Solomon. Marilyn Bishop Shaw
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Название: Solomon
Автор: Marilyn Bishop Shaw
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Учебная литература
Серия: Florida Historical Fiction for Youth
isbn: 9781561645855
isbn:
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 huh, Mr. Pete, I want to go to sleep.”
“I know you do, boy, but we have to be sure your head isn’t hurt. Stay awake just a little while longer and then you can sleep as long as you want.” Pete continued, “Solomon, I’m real impressed by the way you took to shooting that shotgun we found. Your daddy’s a good enough shot to bring home some game, but you could turn into a real fine shot.”
“I like shootin,’ Mr. Pete. I want to get a big turkey. Or maybe a deer.”
“I don’t blame you one bit. That would be something good to have in the cold season. You’re gonna make a fine shot, but I’ve never seen anybody handle a whip the way you do.”
Solomon managed a little laugh at that. “Oh, yeah, Mr. Pete. I’m real good with that whip of yours,” he said sarcastically. “I can’t hardly pick it up good. I sure can’t make it pop like you do.” Fatigued, he breathed deeply as though talking took great strength. “But I sure would like to make it pop one day,” he said wistfully.
“That doesn’t matter, Solomon. I have the eye to see that you have a gift for handling the whip. If you’re of a mind to, I’d be pleased to teach you what I know.”
That woke Solomon right up. “Would you, Mr. Pete? Would you, surely?”
Patting the boy’s shoulder, Pete stood to reach for his saddlebag and said, “I would, surely, Solomon. And we’ll get started right now.”
Nearly an hour later, when Moses and Lela awoke, Solomon had braided and unbraided the short leather strips Pete had given him. He chanted as he worked the supple leather braid around a stiff leather core. “Over two to the left, over three to the right, keep it smooth and keep it tight.” He knew right off when he didn’t turn the leather just right because his weave would be bumpy and uneven. Before Pete could even tell him he needed to, Solomon pulled the weave out and began again.
Pete, shaking his head, stepped out the door to greet Moses and Lela. “Mornin’ you two. I’ve never in my life seen anything to beat it.”
“What, Pete?” asked Lela, concern written on her face.
“That boy of yours, that’s what. I showed him just twice the braid pattern and he’s just about got it down. Right off, he knew he had to do it just right and he’s been practicing for over an hour now. Never saw such a hand for it.”
“Looks like he wants ’most anything but being a farmer like his daddy,” Moses said in quiet bitterness.
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