She was deemed unmarriageable, so her father married her off to the strongest slave, Virginia, in 1856.

“He will be responsible for your care.” My voice returned, though trembling.

“Josiah, do you understand what my father is proposing?” He glanced at me again quickly. “Yes, young lady.” I will be your husband. I will protect you, I will help you.

“And you agreed to this?” He seemed confused, as if the concept of consent was foreign to him. The choir boy added, “I had to, miss.” “But do you really want this?” The question sent shivers down his spine.

His eyes met mine, dark brown, surprised and gentle, and his face was helpless. “I… know what I want, Mistress.” I am a slave. I have no habits. The truth is harsh and fair.

My father closed the door and said, “Perhaps it would be best if we spoke alone. I’ll be in my study.” Then he left and closed the door, leaving me alone with the enormous seven-legged slave who was to be my husband. We didn’t speak for hours.

Finally I asked him, pointing to the chair in front of me, “Do you want to sit down?”

Josiah glanced at the delicate piece of furniture. He lifted the embroidered cushions, then looked down at his enormous frame. “I don’t think this chair will hold me, ma’am.”

“And then the sofa.” He sat down carefully on the edge. Even sitting down, he was considerably taller than me.

His hands rested on his knees, and each finger was a small, hardened, and visible nodule.

“Are you afraid of me, ma’am?” “Should I be?” “No, ma’am.” I won’t hurt you, I swear. “I’ll call you a monster.” I shuddered. “Yes, ma’am.” Because of my size and because I look terrifying.

I’ve never hurt anyone, but that’s obvious. “But you can, if you want.” “I can,” she looked at me again, “but I won’t.” Not for you. Not for someone who doesn’t deserve it.

Something in her eyes—sadness, resignation, a sweetness that didn’t match her appearance—convinced me. “Josiah, I want to be honest with you.” I don’t want this any more than you probably do. My father is desperate. I’m not marriageable.

But if we’re going to do this, I need to know: Are you dangerous? “No, ma’am.” “Are you cruel?” “No, ma’am.” “Are you going to hurt me?”

“Absolutely not, ma’am.” I swear on everything I hold dear. The seriousness was undeniable; I believed what he said. Then I have another question.