All that remains of the once thriving town is a statue of abolitionist John Brown. Behind the stone statue, the ghosts of buildings; bits of brick and wood form the outline of walls which was once Western University, the first college for African-Americans west of the Mississippi. Beyond the university, a stone platform overlooks the ruins of the town, rolling down the bluff towards the wide brown river below.

Moving past the platform, my friend and I amble through the overgrown grass, the June sun blaring in the late-afternoon sky. We wander down the embankment, finding a stone foundation in one spot, three brick walls in another. We read that there was a church, a brewery, a school, a hotel in the town.

Forged from the crucible of slavery, Quindaro formed as a place for those opposed to slavery to live and thrive. A pebbled embankment made for the perfect spot for ferries to unload immigrants, workers from the Northeast, and others who wanted to settle in a territory free from slavery.

Farther down river, where the muddy Missouri and Kaw rivers joined, enslaved people would cross the river in small rowboats, on rafts, or a secret nighttime ferry to a stop on the Underground Railroad. Three miles of rushing water between enslavement and freedom.

As we move down the grassy knoll, past the cemetery (still active today, fresh flowers arrayed on a new grave), I search for signs of my great-great grandfather’s farm. Fleeing famine, he chose to move here, to a town of immigrants, free Black citizens, and members of the Wyandot nation. Here, he brought his bride, farmed this new soil, raised a family. Here, he settled.

Crossing the sea in a ship’s belly 
crossing the river in a tiny canoe. 

Arriving as a town roots, blooms, 
flowers for freedom, then rapidly wilts 
as men leave for war, fortunes decline. 

First free town, then ghost town, now ruins. 

*Author’s Note:

Through research into my maternal family, I learned my great-great grandfather settled in Quindaro, Kansas, a place I had never heard of despite growing up across the river in Kansas City, Missouri.

—Short-listed Finalist in MacQ’s Cheribun Challenge #2

Marceline White

is a Baltimore-based writer and activist. Marceline’s writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Atticus Review, The Ekphrastic Review, The Indianapolis Review, The Orchard Review, Prime Number, trampset, and others. Fellowships and conferences include Aspen Words, and Tupelo Truchas. Her work was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2022 and 2023. When not writing, Marceline can be found serving her two cats and telling her son to text her when he arrives at the party.

Read more at her website: https://marcelinewhitewrites.com