But here’s what no one knew. Here’s what I was about to find out. Josiah was the kindest man I’d ever met.
My father called me into his study in March 1856, a month after Foster’s refusal. A month after I had stopped believing I would ever be different on my own.
“No white man will marry you,” she said bluntly. “That’s the reality. But you need protection. When I die, this inheritance will go to your cousin Robert. He’ll sell everything, give you a pittance, and leave you dependent on distant relatives who don’t want you.”
“Then leave me the estate,” I said, even though I knew it was impossible.
“Virginia law doesn’t allow it. Women can’t inherit independently, especially not…” He pointed to my wheelchair, unable to finish his sentence. “So what do you suggest?”
“Josiah is the strongest man on this estate. He’s intelligent. Yes, I know he reads secretly. Don’t look so surprised. He’s healthy, capable, and, from what I’ve heard, kind despite his size. He won’t abandon you because he’s legally obligated to stay. He’ll protect you, provide for you, take care of you.”
