Free... But Not Yet Free”

Galveston, Texas – June 19, 1865.

Clara stood barefoot at the edge of the field, her hands still stained from cotton. The sun beat down, same as always. But today, something was different.

A soldier rode into town. Not like the ones she’d seen before—this one wore blue, and beside him was a man reading from a paper. General Order No. 3.

“The people of Texas are informed that, in accordance with a proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves are free…”

The words hit harder than any whip. Clara didn’t cry. Not yet. She looked over at her mother, whose back had bent over a thousand harvests, and her younger brother, too young to remember their father, sold off two winters ago.

 Free. The word didn’t seem real. Not after years of waiting. Not when the man who owned them didn’t flinch, didn’t speak. Just walked back into the house.

And yet—Clara exhaled. Her first breath as something more than property.

Freedom had finally found them. Late, but it found them.

And from that moment on, she decided: she would tell the story every year.