THE GREEN LINE
Written and Narrated by Kenneth Howard Smith
Produced for SDC Audiobooks, a unit of SDC OmniMedia Group
“Well, I guess I have to get on with my story, don’t I?”
This is Kenneth Smith. Kenneth Howard Smith.
And believe it or not, what I’m doing here is telling you a story about The Green Line. It’s more than what one might expect—a blend of fact and fiction, history and heartache. A story drawn from the marrow of real people who once walked this earth and shaped its conscience, long before any of us came along.
It began, as many tales do, with a woman.
Her name was Hattie Roland Green—or, as the records show, Hattie Robinson Roland Green. She lived in Boston at the turn of a century when the city’s cobblestones still echoed with carriage wheels, and when the weight of one’s name could decide the course of a life.
But Hattie’s tale is not just hers—it winds through her husband, her home, and one forbidden love that changed the line forever.
Chapter One: The House on Beacon Hill
In 1838, Lord Thomas Courtney Green, an English-born gentleman with old money and a wandering eye, inherited a tall brick home on Beacon Hill. The house looked east toward the harbor, where the fog would roll in each morning and hide the ships that fed the city’s hungry ambition.
Thomas Green was a scholar, a drinker, and a man who fancied himself misunderstood. He had a wife, Hattie, with grace enough for two people—and pride enough for ten. Together they had two children: Elizabeth, the eldest, sharp as her mother; and Edwin, the younger, born with the quiet dignity of a thinker.
But beneath the fine silver and polished manners, the Green household held secrets.
Among the servants was Hannah, a young mulatto woman whose mother had been a free black seamstress and whose father was rumored to have been a merchant from Charleston. Hannah’s beauty was the kind that didn’t ask for attention but carried it, like the scent of lilacs in spring. She worked for the Greens—quiet, capable, loyal—and for a time, invisible.
Until she wasn’t.
Chapter Two: The Affair
Lord Thomas noticed her first in the kitchen one evening while the family was away. She was humming an old hymn, sleeves rolled up, a strand of hair fallen loose against her cheek. He asked her name again as though he’d forgotten.
“Hannah,” she said, without looking up.
That name lingered with him.
Days turned into evenings stolen at the edge of candlelight, where words grew into touches and promises into something unspoken but deeply known. Thomas, in his weakness, convinced himself it was love. Hannah, in her heart, hoped it might be mercy.
When she learned she was with child, the walls of that grand house seemed to close in on her. She told him quietly one night, trembling not from fear but from knowing what the world would do with such a truth.
He swore he would protect her. But protection, like love, can be a coward’s promise.
Chapter Three: The Reckoning
When Hattie Green discovered the affair, it was not from gossip, but from the sound of Hannah’s crying through the floorboards. Hattie had always been proud—Boston society demanded it—but she was not cruel. Still, betrayal cuts differently when it comes from under your own roof.
Thomas was sent away that night. His trunks were packed by the butler; his carriage rolled down Beacon Street by dawn. Hattie watched from the window, her jaw set in iron.
But she did not cast out Hannah.
To her, the child—born of sin, yes, but also of her husband’s blood—belonged to the lineage whether anyone wished it or not. “If he is a Green,” she said, “then he shall be raised as one.”
And so, when the doctor signed the birth certificate, it read:
Father: Lord Thomas Courtney Green.
Mother: Hannah Robinson.
Child: Edwin Truman Green.
Hattie named the boy herself.
Chapter Four: The Green Line
The years passed quietly after that. Hannah continued in her duties, though now treated as more than a servant, less than an equal. She lived in a small chamber near the nursery so she might nurse her son, while Elizabeth and young Edwin—the elder siblings—grew up learning to share their toys with the boy their mother never spoke of but never ignored.
Boston society whispered, of course. They always did. But the Green family carried on—stiff-backed and silent.
Lord Thomas never returned. Some say he went west, chasing fortunes in the mining fields. Others claim he died at sea. Whatever truth there was, he vanished from the record, leaving only the scandal and a son who bore his eyes.
Hannah, for her part, raised the boy with patience and quiet strength. She taught him to read by lamplight and to pray in whispers. She told him, “Don’t ever be ashamed of your name. The Green blood runs deep, but so does the Robinson heart.”
Chapter Five: Love, Legacy, and Forgiveness
As the decades turned, the children of the Green household grew and scattered. Elizabeth married a lawyer from Philadelphia. Edwin, the legitimate son, became a schoolteacher. And young Edwin Truman Green, the boy born in scandal, became a man of conscience—a bridge between two worlds that Boston never wanted to meet.
He fought for the rights of the forgotten, gave sermons in small churches, and later traveled south to teach newly freed children how to read. Wherever he went, he carried with him the story of his mother’s grace and his father’s weakness—and he turned them both into strength.
When Hannah died, the elder Hattie Green attended her funeral. No words were spoken, only a nod—one woman acknowledging another who had endured the same man and the same world in different ways.
Hattie lived long enough to see Edwin Truman’s first book published: “The Green Line: A History of Family, Freedom, and Forgiveness.”
And that is how this story came to me.
Because the Green Line was never about wealth or legacy—it was about the invisible thread that binds all of us: the quiet strength of women, the stubborn hope of love, and the truth that forgiveness often outlives the people who need it most.
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