He thought of the people who would be lost, the ones who cried, “Lord! Lord!” Pretending to be holy, pretending to love God, but breaking God’s greatest commandments.
Nat Turner forced his feet to keep moving. This would be his last harvest. No turning back. He was the instrument of God’s judgment. It was not his will—he was no more than an axe in the hands of God. He had surrendered his choice. “And that servant, which knew his lord’s will, and prepared not himself, neither did according to His will, shall be beaten with many stripes.” The yoke of Jesus was upon him. He had surrendered ten years ago.
No turning back. It was the sure and righteous judgment of the Lord. He moved faster now. No birds, no dogs barking, only the steady sound of Nat Turner’s breathing and of his feet pounding the earth. Conviction grew with each step.
The witnesses, dressed in white, came to him then as he ran. They sang to him, swirling around him. “Remember Mother Easter.” He saw her gray hair and her eyes reddened with tears. So many tears. So many broken hearts. The witnesses sang laments about Cherry, about Charlotte, and about his mother. They reminded him of the children who had been violated and stolen. The murdered ones. They showed him the bleeding, cracked young feet and the calloused, tormented hands and feet of the elders—hands that had scrubbed and plowed too much, feet that had seen too many fields. So many tears. So many broken hearts. They sang him requiems of those who had been betrayed, like him, their hopes slaughtered.
“What is the price of a man’s dignity?” they sang, whispering in his ears. “What is the cost to generations that follow?” They showed him black people—ivory, pecan, ebony—weeping and praying. Most he did not know. Then they showed him Mother Easter again, this time asleep on the floor. He felt her bones aching and heard her heart weeping. He could hear her murmuring prayers as she slept, begging for rescue. Other voices were added to hers, so many he could not decipher the words, but he understood their meaning.
They reminded Nat Turner that he was God’s son chosen to do this special work. They reminded him of the reward promised him. Blessed and holy is he that hath part in the first resurrection: on such the second death hath no power, but they shall be priests of God and of Christ, and shall reign with Him a thousand years.
Thrust in thy sickle, and reap: for the time is come for thee to reap; for the harvest of the earth is ripe. The witnesses sang a sad hymn of summer harvest.
For afore the harvest, when the bud is perfect,
and the sour grape is ripening in the flower,
he shall both cut off the sprigs with pruning hooks,
and take away and cut down the branches.
They shall be left together unto the fowls of the mountains,
and to the beasts of the earth: and the fowls shall summer upon them,
and all the beasts of the earth shall winter upon them.
He was breathless now and looked up at the unmoving indigo sun. Then Nat Turner clawed through the bushes in front of him and stepped out onto the edge of the waters of Cabin Pond.
The sad-eyed girl, Charlotte, was waiting there for him.