In Ethiopia weddings lasted seven days. There were feasts and prayers, and priests playing timbrels, dancing, and beating on drums. Nat Turner imagined that he and Cherry were marrying in his mother’s way. In Ethiopia, he would not have been able to marry her if she was his cousin within seven relations. He would not have been able to marry her if he could not pay the bride-price. How would he have ever hoped to pay for and marry such a woman?
Her eyes were hope’s promise, and when she smiled and said his name, he knew that God loved him. Nathan Turner knew, when he breathed in Cherry, that God knew his name. When she, his wife, snuggled onto his lap, he knew that everything his mother had told him about Ethiopia was true.
The skin on her legs was hairless, smooth, and cool, but the tips of his fingers felt fire. She wrapped around him like brown ribbon. Her kinky hair was his pillow. She made him more of who he was than when he was alone.
At night she entwined one leg with his and slid her fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck. In the dark, he saw fireflies. When they were alone, Cherry sang him made-up songs. “My love is prince of Ethiopia,” and Nat Turner, Negasi, forgot where he was.
When he was with her, they were clouded in silks and there was gold on their fingers. There were roses and orchids, spices and sunsets. In the distance he watched elephants and giraffes promenade, and zebras, leopards, and antelope lope by. When he was with Cherry, he left Virginia far behind.
Ethiopia was a paradise, and her colors kissed the sky. Her mountains bore the sweetest fruit, and all her valleys were myrrh. Stars crowned her head, and flowers kissed her feet; she lived in the midst of a rainbow. Solomon bowed at her beauty, and the Nile was the cradle and the birthplace of all life. Cherry was a garden, and Africa lived in her hair.
WHEN TEN FULL moons passed, Cherry bore their first son, Riddick.
In the woods, far away from the barn and underneath the moonlight and the boughs of trees loaded with spring blossoms, Cherry moaned as Riddick fought his way into the world.
Not far away, but as though she were in Ethiopia, his mother prayed ancient prayers in Amharic and sang songs her mother had taught her. She lifted prayers to protect and comfort Cherry, to welcome the baby into the world.
Nat Turner held his baby in his arms, his son, his tiny son. Tiny perfect fingers curled around one of his own. Brown eyes full of wonder looked into his—eyes that believed him, that trusted him, that thought he was a king.
He kissed his son’s forehead and kissed his hand. “Things will be different for you,” he whispered to Riddick. He kissed his precious son and then slowly lifted Riddick to present him to the village, to his ancestors far away, and to God.
Beside Nat Turner, his mother spoke words and sang songs to honor her grandson, Amharic words forbidden in America. Born today is the son of nine generations of warriors! Born today is the son of eleven generations of prophets! Born today is the son of eight generations of wise women! The son of ancient fathers who walked with Abba Selama! Behold their aspects bloom in him!
Nat Turner lowered his son to his shoulder. “I promise. Things will be different for you.” He enfolded Riddick in his arms. “On my own life, I promise you a better one. On my own life, I promise you a better way.”
Cherry was a quiet wife, and he hoped no one would notice her with the scarf around her head and her rags on. He did not talk about her to others because he wanted to keep her for his own. Riddick was a quiet baby, and Nat Turner kept him close. He was quiet with his family; he did not want others to notice them.
But he knew. They had already taught him. A slave could not have anything.
NAT TURNER LOOKED across the room at Cherry and, though it was winter, he smelled apple blossoms. She bent over the stove in the kitchen, helping with Christmas dinner. Watching her, her brown hands and sweet brown face, still did the same things to him. When she combed her hair, when she smiled, when she touched his hand, she still took his breath away. As he was to his mother, she was his shame and his glory.
He came back to do the will of God. But in truth, he also came back for Cherry. He came back to never leave her, to be a man who would never abandon her, no matter the cost.
His presence was his sonnet to her. She read it; he could see it in her eyes. He came back for her and for his son.