Silent Thunder by Andrea Pinkney

“Gideon can be real crankyon Sundays. Mama says it’s ’cause he hates going to church.” Rosco had walked a few steps ahead I trailed not far behind as he spoke. “Missy Claire makes Parnell sit in the front pew every week. He sure don’t like doin’ that, and it’s worse when Lowell gets to stuttering his way through the prayers and hymns. That shames Parnell bad, Mama says.” Rosco was picking up his pace. I had to walk double time to keep up. “Master Gideon won’t take kindly to us being late,” he said.
    The doll Rosco made me was far from pretty, not like them china-head dolls Missy Claire’s got sitting up on her bed pillows. (Them’s the dolls Missy’s had since she was a child herself, Mama says.)
    Rosco’s handmade dolly wasn’t no more than a scrap of burlap from some old flour sack, stuffed with a hump of cotton. Its arms and legs were spruce twigs hitched to the doll’s body so’s they could move.
    And that thing wore the funniest little face. A face made from a walnut shell. Its face looked wrinkly, like Thea’s face is starting to look. Wrinkly, but wise, somehow. And the doll’s walnut face was the same color brown as Mama’s face, and my face, too.
    â€œWhat’s her name?” I asked, bringing the dolly’s skinny twig-arms together and out again, helping her do a hand clap.
    â€œName her what you want.” Rosco shrugged.
    â€œHow ‘bout I name her Walnut, like her face.”
    Rosco shook his head, like he was feeling sorry ’bout something. “I wish I could’a got you a china-face dolly, Summer, the kind they make for white girls.”
    I was thinking the same thing, but there was a hint of regret in Rosco’s eyes that kept me from saying what was on my mind. Walnut was far from china. Real far. I tried to make Rosco feel better by telling him something I didn’t truly believe. “Them china dolls is too flimsy, anyhow. They break quick as an egg if you drop one. Heck, Walnut here, she’s special. You could drop her a million times over and she’d still be good as new.”
    Now Rosco was looking sidelong at me. “You expect me to believe you’re really thinking that’s true, Summer?”
    I shook my head. I let go a tiny smile. “Can’t blame me for trying, Ros.” I walked Walnut’s spindly legs out in front of me as if she were walking on the air, walking along with us. “Why’d you make me this doll, anyhow, Ros?” I asked. “This any-ol’-time present?”
    â€œYou need a friend you can talk to in private—any ol’ time. Somebody who ain’t got ears for hearing, a mouth for talking back, or the ways of a seer,” Rosco said.
    As we approached the house, I could see the light of Mama’s lantern coming from the cookhouse.
    Rosco put a firm hand on my shoulder. “Thea told me how you were spouting them letters I taught you— the P and the Q .” He gave me a solid look. “You can’t be doing that, Summer.”
    â€œI can’t help it, Ros,” I said. “I got what Thea says is—”
    â€œI know, Summer. I know about the silent thunder,” he interrupted. “I got it too,” he said softly. “But I don’t go telling everybody.” Rosco pointed toward Walnut with his chin. “I sewed you the dolly so’s you can tell her all I been teaching you. So’s you can let your cat out of the bag in a way that won’t cause no trouble.”
    Now I was holding Walnut to me. She was starting to feel like a friend already. “How do you mean?” I wanted to know.
    Rosco gently lifted Walnut from my hold. “Like this,” he said, whispering close to the side of Walnut’s tiny head.
    â€œLooks like you’re saying a prayer to her.”
    â€œI’m prayin’ all right,” Rosco said. “Prayin’ you get