John Matthew Walker
Tiny Blush of Sunlight is inspired by the true story of a French Hugenot family that emigrated to North Carolina and took slaves with them to Ohio to set them free. The journey begins on two plantations near Charleston, South Carolina and weaves its way through many lives, until it finally reaches Ohio. The story opens a fascinating and compelling window into the antebellum lowcountry. The lives of two slaves, from very different plantations, intersect with the life of a prominent Charleston attorney. Slavery and ambivalence stand trial.
John Matthew Walker is a family physician in Indianapolis. Though he was born a Hoosier, when he was a mere 13 months old, his family moved to Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe). His father was a missionary doctor for three years before the family moved back to Indiana. John is the youngest of three sons. He graduated from Indiana University and the IU School of Medicine. He is married to his high school sweetheart, Amy (Cooprider) Walker, and they have three children, Ransford, Riley, and Julia. His children are his greatest joy. John also sings and writes music. He has two recording projects. Tiny Blush of Sunlight is his first novel.
The aging slave had not moved except to be shoved and to wince with each blow. His back was torn, with flesh exposed and blood escaping. His elbows and knees, his hands and feet were abraded from the assisted fall from the wagon. His wrists and ankles were swollen and crimson from the ropes that bound him. He was severely wounded and it looked as though he would not survive, even without further beating. Despite his pain, he stood. Despite bound hands and feet, he stood. He stared for just one instant at the man holding the whip. His eyes spoke to the man as if to say, “Coward. Beat the poor old dying slave who’s tied and defenseless.” Then he turned to Mr. Sheldon.
Samuel Sheldon had known this slave for many years. He had been a gift from his father some fifteen years before. He didn’t know him like he would know a friend or a neighbor. He knew him as a farmer would know his livestock, not as a child would know a lamb, but as a cattleman would know a heifer within his herd of a hundred or more. He didn’t even know the man’s name. To Samuel Sheldon slaves were slaves, and the only way to keep it that way was to be inhuman and indifferent. If a slave was treated with respect, it would create confusion among slaves, and it might give them hope. He couldn’t allow them any hope. They had to know slavery as their destiny, their life. There could be no hope beyond that. He would see to it. He strove fiendishly to maintain their ignorance and exhaustion; otherwise, they might organize and revolt, or they might gain greater sympathy from uninvolved citizens. He took morbid pleasure in purchasing slaves from different tribal backgrounds and tongues in order to stifle their communication with one another. He felt quite confident and content with his oppressive ownership. He smiled and chuckled to himself when others would say, “Sam certainly knows how to handle a slave. He gets every bit of life out of ‘em. He works ‘em like no one I’ve ever seen.” But he didn’t anticipate the jar to his ownership that this old slave could bring.
Sheldon fully expected to hear a fearful plea for mercy. He expected the nameless slave to fall at his feet and babble through tears and moaning. He expected to hear an unintelligible distortion of English and tribal phrases. Instead he was met with a surprising dignity and determination. The tower of human will stood before him incarnate in a dying slave. Deep in his eyes glowed the fire of the human spirit, a free spirit.
“You do not know my name. Your children call me ‘Ray’. My name is Rufaro Muzurehwa. I have worked for you fifteen years. All this time I have been your slave.”
Rufaro struggled for a moment to remain standing, then he looked into Samuel Sheldon’s eyes once again. He stretched forth his bound hands, looking at them and then back to Sheldon. He then continued, “You can see that I am bound by these ropes, and you can see that I am bleeding. What you cannot see is who I am.
