April 1791

On the Ohio River, near Louisville, Kentucky

Sophia cast a squinting glance through the early morning mist across the swift yet smooth currents of the Ohio River. Only the wake of the ferry carrying them and all their worldly belongings disturbed the otherwise peaceful waters as they made this last major crossing on their way north to a country as unknown to them as it remained unknown to any person from back home in Virginia. On the maps she and Isaac had seen, the words "Northwest Territory" seemed at the same time both enticing and uncertain. But there, Isaac assured her, was freedom: freedom from the life of slavery they had known until now, freedom to start their own family and make a life all their own, where prejudice, they hoped, would not always be snapping at their heels.

The ferry jolted to a stop, rousing Isaac out of his sleepy contemplation. Without a word he jumped up and stepped over a trunk to help the ferryman. "It's only a snag in the line," Isaac said, glancing back at his wife over his shoulder.

As Isaac and the ferryman worked to free the line, Sophia mused on just how blessed she was to be married to such a man as her husband. Even in the still-growing morning light the muscles on his arms stood out clearly as he hauled on the rope and deftly shunted baggage to the side, carefully maintaining the trim of the flat-bottom ferry in the water. Blacksmithing had not just made him lean and strong, but it had also earned them the money to make this trek possible. She had lost count of how many days off Isaac had hired himself out to save up money to buy their homestead as soon as he was free. Here, now, she finally began to believe that it would be worth it. Her husband now strained under the weight of a heavy load alongside a white man, but Isaac now did it freely. It was a moment she did not think she would soon forget.

Yet for all his physical vigor—and he remained in excellent physical condition compared to others his age—Sophia always regarded Isaac's intellect as his finest quality. He could barely write his own name, that was true, but reading and writing were skills that few slaves ever acquired. Nevertheless, her husband had been excellent with numbers and was a problem-solver like no one else. His ability to get to the root of a difficulty and find a solution proved itself once again as he and the ferryman had freed the ferry's line and were once again floating steadily toward the bank.

Upon reaching the northern side, Sophia helped Isaac wheel their cart off the ferry and onto the muddy ground of the river bank. Although the skies were clear now, a heavy rain over the past few days had done its work, ensuring that the roads--if one could call them that--were sure to be slow-going, if not altogether impassable. So it was with no small amount of reluctance that she helped Isaac hitch himself into the harness that connected to the cart on which they had packed and tied down their things.

She had tried to convince him to spend some money to buy an old draft horse in Lexington. "There's no sense in treating yourself like an old pack mule, Isaac. We have the money and it will make things easier now and when we get where we're going."

But he had insisted: "I'll be fine and we'll need that money later."

"For what?" she had asked.

"I don't know what for, exactly. But that's not the point. Money will be scarce to come by for a while, so we need to have a little saved up."

"I suppose," she had allowed, although her tone of voice had implied otherwise. And now that they finally found themselves on this side of the river—the "freedom side" Isaac called it, where slavery could not follow them—Sophia's reluctant acquiescence to her husband's decision not to buy the horse seemed more hard-headed than ever. She had never been afraid to work with her hands, but the prospect of helping Isaac pull this cart out of muddy ruts and ditches until reaching their homestead seemed foolish in light of how easily they could have avoided it. She jingled the few remaining coins in their money bag, but Isaac pretended not to notice.

"We have a good way to go today. Best not wait around here too long," Isaac said.

Sophia nodded and joined hands with her husband. Together they lifted their faces to the scarlet-stained clouds in the eastern sky and prayed a simple prayer of thanksgiving for their crossing. "And Lord," Isaac concluded, "since thou hast brought us safely thus far to this land of freedom, we put our trust in thee to keep us safe in days to come, no matter what we may face, because thou art our shelter and hiding place in the storms of life, the rock to whom we cling for safety. Amen."

With that, Isaac put his shoulders to the harness and started the cart rolling north. Sophia had thought to herself that with this crossing the hardest part of their journey to freedom was ended. Yet Isaac's prayer had reminded her that leaving slavery behind did not mean leaving behind every kind of trouble. Talk all over Louisville seemed brimming with stories of Indian raids against settlers—white settlers, Sophia noted—and neither she nor her husband had ever worked an entire farm by themselves. They had never thought they were embarking on a life of ease, but these hardships were ones they had chosen for themselves, not ones that had been imposed on them against their wills. That gave Sophia hope and as she tramped through the mud alongside the cart, she smiled and began to sing one of Isaac's favorite hymns. Isaac joined in and Sophia knew that she had made another memory that would never leave her.