Jodi Stuber - Project Solomon: The True Story of a Lonely Horse Who Found a Home--and Became a Hero

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Project Solomon: The True Story of a Lonely Horse Who Found a Homeand Became a Hero

Copyright 2022 by Jodi Stuber and Jennifer Marshall Bleakley. All rights reserved.

Cover photograph of horse copyright Fabienne Gassmann/500px/Getty. All rights reserved. Back cover and interior images are the property of their respective copyright holders and used with permission. Fence Ruslan Gi/Shutterstock; horses by Martin Eltzroth; HopeWell Ranch images by Amanda Shaffer; wood panel rawpixel; horseshoe Emilio100/Shutterstock; wood texture Lifestyle Graphic/Shutterstock; all other images from the personal collection of the author.

Author photo of Jodi Stuber by Amanda Shaffer, copyright 2021. All rights reserved.

Author photo of Jennifer Bleakley by Greenflash Productions Photography, copyright 2019. All rights reserved.

Designed by Julie Chen

Edited by Bonne Steffen

Published in association with Jessica Kirkland and the literary agency at Kirkland Media Management, LLC.

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Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version, NIV. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

ISBN 978-1-4964-6309-8 (HC)

ISBN 978-1-4964-5531-4 (SC)

Build: 2022-03-18 10:35:18 EPUB 3.0

To the loves of my life: Ty, Jessica, Richard, and Hope

JODI STUBER

For Darrell, Andrew, and Ella

JENNIFER MARSHALL BLEAKLEY

A LL THE EVENTS IN THIS BOOK are drawn from real life. In order to protect the privacy of the children and veterans who are part of the HopeWell community, certain characters names and details have been changed, and a few are composites of different individuals experiences. Some events and timelines have been compressed for brevity and to tell a more cohesive story.

As I write this, several of the animals mentioned in the book still reside at HopeWell, where they continue to play an active role in HopeWells mission of creating an environment where children and adultsincluding veterans, current military service men and women, and their familiescan experience love, hope, redemption, and the power of finding purpose, even in the midst of pain.

Jennifer Marshall Bleakley

J ODIS FOREARMS ACHED as she pounded the posthole digger into the ground. Chunks of soil gave way as she repeatedly twisted the metal blades against the hardened earth. Satisfied with the depth, she heaved a wooden post into place. Did that make six or seven? She had lost count. Using her foot, she pushed the mound of dirt back in the hole.

Empty.

Refill.

Empty.

Refill.

If only the human spirit could be refilled as easily as a hole in the ground.

She tamped the soil around the post until it felt secure. Satisfied with her work, Jodi counted off another ten feet and started the process again. Her hands began to cramp. But she wouldnt stop. She couldnt. The physical pain throbbing in her arms offered a welcome, albeit temporary, reprieve from the searing pain in her heart.

Jodi thrust the heavy digger against the ground. Small rocks and dried grass went flying. She pushed a strand of blonde hair out of her face, leaving a streak of dirt behind. Stopping for a moment, she pulled off her gloves, gathered her hair, and forced the wayward wisps back into a ponytail. She cast a glance at the line of posts dotting the untamed landscape.

Had it only been three years since they bought the land?

It felt like a lifetime.

Once a thriving farm, the unused land had been overrun with vegetation. Tall grass now swayed in the slight breeze. Vines hung like curtains over abandoned machinery. And large logs lay scattered across the acreagethe rotting wood providing refuge and nourishment to colonies of insects.

Returning to her work, she jammed the metal blade in the hole and hit a large rock. The jolt of pain that radiated up her arm brought everything to a halt.

What am I doing? Its Memorial Day weekend! I should be barbecuing with Ty and the kids.

The fence had seemed like a good idea in the middle of the night. Actually, it had felt less like an idea and more like a command. Maybe even a calling?

The noonday sun seemed even hotter than usual, as she began to question her memory of the night beforeas well as her sanity.

Maybe I really am losing it. They say grief can do that to a person.

Moving past her moment of doubt, Jodi kept going. She kept digging and planting fence posts and refilling holes and tamping the earth.

Even though they didnt need a fence.

She had no horses. No cattle. Not even a garden.

But something was driving her forward. A yearning like she had never known kept her arms moving, even as her muscles protested. A promisewhispered to her hurting soul in the middle of the nightkept her mind focused on one thing, and one thing alone: Build a fence.

This yearningthis callingfelt bigger than her grief.

Bigger than a dream.

As the sun began its descent toward the treetops, Jodi finally leaned on the posthole digger and looked at what she had accomplished.

Wooden posts stood in formationguardians of an overgrown field.

Jodi arched her back. Every muscle ached, but her muscles had nothing to do with the sudden quiver radiating through her heart.

I can see it, she whispered in elated disbelief. Tears made muddy streaks down her cheeks. I can see it...

FOUR YEARS LATER

J ODI REACHED ACROSS THE PASSENGER SEAT of her van, fumbling for the scrap of paper with the directions she had written down. There you are! She held the paper against the steering wheel and tried to decipher her scribbles. She had been so distracted the day Ken called that she had hurriedly jotted down the basic information before rushing back to her four-page to-do list. Now she wished she had spent a few extra seconds writing legibly.

The afternoon sun in her eyes made it difficult to read the street signs. She drove past one, then slowed down at the next.

I think this is the right road, she mumbled, turning off the two-lane highway onto a dirt road.

She glanced again at the last line of directions: Last house. Past openfield. Dead end.

A Road Ends sign a few feet ahead boosted her confidence as she continued down the narrow road, made even narrower by the closely placed trees and thick underbrush. There was barely enough room for her vehicle to pass.