Sarah Marshall was born into slavery in 1832. She married James Boone in New Bern, North Carolina, when she was fifteen. Sources are unclear how they obtained their freedom, but they were able to relocate to New Haven, Connecticut before the start of the Civil War. There, they raised eight children. She worked as a dressmaker. He laid brick until his death in the 1870s.
In her work, she saw the need for an ironing board that would aid in her care and maintenance of women’s dresses. Before the invention of the ironing board, women simply ironed clothes either on a board laid across the backs of two chairs or a table. At the age of 60, dressmaker Sarah Boone’s invention was created “to produce a cheap, simple, convenient and highly effective device, particularly adapted to be used in ironing the sleeves and bodies of ladies’ garments.”
While she did not create the ironing board, her device improved upon it by adding a padded surface and a smaller rounded end. It was also collapsible, so you can see how her improvements led to the ironing board in use today. The wording of the patent indicates that the invention had the potential to be adapted for men’s clothing. She received her patent in 1892 making her the second African-American woman to receive a patent.
She lived in New Haven not far from Yale University for the rest of her life and attended the Dixwell Avenue Congregational Church. She died in 1904 and is buried in Evergreen Cemetery. This PBS station did a very nice piece on her. You can view it here: https://www.pbs.org/video/engineering-behind-ironing-board-dqh4ly/.
A slave at fifteen. A patent holder at sixty. When you hear people harping on age being detrimental instead of an asset, tell them about Sarah Marshall Boone.
For a $10 chance at an Amazon gift card share your thoughts on Sarah’s life or ageism.
Better To Marry Than to Burn
Freed Man seeking woman to partner in marriage for at least two years in the black township of Douglass, Texas. Must be willing and able to help establish a legacy. Marital relations as necessary. Love neither required nor sought.
Excerpt:
“Our children?” She swiveled in her seat. “You made no mention of wanting children, just marital relations as necessary. I understood that to mean intercourse.”
“I wrote I wanted to leave a legacy.”
“A legacy. Not a dynasty.”
“Legacy. Dynasty. Is there really so sharp a distinction?”
“To my mind there is. I understood you meant to affect future generations—endow schools, found churches, create civic associations. I didn’t realize that meant children. I agreed to having sex, not having children.”
 “Of course I want children.” His brows grew heavy as he frowned. “Doesn’t having sex lead to having children?”
“Not with the right precautions.”
His frown deepened. “Precautions?”
“There are many ways to prevent your seed from taking root, Mr. King.”
“I want children, Mrs. King.”
Her lips twisted and her brow furrowed, but she kept her silence.
“All right,” she said. “You can have children with any woman you like. I won’t stop you. I free you from any claim to fidelity.”
“Legacy—or dynasty if you will—means legitimacy. No bastard will carry my name, not when I have a wife to bear me children.”
Born enslaved in 1848, Susan Baker and her uncle escaped from slavery in 1862. They ended up with hundreds of other former slaves on St. Simons Island off the coast of Georgia. From the age of seven, Susie had been educated in secret schools and thus could teach others. She even used her literacy to write passes for blacks making it safe for them to travel safely after curfew. Because of these skills, she was able to open a school teaching children by day and adults at night on St. Simons. This made her the first African American woman to open and teach at a free school in Georgia. All at the age of fourteen.
She married Sergeant Edward King, a black officer in the 33rd US Colored Infantry and helped nurse and equip the soldiers while also continuing to teach the illiterate to read and write. In Beaumont SC, she met and worked with Clara Barton at a hospital for African-American soldiers. She did this work in the army for four years without pay.
In 1866, she and her husband’s service in the military ended. They moved to Savannah where she opened a school for African American children. However, a new public school provided too much competition, so Susie’s school had to close. That same year her husband died. Now widowed and supporting a small child, she worked as a domestic for a wealthy white family who took her to Boston in 1870. She eventually moved to Boston in 1874, remarried and lived there with her second husband, Russell Taylor, until she died in 1912.
Susie dedicated much of her time to the Woman’s Relief Corps, an organization she helped form for female Civil War veterans. She served as its president in 1893. She also fought against a group called the Union Daughters of the Confederacy who were trying to rid the mention of slavery from school curriculums. Unfortunately, the whitewashing of history around the issue of slavery is neither new nor relegated to Florida.
She self-published Reminiscences in 1902, making her the first and only African American woman to print a Civil War memoir about her wartime experience. She ends the memoir on this positive note, “In 1861 the Southern papers were full of advertisements for ‘slaves,’ but now, despite all the hindrances and ‘race problems,’ my people are striving to attain the full standard of all other races born free in the sight of God, and in a number of instances have succeeded. Justice we ask—to be citizens of these United States, where so many of our people have shed their blood with their white comrades, that the stars and stripes should never be polluted.”
It never ceases to amaze me how resilient and resourceful women like Susie Baker King Taylor were. Neither age, race nor gender proves to be a barrier for long. I continue to be inspired and encouraged by their examples. For a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card, comment below on Susie’s life.
“The Spirit to Resist” by Michal Scott from Hot & Sticky: A Passionate Ink Charity Anthology
A woman may be made a fool of if she hasn’t the spirit to resist, but what does she do if, for the first time in her life, being made into a fool is exactly what she wants?
Excerpt from “The Spirit to Resist”…
The festivities ended. Everyone helped with collecting bowls, spoons and ice cream tubs. Harold reached for the tub of chocolate Florence handed him. Emboldened by hope, he held onto her hand before she reached for another vat.
“Maybe an old-fashioned bareback trot on Harold Too might be more to your liking than a ride in William’s car?”
“You had all summer to approach me. Now you declare yourself at this late hour.” Florence fisted her hands on her shapely hips. “I don’t throw people over.”
“Of course not.” Harold’s hope died. He spread his hands in apology. “I beg your pardon.”
William stepped forward. Florence closed her eyes and sighed. The sound set hope fluttering in Harold’s spirit once more.
“Actually, it’s more than a ride I’m offering. Once alone, I’d hoped to show you something different, something pretty special.” He angled his head so his words slid into her ear. “Something just for you.”
She glared at him, but interest radiated in its heat. At least she wasn’t insulted.
William offered his arm. He grinned like a cat licking cream from its paws. “Shall we?”
Florence took it and headed with him for the door.
“See you at Thanksgiving, Harold,” she called over her shoulder then suddenly looked back. “Next time don’t be so late out of the gate.”
Harold groaned. Thanksgiving? He’d have to wait three whole months before he had another chance to challenge that irresistible vanilla?
“I was practically driven to Rome in order to obtain the opportunities for art culture, and to find a social atmosphere where I was not constantly reminded of my color. The land of liberty had no room for a colored sculptor.”
Thus, Edmonia Lewis was quoted in the December 29, 1878, New York Times‘ article: “Seeking Equality Abroad. Why Miss Edmonia Lewis, the Colored Sculptor Returns To Rome – Her Early Life and Struggles.” While saddened by the familiar story of trials and tribulations faced by African Americans in this era, I am nevertheless heartened that Edmonia Lewis refused to let adversity keep her down.
Born on July 4, 1844 of African-American and Native American heritage, Edmonia was orphaned by the age of nine, but had two aunts and her half-brother Samuel to care for her. Samuel struck it rich in the California Gold Rush and was able to finance her education. She attended New York Central College from 1856-1858 then Oberlin College in 1859 where she was one of 30 students of color. A white mob, believing she had poisoned two students, beat her and left her for dead. Exonerated of those charges, she was later accused of stealing paint brushes and a picture frame. Even though cleared again, the college refused to let her re-enroll for her last term in 1863, thwarting her chances to obtain her degree. In 2022, Oberlin awarded her a degree.
She relocated to Boston in 1864, where she received the patronage of abolitionists like William Lloyd Garrison. Sculptor Edward Brackett became a mentor and helped her to set up her own studio. She sculpted and sold images of famous abolitionists on medallions made of clay and plaster. Her first real success came from the bust she created of Colonel Robert Shaw, the white officer of the all-black 54th Massachusetts Infantry Civil War unit.
She traveled to Europe and settled in Rome by 1866. While there, she created one of her most famous works, The Death of Cleopatra. It was shipped back to the US and displayed at the Centennial Exhibition in 1876. In 1877 while in Rome, Ulysses S. Grant commissioned his portrait from her. Edmonia remained in Rome where she could work without always having to combat the hostility of being Black and Catholic.
Life in Europe was no paradise, however. Sexism against female sculptors, regardless of race, was rampant. Nevertheless, Edmonia established herself and created pieces that included, but were not limited to, African-American and Native American themes. Her neoclassical style of sculpting fell out of favor in the 1880s, and Edmonia fell into obscurity. She moved to London in 1901 and died there on September 17, 1907. You can learn more about her and see her work on this website: https://edmonialewis.org/
Unfortunately attacks these days on opportunities to enable modern day Edmonia Lewises to emerge make her 1878 NYT quote still relevant. For a chance at a $10 Amazon Gift card, leave a comment on Edmonia’s life or on someone who you know persevered despite discrimination.
“The Spirit to Resist” by Michal Scott from Hot & Sticky: A Passionate Ink Charity Anthology
A woman may be made a fool of if she hasn’t the spirit to resist, but what does she do if, for the first time in her life, being made into a fool is exactly what she wants?
Excerpt from “The Spirit to Resist”
Florence lifted her face into the cool of the night and gazed at the stars. The breeze’s gentleness put her in mind once more of Harold’s sweet entreaty.
It’s just that I’d hoped to show you something different, something pretty special. Just for you.
The remembered words caused her nipples to pucker.
From here she could see the Edwards pavilion. It loomed surprisingly stately, given its frivolous purpose. She remembered her silliness with Harold over that tub of strawberry ice cream. A smile twisted her lips. What different, pretty special something had Harold planned just for her?
In her mind’s eye, she recalled control in that woman’s eyes back at Mrs. Wanzer’s. From memory, she reheard the sounds of pleading in the man’s grunting and groaning. The scene reaffirmed what she always believed. For sex to be satisfying, there had to be an exchange of power. Until she found a partner who believed this, too, she’d be a vanilla until her dying day.
She gazed toward the Edwards pavilion again. A similar exchange happened between her and Harold when she teased him. He enjoyed receiving her taunts as much as she enjoyed delivering them. They shared a mutual respect whenever they spoke, whenever they caught one another’s eye, even when no teasing occurred.
He’d had something planned for her tonight. Something different. Something pretty special. Something just for her. What might that something be? Something that said Harold, like Madison Dugger, respected the power of the cunt?
What is it with the media and ageism? I will turn 67 this year and I bristle when some commentator denigrates President Biden for being 80. Gray Panthers unite! I guess the media hasn’t heard 80 is the new 60. So to those who view seniors through a negative lens I’m using this Juneteenth to celebrate 95-year old Opal Lee, the Grandmother of Juneteenth.
On June 19, 1865, enslaved African-Americans in Galveston Texas learned they had been free since the 1863 Emancipation Proclamation. Born October 7, 1926 in Marshall, Texas, Opal fondly remembered the games and food of her community’s Juneteenth celebrations. She also remembered a June 19th in 1939 when a white mob burned her family’s home, forcing them to relocate to Forth Worth. She earned her Bachelor of Arts degree in 1953 from Wiley College. She received her Master’s degree in counseling and guidance from North Texas State University in 1963. She retired in 1977 from her work as a home/school counselor.
With forty years of community activism under her belt, Opal made it her mission to have Juneteenth celebrated as a national holiday. In 2016, she started a walking campaign comprised of walks 2.5 miles long to represent the 2.5 years it took for enslaved African-Americans in Galveston Texas to finally learn they had been freed by the 1863 Emancipation Proclamation Act. She accepted invitations to walk in cities all over the country. These walks ended in 2017 in Washington D.C. where she presented her petition of over one and one half million signatures. Rep. Sheila Jackson Lee from the 18th district of Texas co-sponsored a bill to make Juneteenth a federal holiday. President Biden signed that bill in 2021, making Juneteenth, June 19th the nation’s 12th federal holiday.
Honors and tributes poured and continue to pour in for the retired schoolteacher. Hers is the second portrait of an African American to hang in the Texas state house. Her alma mater University of North Texas bestowed an honorary doctorate upon her. This year, Philadelphia declared June 5th Opal Lee Day.
But not one to rest on her laurels, Opal’s walks continue because work still needs to be done. She told an NPR interviewer that Juneteenth is not just a Texas thing or an African American thing. It’s about freedom. “As long as there’s homelessness and joblessness and things some people get that others can’t, climate change that we are responsible for, as long as we don’t address these things, we aren’t free.” She is working on establishing the National Juneteenth Museum in Fort Worth. You can check out Opal’s continuing activities on her website: https://www.opalswalk2dc.com/about.
So, the next time you hear someone make an ageist remark, think of Opal Lee and all the other remarkable seniors who don’t let age stop them from changing the world. For a chance at a $10 gift card leave a comment about Opal’s story or about a senior in your life whom you admire.
“The Spirit to Resist” by Michal Scott from Hot and Sticky: A Passionate Ink Charity Anthology
A woman may be made a fool of if she hasn’t the spirit to resist, but what does she do if, for the first time in her life, being made into a fool is exactly what she wants?
Excerpt from “The Spirit to Resist”
He scooted closer so his lips brushed her ear. “I’ve got a viewing room booked at Mrs. Wanzer’s. You have heard of Mrs. Wanzer’s?”
His breathy syllables coiled in Florence’s ear with serpent-seducing slyness. A jolt of arousal skittered across Florence’s labia.
“Of course I have.” Florence firmed her lips. Who didn’t know about Mrs. Wanzer’s and what went on there? Or at least, imagined what went on there.
William huffed on his nails and polished them against the lapel of his jacket. “Bet there’s a lot of knowledge you could glean there.”
An arousing but annoying friction roiled Florence’s sex at the possibility. No one spoke of Mrs. Wanzer’s except behind hands covering salacious whispers. What she wouldn’t give to have firsthand experience about sex rather than book knowledge.
“Are you vanilla enough to take advantage of this once in a lifetime offer?”
A wet yes pooled between her legs. She scrutinized William. Was this really a chance to gain the firsthand knowledge she wanted? Or was this serpent, like the one in the Garden of Eden, using knowledge of her desire to his own end?
William shrugged. “But you’re heading back to Brooklyn tomorrow,” he said in a tone heavy with resignation. “Having to pack will, I’m sure, curtail any time you’ve got for real schooling.”
He stood then turned to leave. She grabbed his arm and forced him to face her.
When I learned how Charlotte E. Ray engineered her success, the old Brylcreem hairdressing advertising slogan came to mind, “A Little Dab’ll Do Ya.” Her use of initials rather than her full name allowed Charlotte to attend the male-only bastion of Howard Law School, graduate in 1872, and eventually become not only the first African-American female lawyer in the United States, but the third American woman of any race to earn a law degree.
One of six children born to Charlotte Augusta Burroughs and Rev. Charles Bennett Ray, Charlotte was born in 1850 in New York City. Charlotte’s family enrolled her in one of the few schools at the time that educated girls, the Institution for the Education of Colored Youth in Washington D.C. There Charlotte took teacher training which enabled her to enroll as a teacher trainee at Howard University.
In 1869, she taught at Howard University’s Prep School, the Normal and Preparatory Department. Knowing of their law school’s bias against women, Charlotte applied to the law department as C.E. Ray. Her stratagem worked, and she was accepted. There is some dispute about whether or not this story is true, but from what I’ve read about her, I believe it. While pursuing her law studies, she continued teaching at the prep school. In 1872 she was the first woman to graduate from the law school. She specialized in commercial and corporate law. After passing the bar exams, she became the first woman admitted to the bar to practice in the District of Columbia and the first African-American woman lawyer in the US.
In 1875, Martha Gadley, an African-American woman whose petition for divorce from an abusive husband was denied, decided to appeal the decision and hired Charlotte Ray to represent her. Ray argued the case before the District of Columbia Supreme Court and won. This victory however could not overcome the discrimination against African-Americans and women Charlotte faced, and she had to close her practice by 1879. She moved back to New York and became a teacher in Brooklyn.
Besides her law practice, Charlotte participated in social justice movements of her day. She attended the National Woman Suffrage Association’s (NWSA) annual convention in New York City in 1876, and she joined the National Association of Colored Women (NACW) in 1895.
Records show she married in 1886 and became Charlotte Ray Fraim but had no children. In 1911, she died of bronchitis in Woodside NY.
I never cease to be amazed at how the women of this era refused to be cowed by societal expectations. Charlotte Ray’s victories are now recognized and celebrated. I’m glad her little stratagem enabled her to get what she strove for.
For a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card, leave a comment on Charlotte’s life or on the life of any woman you know who let a little stratagem do her.
“Take Me To The Water” by Michal Scott from Silver Soldiers
SILVER SOLDIERS: A BOYS BEHAVING BADLY ANTHOLOGY will satisfy the reader who craves stories with older alpha male heroes—those salt-and-pepper hotties with crow’s feet earned through rugged training and years of combat. Former soldiers finding their footing after their first careers, or current soldiers nearing the end of their military careers. They’re ready to find the right partner to put down roots, ones who aren’t afraid of scars and rough edges.
Excerpt from “Take Me to the Water”…
That pitiable wreck of a man wasn’t her Ambrose.
Older, grayer, leaner, of course. She was older, grayer, leaner, too.
But the figure hunched in that corner of Douglass Fellowship Hall wasn’t her Ambrose.
Her Ambrose had never hidden, never cowered, never shunned attention even though he’d never sought it.
What had prison done to him? What had all these years of absence done to him? Why had she received no answer to her letters? Why had he stayed away when he had been released?
He’s not your Ambrose anymore. That’s why.
She closed her mind to that lie. In his eyes—despite the pain and sorrow etched on his face—she saw her Ambrose.
In whom she’d always taken her delight.
How many Christmases ago had it been when their bodies had become one, when their souls had soared, when their future had been assured? How many had passed since she’d learned of his release? How many had she stood in this window and waited for him to come back to her?
To come back home.
For hadn’t that been what he and she were to one another? What he and she had claimed to be for one another the night he’d left to fight in the West?
Harriet was born Harriet Adams on March 15, 1825 of mixed-race heritage in Milford New Hampshire. Her mother was an Irish washerwoman. Her father was of African-American and Indian heritage and made barrels. Orphaned by her mother after her father’s death the courts made Harriet an indentured servant to the Hayward family until she was eighteen. In 1851, she married a sailor, named Thomas Wilson and bore a son named George. Wilson died at sea and Harriet and her son went to live on the county Poor Farm.
Not without resources, in 1857 she produced and sold a line of hair care products which her ads claimed to be the real thing for anyone looking to have good hair. Unlike Annie Malone and Madame C.J. Walker, Harriet’s products weren’t targeted only to African-Americans. From 1860 to 1861 she was able to distribute along the east coast by partnering with a white druggist.
Two years later, she wrote an autobiographical novel, Our Nig, in order to make money for her sick son’s health care. He died in 1860. With the advent of the Civil War, her sales dwindled when her partner sold his business.
By 1867, she had become known in Spiritualist circles as “the colored medium. The Boston Spiritualist newspaper, “Banner of Light,” called Harriet “Boston’s earnest and eloquent colored medium.” From 1867 through the 1880s, she spoke all throughout New England at camp meetings, spiritualist conventions, in theaters, meeting houses and in private homes throughout New England. Her speaking engagements often placed her on programs alongside other medium/spiritualists like Cora L.V. Scott and Andrew Jackson Davis. Harriet also made house calls and held medical consultations as a Spiritualist nurse and healer (“clairvoyant physician”).
She married again in 1870, this time to a pharmacist named John Gallatin Robinson. The marriage ended in 1877 although no divorce has been recorded. From 1879 to 1897, Harriet worked as the housekeeper of a boardinghouse in the South End of Boston where she rented out rooms, collected rents and provided basic maintenance.
On June 28, 1900, Hattie E. Wilson died in Quincy Massachusetts at the Quincy Hospital.
Today, Harriet is best known for “Our Nig; or, Sketches from the Life of a Free Black,” published in September 5, 1859 anonymously by a firm in Boston. The cover page of Our Nig reads “Our Nig, Sketches from the Life of a Free Black in a two-story white house, North, showing that slavery’s shadow falls even there.” It was felt because of her critique of Northern racism the book did not do well as Uncle Tom’s Cabin published in 1852. The rediscovery of Our Nig by author/historian Henry Louis Gates brought Harriet into prominence in 1981. He declared hers was the first novel written by an African-American woman. This has been debated because Our Nig is said to be more autobiographical than fiction. The novel is in the public domain and can be read for free here: https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/584/pg584.html
In any case, once again I learned another woman proved she would not be hemmed in by the limitations placed on her by society because of her race and gender.
For a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card share your thoughts about Harriet in the comments.
“Take Me to the Water”
by Michal Scott from Silver Soldiers
SILVER SOLDIERS: A BOYS BEHAVING BADLY ANTHOLOGY will satisfy the reader who craves stories with older alpha male heroes—those salt-and-pepper hotties with crow’s feet earned through rugged training and years of combat. Former soldiers finding their footing after their first careers, or current soldiers nearing the end of their military careers. They’re ready to find the right partner to put down roots, ones who aren’t afraid of scars and rough edges.
Weeksville Third Baptist Church glistened and glittered in 1880’s homemade Christmas regalia. Beribboned holly swags and fragrant pine cones infused the sanctuary with seasonal joy. Seasonal joy that missed the mark with Ambrose Stewart.
He remained ramrod-straight in the last pew despite the minister’s personal invitation for Ambrose to come forward for prayer. He refused the offer with a smile and a shake of his head.
The choir sang the hymn of invitation.
Take me to the water to be baptized.
He winced as the song took him back to that night when he and Hephzibah had sung those words to each other in a wonder-filled coupling of cock and pussy.
Several penitents came forward and stood before the smiling minister as the song continued.
None but the righteous shall see God.
Grumbling and gasping parishioners glared at Ambrose with get-on-with-it-stupid expectation.
“What’s he waiting on?”
“You’d think a disgraced, court-martialed soldier would be the first to go forward for forgiveness.”
Ambrose ignored them. He knew how not to be worn down by peer pressure. He’d only come to church hoping to find Hephzibah.
Hephzibah.
Her name meant “my delight is in her.”
His delight had always been in her. Of all days, he’d felt sure she would come to church the Sunday after Christmas.
When Abraham Lincoln met Harriet Beecher Stowe, he is quoted as saying, “So you’re the little woman who wrote the book that started this great war.” While Uncle Tom’s Cabin stirred the hearts and minds of many against slavery, Mary Ellen Pleasant struck an actual blow against it.
Born free in 1814, Pleasant was brought to Nantucket to work as an indentured servant for the Husseys, an abolitionist Quaker family in whose store she developed a knack for business. While with the Husseys, Mary encountered the blacks of Newtown who grew into a prosperous middle-class thanks to the whaling industry. She married James Smith, an abolitionist who identified as Hispanic. They hobnobbed with the abolitionists of Boston and helped runaways get to Canada. Upon Smith’s death, Mary inherited a sizable fortune and continued her work as a conductor on the Underground Railroad. In 1848, she married John Pleasants, a former slave and abolitionist who worked with her for twenty years against slavery.
She moved to San Francisco during the gold rush of 1849 and created wealth as a commodity trader, a money lender, and owner of businesses like laundries and lodgings and the Bank of California. She continued her abolitionist activities by using her money to help slaves escape from their masters who brought them there. Her ultimate contribution to the cause of ending slavery came in 1858 when she went to Canada and gave John Brown $45,000, $1.3 million in today’s dollars, for the raid on Harper’s Ferry. She laid claim to being the author of the note found on him when he was executed. She dictated an account of this in 1904’s How A Colored Woman Aided John Brown.
Her fight for civil rights in San Francisco continued when she brought two racial discrimination suits against streetcar companies in San Francisco, both ultimately settled in her favor. She established black schools and fought for the repeal of Jim Crow laws, earning her the nickname, “The Mother of Human Rights in California.” In his book Black Fortunes, Shomari Wills shares how she amassed a fortune of $30 million dollars, making her one of America’s first black millionaires.
It never ceases to amaze me how women like Mary Ellen Pleasant used the skills they had, in her case, the talents of a cook and domestic with a keen eye for business, to make life better not only for themselves but for others as well. Being a philanthropist was just a way of life.
In Black Fortunes, I learned her last days weren’t free from the drama racism wreaks upon the lives of pioneers like her, but thanks to this video done on her by a local San Francisco TV station during Black History month she at least has been given her due for posterity…
For a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card, leave a comment on what you think about Mary Ellen’s life.
Better to Marry than to Burn
Wife Wanted: Marital relations as necessary. Love not required nor sought…
A bridal lottery seems the height of foolishness to ex-slave Caesar King, but his refusal to participate in the town council’s scheme places him in a bind. He has to get married to avoid paying a high residence fine or leave the Texas territory. After losing his wife in childbirth, Caesar isn’t ready for romance. A woman looking for a fresh start without any emotional strings is what he needs.
Queen Esther Payne, a freeborn black from Philadelphia, has been threatened by her family for her forward-thinking, independent ways. Her family insists she marry. Her escape comes in the form of an ad. If she must marry, it will be on her terms. But her first meeting with the sinfully hot farmer proves an exciting tussle of wills that stirs her physically, intellectually, and emotionally.
In the battle of sexual one-upmanship that ensues, both Caesar and Queen discover surrender can be as fulfilling as triumph.
Excerpt:
Why would a woman of obvious education and means be willing to brave the hardships of life out West as an ex-slave’s mail order bride? With grave ceremony, he withdrew, unfolded, and then read the letter.
Dear Mr. King,
My name is Queen Esther Payne. I read your ad and found your inquiry both refreshing and intriguing. I stand five feet six and weigh one hundred forty pounds. All of my six brothers will attest that I am no wallflower and do not fear hard work. Also as I come from one of the most respectable families on Lombard Street, my Philadelphian stock guarantees I have the ability and the requisite knowledge to help you establish a legacy in Douglass. I can commit to the two years you require, provided the marital relations are limited to the “as necessary” stated in your ad. I am willing to negotiate if more than two years are required.
I have only had relations with women, so you need not fear I will fall in love with you. Thus your “love neither required nor sought” dictum proves no obstacle. However, my woman-loving-woman proclivities may disqualify me in your eyes. If so, I await your refusal. If not, I anticipate your proposal.
Sincerely,
Queen Esther Payne.
Caesar read and reread the line again.
I have only had relations with women, so you need not fear I will fall in love with you.
His Emma had only known women too until she united with him. Could fate be so kind as to smile upon him twice?
Two years later, she wrote an autobiographical novel, Our Nig, in order to make money for her sick son’s health care. He died in 1860. With the advent of the Civil War, her sales dwindled when her partner sold his business.
