She was deemed unfit for marriage, so in 1856 her father married her to the strongest slave, Virginia.

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I hated his reasoning. “Can I see him?” Talk to him, really, before we make this decision on our own? “Of course.” Tomorrow.

The next morning they brought Josiah home. I was sitting by the living room window when I heard heavy footsteps in the hallway.

The door opened and my father entered, then Josiah had to bend down, literally, to squeeze under the doorframe.

Oh my, he was huge! He was almost two meters tall, muscular and well-built, his arms barely touching the doorframe, and his hands bore the burn marks of a forge that looked like it was crushing rocks.

He had a wrinkled face, a thick beard, and his eyes looked around the room, paying no attention to me.

He stood there with his head slightly bowed and his hands clasped, in the pose of a slave in a white house. The nickname “Beast” was more than deserved: he looked like he could tear a house to pieces with his bare hands.

Then my father spoke: “Josiah, this is my daughter, Elilapar.” He looked into my eyes for a moment, then looked back at the ground.

“Yes, sir.” His voice was surprisingly soft, deep, yet calm, even gentle. “Elilapar, I explained the situation to Josiah.” He understands.

“He’ll take care of you.” My voice returned, albeit shaky.

“Josiah, do you understand what my father is proposing?” He gave me another quick glance. “Yes, miss.” I will be your husband. I will protect you, I will help you.