Nat Turner ran through the forest, holding his son’s hand. Laughing, they came to a quiet clearing and rested. They searched the brush for sweet berries, finally finding some ripe blackberries.
As they ate, Nat Turner pointed out birds to Riddick. “Listen to their calls.” He pointed to two nearby. “There is a blue jay. And over there, an indigo bunting.” The tiny bird flitted about, showing off its plumage, and flew away.
He took his son’s hand and then led him to his fishing stream in the Great Dismal Swamp. “Listen to the forest,” he told Riddick, and they walked deeper within.
Nat Turner had hoped to one day share his Hebron, his place of refuge, with his son. He had hoped that one day they would be free together. He hoped that the captors would repent and there would be no need for war.
When he was discouraged, when he was tired, the dream gave him comfort. But that was before the eclipse, before the indigo sun. Before the war began. Before he surrendered.
Now he sat at Peter Edwards’s table looking across at James Parker. The younger man had been silent for most of the inquisition, but now Parker’s chin trembled and his face strained white as his knuckles. “Nat Turner, you accuse us of intending to do harm.”
Nat Turner read hurt and indignation on James Parker’s face. He smiled at Parker. The young man looked to be the same age as he. In another life, in another time, they might have been friends. “You are angry with me, but I say to you, thank God for those who trouble you. Be thankful for the thorns in your side. Fear the day when you no longer tolerate those who speak against you. Fear the day when you no longer feel at all.”
James Parker was insistent. “I have no malicious intent. I intend to harm no one.”
“You do not think evil, you only do evil.”
“My family is good to you people! We are criticized for being too good to you! I won’t stand here and allow you to dishonor us!” Parker continued his defense. “Perhaps life would be better for all without slavery. But who would farm the land? I won’t allow you to accuse my family of evil. We intend no harm. We have done all we can do! What do you want from us?”
“The thief who steals without regret is still a thief. Your ignorance to the harm you cause does not mean that you are faultless. Right in front of your eyes are murderers, rapists, sadists, and thieves. You are among them, but you don’t see it, you don’t want to see. Pray to God that He will help you see.
“Wrongdoers who see and grieve are blessed indeed”—Nat Turner nodded his head toward Trezvant—“even though others might mock him for wanting to change.”
Parker’s face was still flushed. If Parker could not hear him now, maybe he would hear and understand the words later. “If your heart aches when you think of what you have done, then fall to your knees, turn from evil, and give thanks.” Nat Turner looked deeply into James Parker’s eyes, blue eyes, looking for the life within him. “I do.”
Nat Turner sighed as he remembered Cherry and his son walking behind Giles Reese’s horse after they were sold to him. He remembered the pain that brought him to life, the pain that helped him to hear God. “We must ask Him to help us to cry, to ache, so that we might repent and turn.” Parker was trembling now, and Nat Turner could not be sure whether it was anger or deep sorrow. “I pray that you do not refuse the gift. Repent and turn.
“Haven’t you read the prophecy? Our Father will be brokenhearted and long for His children who are taken captive and scattered all over the earth. When we return, He will welcome us home. Haven’t you read the prophecy? Those you steal and sell into slavery will someday rule over you.”
Nat Turner continued to focus on James Parker. “Soon will come the time of sifting. Do you have the courage to stand against the wicked ones, to stand with those who are your brothers in spirit?”
Trezvant snarled. “I will die before I see you niggers free. Your little insurrection has only served to unite all white men against you. Every white man, even the abolitionists, will stand with us.”
Trezvant reached out his right hand and laid it on Parker’s shoulder. “He is a wily serpent. Do not let the devil deceive you. If he is a preacher, he is the devil’s preacher. Don’t allow this serpent to poison your mind. God said the niggers were to be our slaves. God spoke the words, not you or I.”
It was men like Trezvant, like Nathaniel Francis, who deceived. God said all nations, but men like them said only white. “You are the serpent, Trezvant. You seek to hide in the Old Testament, knowing there is no slavery under grace. But if you hide in the Old Testament, God’s Old Testament judgment will find you.
“God did not curse us; He loves us all. All the law and the prophets hang on love. Every lesson, every truth in the Bible, like sunshine through the leaves, must be filtered through love. Only man would hang the law on something as meaningless as skin color. God’s Word rests on love.
“God knows who His children are. Anyone who does not love his brother is not a child of God.”
Nat Turner turned to look directly at Parker. “God says that we are brothers, one blood, adopted into one family. Trezvant says that you should only love white men. Who will you believe? Who will you follow? For the sake of skin color, will you follow him to hell?”
Trezvant stomped his feet and whistled now. “You are a slippery-tongued devil. But all your going on has not helped your case in the least. You will hang. Slavery will live!”