TITLE: The Plow in the Tree
GENRE: Historical Women's Fiction
Pearl Harbor aboard the Solace, December 8, 1941
When he awoke, he opened his eyes to pitch black. The screams he’d last remembered hearing had died down, and now wherever he lay was eerily quiet. Instead of the whine of torpedoes or the continuous boom of explosions, only the waves were awake, lapping peacefully against the hull. He racked his muddled mind as to why he could not see, but all he remembered were bits and pieces from a life he supposed was his. Streaks of faces and places exploded in his mind as brilliantly as the flash of a camera light bulb. He tried to shake away the distorted images, moaning when the sheer power of pain arced up and through his body.
Muted footsteps approached where he lay and a cool hand came to rest on his forehead. From the slender press of fingers, he figured it to be a female hand. The hand pulled away. The steps retreated but soon returned. He heard the slosh of liquid in a metal bowl and then something cool and wet was placed across his forehead. He parted his lips, hoping that he could still speak and tell her of the excruciating pain he felt in every limb, crevice, and joint in his body.
“Miss?” he managed to croak out. His voice sounded tinny, almost foreign to his ear.
The heat of her body radiated against his as she leaned in close to listen to what he had to say.