Chapter One (3)
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I know there were some folks at Fort Dodge who thought it was mighty peculiar that a white woman and her boy would be accompanied on the lonesome trail east by a big black man. A few of the ladies tried to talk my mother out of going, telling her that to do so would most certainly lead to some horrible kind of violation of her person.
The captain would hear none of it. “Luther is a good man—why, I would trust him with my own wife and child,” he told my mother. “You needn’t worry about what any of those clucking hens say.”
Years later, my mother told me the trip to Lawrence from Fort Dodge—a distance of almost three hundred miles—took about...
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