing the truth in my words. “You’ve fallen in love with property, with a slave,” he stated, but he also acknowledged the happiness I had found.

After two months of deliberation, my father made a decision that would change our lives forever. He would free Josiah and provide us with the means to start anew in the North. “You’ll have to face prejudice, but if it means being with Josiah, are you prepared for that reality?” he asked. “Yes,” I replied without hesitation.

On March 15, 1857, we left Virginia as a married couple, our love defying the boundaries society had imposed upon us. The journey to Philadelphia was filled with hope and uncertainty, but we were determined to build a life together. In our new home, Josiah opened a blacksmith shop, and I managed the business side, proving that my education was valuable after all.

As the years passed, we welcomed five children into our lives, each one a testament to our love and resilience. Josiah designed an orthopedic device that allowed me to walk for the first time since my accident, and together we created a life filled with laughter, love, and purpose.

Our story became one of triumph over adversity, challenging societal norms and redefining what it meant to be a family. My father’s radical decision to unite us had not only changed our lives but had also created a legacy that would inspire future generations.

In 1895, as I lay on my deathbed, I held Josiah’s hand, knowing that our love had transcended the boundaries of race and disability. We were buried together, side by side, in Eden Cemetery, forever united in a love that defied all odds.

Our children grew to lead successful lives, making their mark on the world. And in 1920, our daughter Elizabeth published a book titled “My Mother, the Brute, and the Love That Changed Everything,” ensuring that our story would never be forgotten.

This is the story of Elellanar Whitmore and Josiah Freeman—a love that conquered societal barriers, a testament to the power of human connection, and a reminder that true love knows no bounds.