Solomon - Marilyn Bishop Shaw Florida Historical Fiction for Youth

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at the debris. “You want to make some choices for yourself and you think he can’t see that.”

      “I guess,” Solomon muttered. He stopped working. “Mr. Pete, how come you see things so clear?”

      “Well,” Pete laughed, “it’s not because I’m so smart. Maybe it’s that I’m on the outside looking at both of you. You and Moses are just too close to each other and your own feelings to see the whole picture. That’s all.”

      “I wasn’t trying to get out of work, truly I wasn’t. I just knew Sudie and Sunny needed me. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew.”

      “I understand, and I think your Papa does, too. Try to be patient with him, Solomon. It’s the hardest thing of all for a father to see his child move away in growing up.”

      Lela checked the chicken coop. Moses went directly to the field to see if anything was still standing. There was damage all right, but at least it hadn’t all washed away. Luckily, it was late enough in the fall that much of the corn had already been picked. Lela had followed Moses and put a reassuring hand on her husband’s arm. “Oh, Moses, thank God you didn’t listen to my complaining about building the corn crib first.” Moses took her under his arm and she continued, “You knew just what we needed most, didn’t you? And there I was complaining because I had to haul more palmettos for that roof than we even used on the house. If we didn’t have it to keep the corn, I don’t know where we’d be.”

      “I just hope the crib kept dry.” Most of the fodder stacks they hoped to use as winter feed for the mules were twisted and lying in the mud. “Without the fodder, that corn’s gonna have to feed three people and two mules all winter. Won’t be good, but it be food, I guess.”

      Solomon had looked into the corn crib, which stood next to the mule pen, and shouted that it looked a little damp, but not damaged. Lela felt Moses relax as he asked her, “The chickens?”

      “All there, thank the Lord. Wet and mad but all there. Soon as they get over being mad, they start layin’ again. At least we won’t starve as long as we can get a few eggs most every day.”

      They leaned into each other, glad to be clear of the danger. “How about our food in the house, Lela? We lose much?” Moses asked hopefully.

      “Oh, Moses, I can’t be sure. Some is ruined and it’ll make things harder when the cold comes, but we’ll find enough to eat.”

      “That’s my Lela,” Moses said wrapping his big arms around her protectively. “You can find a rainbow in a storm and make food out of nothin,’ cain’t you, girl?”

      In seconds, the wind swirled from a new direction and began regaining speed. Lela and Moses looked at each other in confusion. Then they looked for Solomon, who had raced from mule pen, to chicken coop, to the far edge of the field just happy to be out of the house. No sooner had Moses raised his hand to call Solomon than a bolt of lightning drowned out his voice.

      The sound made Solomon look and he ran toward his parents, who were watching him as they moved toward the house. Pete came from behind the house to report what he had found there when another bolt of lightning zipped down the middle of a pine at the edge of the cornfield. Half the tree remained oddly vertical as the other half crashed to the ground just as Solomon approached the spot. All three adults raced toward him, calling his name, knowing he couldn’t possibly hear them over the noise of the lightning and its crashing damage.

      Lela’s mind moved in slow motion and she wondered why she couldn’t make her body move fast enough to get to her baby. In reality, her body must have moved like the increasing winds, because she reached the tree first. “Solomon! Solomon! It’s Mama! Can you hear me, baby?” Pete and Moses hurdled the tree to find the dazed little boy groaning softly.

      At least the boy wasn’t pinned under the trunk or a main limb of the tree. “He all right, Lela,” said Moses. “I thinks he all right.”

      Moses and Pete didn’t stop to think as they ripped limbs off the tree top to get to the boy. Pete reached him first and checked for broken bones. “Solomon, can you hear me? It’s Pete, and your Mama and Papa are right here. Can you hear me?” The boy wanted to respond, but only moaned again. As Moses knelt beside his son, Pete’s quick hands were testing arms and legs from top to bottom. “I don’t think anything’s broken, Moses. I can’t be sure, but I think the tree just knocked him down. Maybe knocked the breath out of him. I don’t think it really hit him directly.”

      “Can we move him?” Moses had seen hurt people moved on boards with their heads roped still. If Solomon was badly hurt, he didn’t want him hurt worse by moving him.

      Pete surveyed the sky again and shouted directions to Moses. Slowly, carefully, they pulled Solomon free of the tree and its web of branches. Then, they lifted him onto two pine limbs held close together. As the men carried him to the house, Lela continued the inspection Pete had begun. Her worst discovery was a nasty gash at the top of her son’s forehead that moved into the hairline. Solomon’s blood dripped a trail all the way across the yard, and she knew the bleeding would have to be stopped before she could do anything else for her boy. By the time they reached the house, the rain and wind had returned more powerfully than before. The large raindrops awakened Solomon and his eyes tried to focus on his father, who was carrying the pine poles at his feet. “Papa? That you, Papa?” he whispered.

      “It’s me, boy, I be right here.” Moses had never heard a sweeter sound than his son’s voice at that moment. The boy heaved a weak sigh and his head flopped to the side.

      “No! God, no!” cried Lela. She became an officer in command and Moses and Pete her troops. “Move! Get him into the house now!”

      Solomon was gently nestled into his bed. It was no more than a pallet of blankets on a thick layer of corn shucks, but it felt soft and warm to him. Moses held the oil lamp close so they could examine Solomon. It was almost impossible for their voices to be heard over the din of the storm. Systematically, Pete repeated his examination of the boy’s body and felt sure there weren’t broken bones. His other scratches were easily treated, but Lela took special care with the gash. “I ’most hate to take the time, Moses, but I can’t tend this until we get his hair out of the way.”

      Before she finished the sentence, Moses passed the lamp to Pete and was up getting the soap, water, and straight razor. He tried to lighten the mood, “Well, son, I know you hate this, but it was ’bout time to clip this nest offa your head anyhow, before things start to move in there.” Slowly, with great care, Moses soaped and shaved the front half of the boy’s head, revealing that the cut slashed across more of his scalp than first seen. “That’s enough for now,” he said, seeking Lela’s approval. “I can do the rest when he’s better.” At least when he’s passed out he can’t feel the pain.

      As Lela cleaned the gash and applied a tight poultice of warm pine tar, pinching the gash together, Moses knelt and caressed his son’s feet. It was all he could think to do. Nearly four hours passed before Solomon’s eyes opened.

      All he wanted to do was go to sleep, but the three adults spent the afternoon and entire night in shifts to keep him from falling asleep. First, his mother talked softly to him and asked questions from his latest lessons. Taking the second shift, his father urged Solomon to sing with him. Moses’ warm deep voice, accompanied by God’s thundering orchestra, comforted the entire household. It seemed that the second part of the storm assaulted them even worse than the first. Each member of the little household said steady silent prayers that they would suffer no further harm.

      After a good rest, Pete relieved Moses just before dawn. The storm had dwindled to a steady drizzle and Pete opened the window and door to let light and fresh air in. Solomon was exhausted, and Pete wasn’t sure what he could do to keep him awake long enough to be sure he wasn’t addle-brained from the bump on his head. Remembering his saddlebag, his spirits rose. He gently tugged the pallet toward the opened door. “Solomon, can you sit up a little bit? Look, it’s light over here. I want to talk with you a little.”

      “Uh

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