Boston
1856
Harriet had thought she wanted to listen; she had thought she was ready. She had thought she had the courage to hear.
But she felt accused. She felt angry. She had done nothing wrong.
She had given her life and sacrificed her reputation working to abolish slavery. The guilt and anger she felt was not rational. She did not create slavery. She owned no slaves. She tried to help, had risked her life and reputation to help. But she felt guilt just the same, and Harriet wanted it to stop.
“How could you know this?” The anger in her voice surprised her. She felt it, but she had not wanted William to know. “You were in the Great Dismal Swamp, were you not?” She was embarrassed by the cynicism that laced her voice but not embarrassed enough that she could control it. “You were not there! How could you know this?” She did not call William a liar, but she wanted to believe he was. It would have been easier than feeling what she felt. She had done nothing, but she felt convicted.
William was calm. “There were others there. There are always those who go unnoticed—as long as they do not move too suddenly, as long as they are quiet. The truth is carried on whispers and birds’ wings.
“There were even those in the courtroom who wanted the truth known.”
Harriet thought of William Parker, the lawyer who acted as Nat Turner’s defense attorney, and she recalled the mysterious letter that had sent her on her most recent journey.
Harriet’s hand shook when she lifted her teacup. Though she fought it, everything within her felt convicted. “I feel as though you are attacking me, Mr. Love.” She rested the jittering cup back on its saucer. “All white people are not responsible. I did not create slavery. All white people are not evil.”
“I only speak the truth of what happened.”
“But Nat Turner was a murderer!” Harriet was surprised at the bitterness in her tone. “You try to paint him as a hero.”
William nodded. “Why is it so hard for you to allow us a hero?”
“I hardly think ‘hero’ describes Nat Turner.”
“Because he took up arms?” He shook his head.
It was the same thing she had felt before, a kind of quiet antagonism, as though William were angry with everyone. His aggressiveness and senseless anger sparked hers; she had done nothing to him. She did not deserve to feel guilty.
“You wanted to know the truth,” William said.
Somehow she could not help feeling as if she and her family had played some part in forcing Nat Turner to be who and what he had become.
Now William reached out and touched her hand. Harriet was stunned by what appeared to be kindness in his dark eyes. “We can stop.”
She pulled her hand away and then wiped at the tears on her face.
“It is not easy or pleasant for any of us. That is why we must work hard to end it.”
“I didn’t do it!” Harriet wept.
He nodded. “Still, all of us must work to clean up the mess. Part of ending it is facing the truth.”
Harriet dabbed at her face. “Forgive me.”
William shrugged and shook his head. “We may stop,” he repeated.
“Continue,” she said, and then braced herself.