Her children. Seven of them, including a set of twins, and a boy that died at 18 months.
Above all, Harriet Beecher Stowe is a mother, and certainly one who is unafraid to appeal to the very hearts of other mothers. Here she is talking directly to us in Chapter 7:
If it were your Harry, mother, or your Willie, that were going to be torn from you by a brutal trader, to-morrow morning, – if you had seen the man, and heard that the papers were signed and delivered, and you had only from twelve o’clock till morning to make good your escape, – how fast could you walk? How many miles could you make in those few brief hours, with the darling at your bosom, – the little sleepy head on your shoulder, – the small, soft arms trustingly holding on to your neck?
As I read this, I had to resist the urge to strap my babies in the jogging stroller, take the school-aged boys by the hand, throw the preschooler onto my back and head out for a training run. Christine, bring the Garmin – I want to know how fast and far I can go to protect my children.