A LETTER TO ISABELLE

A LETTER TO ISABELLE

Dear Isabelle,
My name is Jefferson Luther. Your grandchild who happens to be my mum told me about your extraordinary bravery in fighting for my future. I saw your picture in the attic upstairs and I wished i could touch your soft body before you passed away. I have looked and observed your picture times without number and I see that my long prickled nose my dark eyeball and my anger were bequeathed unto me.
Your walk against slavery has been my bedtime stories since I knew how to pronounce a two letter word. ‘it was a cold morning’ Mama had narrated ‘unusually cold, it was the time that white round objects fell from the sky and it hung on everybody’s brows, Isabelle – your great-grandmother was about forty then, she still possessed the strength of someone much younger or much older, Mr Collins came with his favorite soldier and a small boy who happens to be his son – Alfred. Mr Collins said with his thick voice that scared everybody except Isabelle, that a girl has refused his son – Alfred, the calmness of his loins’ I remembered how i squeezed my face and how disgusting it felt, but Mama said you kept your sanity throughout the trying time.
‘Mr Collins tried to let his son have the pleasure of an eight year old girl in the presence of others, but Isabelle stood up for them and struck the kid in his ankle. The boy cried for a long time and Isabelle’s strength left a lasting impact on the ankle. Of course Isabelle was led out of the cell and then to the gallows to be beheaded. Alfred groaned from his bed, and the little boy’s eyes was reddened. At the last minute of being beheaded, Alfred stopped the execution and ordered Isabelle a forty-year old woman to visit his chambers’
I could no more listen to this terrible experience of yours and how much you hold dear our freedom, but the people you fought for have misunderstood your reason for fighting, and in their heart they have become our tormentors.
Grandmother, I admire your bitter work and all the days your sweats watered the ground. The cloud of our kinsmen were dark while they stare at clear clouds to survive. These things you endured to make my joy something worth being grateful for.
I love you Grandma, and let your stories of bravery continue to inspire thousands of souls even as you lay six feet under.

Yours sincerely,
Jefferson Luther.
Your great grandson.

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