Shiloh Season by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
Authors: Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
Tags: Fiction, General, Juvenile Fiction, Action & Adventure - General, Children: Grades 4-6, Dogs, Animals - Dogs, Children's Audio - 9-12, Children's audiobooks, Social Issues - General, Audio: Juvenile, Kindness
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him over? Put on the gas, maybe, and that's when he hit the pothole?
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That's my guess. All I really know is that if Shiloh hadn't carried on like he did, I wouldn't never have got up. Would've laid there a while, maybe, wondering if that bang I heard was thunder, but I would have gone right back to sleep. If Judd lives, it's because of Shiloh.
Ma is standing at the screen, and Dara Lynn's beside her, rubbing her eyes' and looking cross.
"Marty?" calls Ma.
"It's Judd!" I yell, more out of breath than I realize. "His truck went down the bank by the bridge. Call emergency, and then call Doc Murphy."
Ma finds another flashlight for me, and I go out to the road, wait until I see Doc's car coming real slow, looking for where it is he should stop.
Doc gets out at the bridge. He's got his pajamas on, too, and a robe on top. Got his black bag with him. I help him down the bank and through the weeds and brush to Judd's pickup. Dad's got the door open, and Doc leans way in with his stethoscope as best he can. Takes the flashlight and checks out Judd's eyes.
"Internal injuries, that's my guess," Doc says. "No way I can examine him without crawling in there, and doing more harm than good...."
It's about then we hear the far-off sound of a siren, and I climb back up the bank to wait for them, show them where we are. I see that Shiloh didn't come back with me; stayed home with Ma and Dara Lynn.
Then there's lights and yelling and a truck motor running. Men are coming down the bank with a stretcher, the radio's blaring. Floodlights are turned on me and Dad and Doc, all in our pajamas. Nobody cares.
The pickup is gently set upright again. Splints are being
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put on Judd's neck and back before they place him on the stretcher. Then the men are carrying him up the bank, and at some point Judd opens his mouth and groans. Says something, but all I can make out is a cuss word.
"Sure sounds like Judd Travers," one of the men says, and three minutes later the rescue truck is heading for the hospital in Sistersville.
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Fifteen she dead?"
First words out of Dara Lynn's mouth when we get back to the house.
"No, but he's unconscious," Dad says, and tells them what happened.
"What about his truck?" Ma asks.
"Whelan's will send up a tow truck tomorrow." "Do you think he's badly hurt, Ray?"
"Likely so. Got a broken leg, I can tell you that."
"Was the bone all sticking out?" asks Dara Lynn. I tell you, I got the strangest sister.
"All I know is that the truck came down on it when it turned over," Dad says.
Dara Lynn sticks around long enough to see if there're any more gory details, then ambles off to bed. Becky, of course, sleeps through the whole thing.
Ma and Dad talk a little more out in the kitchen, then
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turn off the light and go back to bed. I lay on the couch, staring up into the dark. I'm having this conversation with Jesus again, only I'm doing all the talking. One minute I hope He's listening, and the next minute I hope He's not.
"Help him get well," I'm saying, because I think I should. Because you're supposed to pray for somebody who's been hurt.
Then I find myself thinking, just don't let his leg get well enough to ever go hunting again.
Can you ask God to heal things, but only so much? Next morning a tow truck comes up from Whelan's, and people stand around to watch. It's Sunday morning, so word hasn't spread too far yet. Dad and me and Dara Lynn all go over to watch-Dad wants to be sure there's nothing left in the weeds belonging to Judd. Finally the truck's up on the road again, being towed to the garage where Judd works. Truck don't look as bad as Judd did. Bet he didn't even have his seat belt on.
After Sunday dinner, Dad drives me down to David Howard's, and soon as I see him out on the porch, I run up. "You hear what happened?" I say. Can tell by David's face he hasn't.
"What?" he says.
"You know that big pothole this side of the bridge?" "It caved in?" whoops David.
"No, but you know Judd's
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That's my guess. All I really know is that if Shiloh hadn't carried on like he did, I wouldn't never have got up. Would've laid there a while, maybe, wondering if that bang I heard was thunder, but I would have gone right back to sleep. If Judd lives, it's because of Shiloh.
Ma is standing at the screen, and Dara Lynn's beside her, rubbing her eyes' and looking cross.
"Marty?" calls Ma.
"It's Judd!" I yell, more out of breath than I realize. "His truck went down the bank by the bridge. Call emergency, and then call Doc Murphy."
Ma finds another flashlight for me, and I go out to the road, wait until I see Doc's car coming real slow, looking for where it is he should stop.
Doc gets out at the bridge. He's got his pajamas on, too, and a robe on top. Got his black bag with him. I help him down the bank and through the weeds and brush to Judd's pickup. Dad's got the door open, and Doc leans way in with his stethoscope as best he can. Takes the flashlight and checks out Judd's eyes.
"Internal injuries, that's my guess," Doc says. "No way I can examine him without crawling in there, and doing more harm than good...."
It's about then we hear the far-off sound of a siren, and I climb back up the bank to wait for them, show them where we are. I see that Shiloh didn't come back with me; stayed home with Ma and Dara Lynn.
Then there's lights and yelling and a truck motor running. Men are coming down the bank with a stretcher, the radio's blaring. Floodlights are turned on me and Dad and Doc, all in our pajamas. Nobody cares.
The pickup is gently set upright again. Splints are being
100
put on Judd's neck and back before they place him on the stretcher. Then the men are carrying him up the bank, and at some point Judd opens his mouth and groans. Says something, but all I can make out is a cuss word.
"Sure sounds like Judd Travers," one of the men says, and three minutes later the rescue truck is heading for the hospital in Sistersville.
101
Fifteen she dead?"
First words out of Dara Lynn's mouth when we get back to the house.
"No, but he's unconscious," Dad says, and tells them what happened.
"What about his truck?" Ma asks.
"Whelan's will send up a tow truck tomorrow." "Do you think he's badly hurt, Ray?"
"Likely so. Got a broken leg, I can tell you that."
"Was the bone all sticking out?" asks Dara Lynn. I tell you, I got the strangest sister.
"All I know is that the truck came down on it when it turned over," Dad says.
Dara Lynn sticks around long enough to see if there're any more gory details, then ambles off to bed. Becky, of course, sleeps through the whole thing.
Ma and Dad talk a little more out in the kitchen, then
102
turn off the light and go back to bed. I lay on the couch, staring up into the dark. I'm having this conversation with Jesus again, only I'm doing all the talking. One minute I hope He's listening, and the next minute I hope He's not.
"Help him get well," I'm saying, because I think I should. Because you're supposed to pray for somebody who's been hurt.
Then I find myself thinking, just don't let his leg get well enough to ever go hunting again.
Can you ask God to heal things, but only so much? Next morning a tow truck comes up from Whelan's, and people stand around to watch. It's Sunday morning, so word hasn't spread too far yet. Dad and me and Dara Lynn all go over to watch-Dad wants to be sure there's nothing left in the weeds belonging to Judd. Finally the truck's up on the road again, being towed to the garage where Judd works. Truck don't look as bad as Judd did. Bet he didn't even have his seat belt on.
After Sunday dinner, Dad drives me down to David Howard's, and soon as I see him out on the porch, I run up. "You hear what happened?" I say. Can tell by David's face he hasn't.
"What?" he says.
"You know that big pothole this side of the bridge?" "It caved in?" whoops David.
"No, but you know Judd's
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