Solomon. Marilyn Bishop Shaw
“Mmmm, Mama does cook good, don’t she, Papa?”
“That she do, boy. Like makin’ magic with the little bit we has.” They washed up and went inside where they heard the sweet sound of a contented woman singing at her work. They stopped in their tracks. “Lawdy, Miz Lela, I never saw such.”
Lela turned to see her men gap-mouthed and wondered if she’d gone too far. “Now, Moses, I know it’s a might loud, but it’s all I had and I just wanted to try to make our house pretty.” Once begun, she couldn’t stop explaining herself. “I shifted the supplies around to give more space and tried to give Solomon his own side and us ours.” When the men continued gawking at the room, she just sputtered on. “I can take down some of it if you don’t like it, and look, they can be pulled back in daylight, but,” her voice softened, “I thought this curtain here would make it a little private for us.”
“No, no, Mama, it’s beautiful.”
“He be right, Lela. It’s real purty. We just ’mazed that you could make this little shack look so good.”
Lela realized how long she’d been holding her breath and let it go with a great sigh. She watched as Moses and Solomon explored their “new” home. Artfully combining the two bolts of fabric found in the renegade’s wagon, Lela had performed wonders to brighten and soften the little cabin. Splashes of red calico joined the sturdy blue ticking to make a privacy curtain for Moses and Lela’s sleeping corner. There were curtains over their single window and a swath of red painted the table in the room’s center.
Abruptly Solomon froze and his voice wavered with emotion. “But, Mama, you were gonna make yourself a dress with the red cloth. This is all pretty, but Papa and me wanted you to have a new dress.”
Reaching for her son, Lela replied, “My sweet boy. Don’t you worry about your Mama’s new dress. That was a whole bolt of cloth. There’s plenty left for more than one dress and some shirts, too.” The joyous laughter they shared was the perfect tonic after a long, hard day.
Within a few minutes, the shortening day turned dark and the lamp on the table was lit. They didn’t do it every meal, but tonight it seemed right somehow to join hands to bless their night’s meal in earnest thanksgiving. Easy banter began as the stew was dipped.
“Boy, you said you were ’bout to starve. Why you pickin’ at your meal?”
“Oh, I am hungry, Papa, and the stew’s real good, Mama. I just was thinkin.’” His parents chewed and waited. “Do you think maybe we could use a little fresh meat? I could take the gun out soon as my mornin’ chores are done tomorrow,” he said hopefully.
Moses smiled. Solomon was good help and almost never complained, but he chaffed at every day he didn’t get to ramble the woods. “I think maybe some rabbit or squirrel might be welcome,” Moses agreed. “Maybe you even find a hog.” Solomon immediately began shoveling food into his mouth. “You mind yourself if you do see a hog. They can turn on a man in a snap, and they can win the fight, too. I don’t want you takin’ no chances, do you hear?”
“I won’t, Papa. That would be fine, though, wouldn’t it? To have some fresh hog meat just afore the cold?”
“We haven’t built a smokehouse yet,” Lela offered, “but we could surely dry and salt down some and that might be just the thing to get us through the lean times come cold.”
They finished the meal and went to bed on pins and needles—one with excitement and two with worry.
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