She was deemed unfit for marriage.

“Josiah.”

Josiah’s voice was thick with emotion. “Lord, I will dedicate the rest of my life to ensuring that Elellanar never regrets this. I will protect her, I will provide for her, I will love her. I swear it.”

My father nodded. “Then let’s proceed.”

But here’s what he didn’t tell us. Something we would only discover much later. This decision would cost him everything.

The next week was a whirlwind. My father worked with lawyers to prepare the documents that would free Josiah, declaring him a free man, no longer property, able to travel without permits or authorizations. He arranged our wedding through a compassionate pastor in Richmond, who performed the ceremony in a small church with only my father and two witnesses in attendance.

Josiah and I took our vows before God and the law. I became Eleanor Whitmore Freeman, keeping both surnames, honoring my father and embracing my new life. Josiah became Josiah Freeman, a free man married to a free woman.

We left Virginia on March 15, 1857, aboard a private carriage my father had arranged. Our personal effects were carried in two trunks: clothes, books, tools from the forge, and the freedom papers that Josiah carried with him as sacred objects.

My father hugged me before leaving. “Text me,” he said. “Let me know you’re okay. Let me know you’re happy.”

“I will, Father. I… I know… I love you too, Ellanar. Now go and build a life for yourself. Be happy.”

Josiah shook my father’s hand. “Lord, I’ll protect her.”

“Josiah, that’s all I ask.”

“With my life, sir.”

We traveled north through Virginia, Maryland, and Delaware. Every mile took us further from slavery and closer to freedom. Josiah expected someone to stop us, ask for our papers, question our marriage. But the papers were valid, and we crossed the Pennsylvania border without incident.