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

“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

“And you consented to this?” He looked confused, as if the concept of consent was foreign to him. The choirboy 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 kind, and his face was helpless. “I… know what I want, Mistress.” I’m a slave. I have no habits. The truth is harsh and just.

My father closed the door and said, “Perhaps it would be better if we talked alone. I’ll be in my study.” Then he left and closed the door, leaving me alone with the enormous seven-legged slave who would become 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 were resting on his knees, and each finger was a small, hardened, 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 shivered. “Yes, ma’am.” Because of my size and because I look terrifying.

I’ve never hurt anyone, but it’s obvious. “But you can, if you want.” “I can,” he 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 softness that didn’t match her appearance—convinced me. “Josiah, I want to be honest with you.” I don’t want him any more than you probably do. My father is desperate. I’m unmarriageable.

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

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