The Sleeping Night

By Barbara Samuels

A triumphant tale of forbidden love that will delight Barbara Samuel's many romance fans while tackling the serious issue of racism in our not-so-distant past. An unforgettable romance in an unforgiving time.
They'll need love and courage to see the dawn.
He's a hometown native, returning from the war, determined to change the world he'd fought to protect. She's the girl who's been his secret friend since childhood, now a beautiful woman. Her war-time letters kept him alive. But he's black, and she's white.
In 1946 in Gideon, Texas, their undeniable love might get them both killed.
Barbara Samuel is a multiple award-winning author with more than 38 books to her credit in a variety of genres. Her work has captured a plethora of awards, including six RITAs; the Colorado Center for the Book Award (twice); Favorite Book of the Year from Romance Writers of America, and the Library Journal's list of Best Genre Fiction of the year, among many others. Visit her at www.barbarasamuel.com.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BelleBooks
• Release date: Jun 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781611941517

Barbara Samuels

Barbara Samuels When I was little I loved to watch my two older sisters draw. I remember a playground scene my sister Susie drew -- two girls playing hopscotch, every detail perfectly rendered, down to the loser’s tears. She also liked to draw ladies in stylish suits, complete with hats, gloves, and matching handbags (it was the 1950s after all). My other sister, Freya, specialized in queens and princesses. She could make the trimming on their gowns look like real lace. While their drawings seemed to appear magically on the page, for me it was a struggle. The hardest part was getting the right expressions on the faces. Sometimes I had to erase and redraw the mouth so many times it left a hole with a gray smudge around it. It wasn’t just my sisters’ drawings that seemed better than mine. All their things -- silk scarves folded in neat squares, crayons lined up in rows, with their waxy tips still pointy, jewelry locked in leather cases -- had the allure of the forbidden. Susie kept her best doll in its original box high up in her closet, and I was under strict orders never to brush her hair. Not that I could blame her, since my own dolls were strewn about my room -- usually recovering from multiple surgeries, missing their socks and most of their hair. And if you looked under the bed, you could find a few stubby crayons. It should be no surprise that Dolores, the younger sister in my books, always seems to triumph. I’ve been writing about her for so long that she now feels like a real person. Sometimes she even tells me what to write about -- she can be quite bossy. Duncan, her long-suffering cat, would certainly agree. In the house on Long Island where I grew up, we always had one or two cats. Trying to capture the many moods of my cats was probably how I finally learned to draw. I remember choosing the topic “How to Draw a Cat” for a seventh-grade speech class. By that time I could draw well enough to impress other kids, but I didn’t think about becoming an illustrator until much later. I had already majored in history at the University of Wisconsin, received my M. A. at the Teacher’s College of Columbia University, and taught for a few years, when I decided to go to the School of Visual Arts in Manhattan to study illustration. After I finished art school, I painted watercolor backgrounds for an animated film version of the Raggedy Anne Stories and worked on commercials for the cartoonist R. O. Blechman at his studio, The Ink Tank. I also did freelance illustration jobs for The New York Times, Seventeen, Cosmopolitan, and other magazines. Around that time, I became interested in doing picture books. A story about two sisters and their cat seemed a natural choice for me. I love the way the pictures in a children’s book can tell you what the words don’t. Some of my favorite illustrators are masters at this: Helen Oxenbury (Out-and-About books), Robert McCloskey (Blueberries for Sal) and Hilary Knight (the Eloise books). My editor, Melanie Kroupa, always makes sure that my characters’ expressions show what they’re really feeling, even when they’re saying and doing the opposite. It’s funnier and more true to life that way. Sometimes I have to revise the drawings many times, and it can get frustrating. But, thinking back to my earliest scribbles, I’ve always done it that way. I live in Manhattan with my husband, Nicholas, a psychotherapist, and my teenage son, Noah. We have two cats, Harold, an outgoing Siamese, and Claude, a shy orange tabby. Harold is very happy I’ve included him in a Dolores book. Claude, like Duncan, prefers to be left alone.

Book preview

They’ll need love and courage to see the dawn…

He’s a hometown native, returning from the war, determined to change the world he’d fought to protect. She’s the girl who’s been his secret friend since childhood, now a beautiful woman. Her war-time letters kept him alive. But he’s black, and she’s white.

In 1946, Gideon, Texas, their undeniable love might get them both killed.

Angel whispered his name and the tilt of events pushed them closer still. He hung in the moment, hearing the heavy, rhythmic pounding of the rain on the roof echoing in his chest, and he thought of a thousand things as his hand moved on her waist. He thought of their forays into the trees and of the letters she’d written to him through the war, letters that had leant courage and comfort and hope.

Wordlessly, she moved a step closer and raised her hand to his face. Lightly, lightly she touched her fingers to his mouth. Isaiah fell forward with a soft groan to press his head against her, his forehead close to her diaphragm, his nose against her stomach, his arms tight around her body. The smell of her filled his mouth, his heart, the world, and he breathed it in as if it would save him. She made a soft noise and bent into him, gathering his head closer, her cheek against his hair.

For a long, long moment, they rested together like that. He no longer felt the ache in his head or ankle. It didn’t matter that the world outside this room would curse him, that bloody Texas had hanged men for less.

The Sleeping Night

by

Barbara Samuel

Bell Bridge Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead,) events or locations is entirely coincidental.

Bell Bridge Books

PO BOX 300921

Memphis, TN 38130

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-151-7

Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-127-2

Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 by Barbara Samuel

In the Midnight Rain excerpt copyright 2000 by Barbara Samuel,

originally published by Harper Torch

Jezebel’s Blues excerpt copyright 1999 by Barbara Samuel,

originally published by Harlequin/Silhouette

Printed and bound in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

We at BelleBooks enjoy hearing from readers.

Visit our websites – www.BelleBooks.com and www.BellBridgeBooks.com.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Cover design: Debra Dixon

Interior design: Hank Smith

Photo credits: Sky (manipulated) © David M. Schrader | Dreamstime.com

Girl in window (manipulated) © Yakov Stavchansky | Dreamstime.com

:Estn:01:

Dedication

There is only one person this book could possibly be dedicated to, and that is Christopher Robin, aka Neal Barlow, who heard the story of a book I had stashed away, made me dig out the manuscript, paid to have it scanned (when such things were quite difficult), visited the British Imperial War Museum and the beaches of Normandy with me, listened to a thousand conversations about all of it. Mainly, it is because he believed and wouldn’t let me give up that this book is making its way out into the world. Thank you!

PART ONE: DAWN

An angel, robed in spotless white,

Bent down and kissed the sleeping Night.

Night woke to blush; the sprite was gone.

Men saw the blush and called it Dawn.

—Paul Laurence Dunbar

— 1 —

Gideon, East Texas

2005

On the morning that Angel Corey was arriving back in her home town of Gideon, Kim McCoy buzzed around her bookstore like a mad woman, trying to get things ready. The author was arriving at 11 o’clock to talk to the Black And White Book Club.

Corey had written plenty of books in her eighty years, but mostly they were spiritual in nature—ponderings on the nature of the soul and God. And she was famous for a radio show she’d been hosting for some forty years now.

Her new book was different, written—or rather collected—to commemorate the sixtieth anniversary of the end of the war. In the window were copies of Corey’s book, War Letters (with Recipes), which had been deemed frivolous by MariAnna Hayden, who was twenty-four and Very Serious About Books and never liked it when they picked something with even a hint of romance or traditional women’s work, like recipes.

The older women in the group let MariAnna rage, remembering their own days of drama and agitation, and went ahead and read the book anyway. They read it for the Gideon connection, mainly, and to give themselves a bit of a pat on the back. The book club had been instrumental, after all, in the war memorial that was being christened today.

But the older women cried over Corey’s book, too, remembering things in their own lives. Remembering a time when things were harder, when the town wasn’t quite as easy in its skin as it was now.

Kim stacked copies of the book, with its cover of handwritten V-Mails, in the front window of her bookstore, Morning Books. She had taken the name from a poem by Paul Lawrence Dunbar. The store, cozy with armchairs and plenty of shelves and corners, sat right on the main drag of Gideon proper, a bookstore that featured African American books mostly, with some local history.

Which was actually another point of contention with MariAnna, that they were bringing a white author to an African American bookstore. MariAnna wasn’t black or even biracial, like Kim herself, but she made more noise than anyone. Honestly, she got on Kim’s last nerve, but she was grandmothered in since her grandmother had been an original member of the Black And Whites.

Kim said it was her bookstore and if she wanted purple people in it, she’d invite them. The Black and Whites backed her up.

The book club had been meeting once a month since five young women, three white and two black, had established the reading group in 1972. The South had not been entirely integrated in those days, and they had felt very daring and avant-garde. Their first book reflected that: Fear of Flying, by Erica Jong. It broke the ice and let them read pretty much anything else they wanted after that, including some incendiary things like The Letters of Angela Davis and, later, Helter Skelter, after which they reckoned they didn’t much care for true crime.

They kept the rules loose, and the selection of titles absolutely fair. Each person put her name on a list (there were only women, no matter how often they tried to tempt spouses, sons, fathers, friends into the club) and when a name came up, the book club read whatever book she chose. Period. Each reader had one veto she could utilize once every two years (which was so strict because of Betty Michelin, who didn’t like anything but mysteries and killed pretty much everything else that came up; Betty quit the club the very next month and everyone breathed a sigh of relief).

The Black And Whites had struggled a time or two. Once was when they decided to brave themselves and public opinion and go see a Spike Lee movie. It ended up hurting just about every single person’s feelings on some level, requiring Augusta Younger, then president, to call a halt to the evening discussion and send everybody home to cool off. The subject of the film was forbidden for one year, and at that time they all had cooler heads and could talk about it a little more calmly.

The club now had twelve members, five white and seven black. They tried to keep it more or less half and half, to preserve the spirit of the founders, but the truth was, they hadn’t lost a member or picked up a new one in nearly three years, since MariAnna joined, taking her grandmother’s spot. One year before that, Johniqua Younger, just turned nineteen, had joined, taking the spot left vacant by Tillie High, who had finally died of the lung cancer that nagged her for years.

The whole group had said, too bad Tillie wasn’t alive for this day. Too bad she couldn’t be here for this.

Kim stepped back to look at the store through narrowed eyes. Would it pass muster? This was the most important guest they’d ever had.

If not for the book club, Kim would not own the bookstore that was her pride and joy, complete with two cats—one white, one black, naturally—who chased the mice away and kept customers company when they curled up in an easy chair. If not for the bookstore, she would not have had the courage to leave her husband, who was not abusive, not evil, just completely and utterly wrong for her.

The Black And Whites were all aflutter about Angel Corey coming to town. Years ago, everybody in Gideon had thought she died, of course. That was the funny part of the title of one of her books, The Resurrection of Angel Corey. This morning the first thing Angel was going to do in Gideon was visit her grave and put some flowers down on it. Kim thought it was morbid, but what did she know? She was only thirty-six. Graves seemed a long way out.

At ten, Kim did a walk-through. They’d agreed to a morning meeting since the ceremony for the Medal of Honor winners and the unveiling of the Gideon WWII memorial was at two pm. They’d all want to be there for that, too, of course, especially Angel.

The book club, along with one guest each, strictly enforced, started gathering by 10:20. All women, because Angel’s brand of spirituality had been directed at women all along, all ages, from old to young. They brought mock apple pie made with Ritz crackers, and Spam with beans, and somebody even tracked down some Postum, which Kim thought was just about the nastiest thing she’d ever tasted.

At 11 o’clock on the dot, a black car drove up with proper pomp. A beautiful young man got out of the driver’s seat, tall and caramel skinned, with a glaze of black hair smooth against his head.

"Hel-lo!" said Johniqua Younger.

They all swooned over the way he opened the door and helped the woman within to her feet, but then she brushed his hand away and he laughed, making it plain they knew each other.

And Kim had to touch her tummy to rub at the butterflies, because there was Angel Corey herself, her hair snow white and clipped short. She was a little stooped, but otherwise looked spry in a chic dress, belted at the waist. Her arms were full of bracelets, and she strode into the store with an air of happy expectancy.

Hello, she said. I reckon you’re all waiting for me. She smiled, looking at each one of them in turn. Now, which one of you is Paul’s granddaughter?

Kim stepped forward, and lifted a hand shyly. Here, she said with a little squeak.

And Angel Corey, who was famous in sixteen countries, and had written twelve books, and had established a foundation named after her own father, Parker Corey, came forward and kissed her on the cheek. I am so happy to meet you, sweetheart. She squeezed Kim’s arm. Thank you for giving me a reason to come back to Gideon.

Thank you for coming, Kim managed. She gestured toward the food. We made . . . um . . . lots of things. From the war.

Angel smiled, her pale green eyes as beautiful as they were in her pictures, and took Kim’s hand. How about if I read a little first? You want to come sit beside me? I think, she said, taking what the Black And White’s called The Queen’s Chair, because it was the chair the book club leader always sat in, that there’s only one thing I can read from.

Sunny Walker, as pretty as her name, edged forward, holding the book out. "The War Letters?"

Angel nodded and took the book. Only then did Kim see that the old woman was struggling with high emotion. Can I get you something? Water, coffee?

No, sweetheart. She squeezed Kim’s hand. An old woman is allowed to be emotional. A glaze of tears brightened the green eyes even more, and she paused for a long moment, taking in the group seated in a circle around her. I’m looking at all of you and thinking how happy my father would be to see your book club. This is a fine, fine day, and I’m so proud to be with you.

The young man at the back of the room edged forward, grabbing a bite off the table before he sat down nearby Johniqua, who straightened and pretended to ignore him. He smiled, and scooted over one more chair so he was sitting beside her.

Angel composed herself, opened her book, and began to read.

It began with a letter from Isaiah High, who had been my friend when we were children, but not for a very long time.

November 25, 1942

Dear Angel,

I heard from my mama about Solomon and I’m just writing to tell you how sorry I am . . .

PART TWO: DUSK

And who shall separate the dust

What later we shall be?

—Georgia Douglas Johnson

— 2 —

Gideon, Texas

1926

Everybody always said too bad about Angel Corey, living out there on the edge of Lower Gideon with only her crazy daddy Parker and no mama to put her straight.

The word in town was that Parker had seen a vision in the trenches of France in the Great War, just before they shipped him home for the gangrene in his feet. Parker never spoke about it, but it was clear he took seriously the notion of Jesus being the least of these, because from that day forward he treated every rag-tag stranger and down-and-out colored like the good Lord himself.

Had it just been Parker by himself, living like some crazy preacher out there in his store, folks might have turned a blind eye. A Corey had run the store since the War Between the States, after all, and he wasn’t much trouble, miles down the road from Gideon proper. A man had a right to make a profit and, though the coloreds had little enough, they spent most of what they had right there in Parker’s store.

But his little girl was the kind of child people never can leave alone. No accident she was called Angel. Gobs of spun-sugar hair the color of morning and great green eyes as strange as her mama’s, who appeared in Gideon out of nowhere one hot summer day and died one quick year later when her baby came into the world. Women were always sending Angel clothes they’d cut down from something of their own, and tsking over her hair when they saw her at church. More tongues wagged over the lack of a woman to put pin curls in those tresses than over Parker’s lack of inclination to marry again, though both received considerable discussion.

Among the men in town, another subject took precedence over her curls or lack of them. They worried about what kind of ideas she was picking up down there. Only decent people she ever saw was the ones at church and the odd farmer stopping in at Corey’s if he didn’t want to go all the way to town. Parker had even taught her to call colored people by their last names—Mrs. this and Mr. that. More than one person had tried to talk her out of that habit, including her aunt Georgia, Parker’s own sister. Georgia told Angel it was plain silly, that habit of hers—she wouldn’t call a dog Mr. Spot, now would she?

But typical for Angel, that’s just what she started doing. Every dog and every cat, Mr. Rover and Mrs. Puffy.

Lotta people decided right then she was lost.

Tsk as they might, Angel never felt overlooked or unloved. She had her daddy, who told her stories at bedtime—stories about faraway places, about the chateaus and vineyards he’d seen in France, about brave soldiers and pretty dancing girls in cafés in Paris. In his voice, even the stories about Noah and Abraham took on a special sense of excitement. He read to her about King Arthur and Merlin; about elves and leprechauns; about all kinds of places and people and things nobody but her daddy seemed to know.

She also never missed her mother, seeing as she’d never had one to miss. Anyway, if she needed a mama, there was always Geraldine High, who scooped Angel up in her lap on the warm Texas nights, singing to her on the porch of the store while her husband Jordan—who was the only other man in the whole county who’d gone to Europe for the Great War—and Parker talked late in the night.

Angel often shared Mrs. High’s cushiony bosom with Isaiah, both of them falling asleep as she sang lullabies. Isaiah, two years older, was sometimes her best friend, sometimes her brother. It was Isaiah who listened with her to the stories her daddy read, Isaiah who brought her bluebonnets and wild daisies, Isaiah who colored church pictures with her late at night.

It seemed to her that a child could not have a better life than she did. She would sit on a corner of the porch on Saturday nights, her legs tucked up under her dress, and listen to the voices swirling around and into her bones, a quick-slow rhythm in the black voices that was unlike the voices of the white folks in church. Sometimes, with the indigo summer sky stretched overhead, she would listen to Jordan High laughing and think of God: God in a good mood, like he never was in church; God like he must have been when he made the sky. It was a luxurious sound, rich with knowledge and awareness and love. She’d close her eyes and let that laughing flow through her, thinking of God with a black face and strong black hands, and all the children of the world gathered into his lap.

She had enough sense to know that she couldn’t tell her Sunday school teacher that she thought God must be black. The God in church wore long robes and a long beard and he was always mad about the sinners. But in church on Sunday mornings, she never felt God spinning around in her heart and head, so big, like he did on Saturday nights when Jordan High laughed.

One August night, Angel sat on the front porch of the store in her bare feet, waving away mosquitoes with a cardboard fan. They ate her like she was lunch, and her ankles were already spotted with bites she couldn’t resist scratching.

A slow stream of customers came in, as they did every Saturday. Laughter spilled out of the screen door behind her, and the radio was playing and, nearby the window, two men swapped friendly insults about something that happened that afternoon in a cotton field. Over all the voices, her daddy’s, deep and full, boomed out greetings to his customers.

From down the road, on foot, came a pair of travelers, one tall, one small. Angel straightened expectantly and waved. Isaiah dashed ahead of his father and ran to the porch.

Hey, Angel, he said. Look what I found down by the river. He held up the papery skin of a snake, almost whole.

Can I see it? Angel asked.

"You lookin’ at it now, girl, he said. You can hold it, too, if you want. Careful though. I ain’t never found one like this before."

As Angel held out her hands, palms up so as not to wound it, the boy’s father gained the small pool of yellow light cast through the windows of the store. Evening, Miss Angel, he said in his deep voice. How you doin’ tonight?

Just fine, Mr. High. She displayed the skin. You see what Isaiah found?

That’s quite a prize, he agreed and touched his son’s shoulder before going up the steps to the store.

Isaiah sank down next to her. Bony knees stuck out from below his cut-off pants. His ankles were streaked, his shoes muddy, and he smelled like sunshine and dust and river water. How come you don’t get scared like other girls?

What’s to be scared of? I think it’s pretty.

Me, too, but Florence Younger screeched like she seen a ghost when I showed it to her.

Angel shrugged and handed it back to him. You wanna do somethin’?

Yeah. He grinned, his wide mouth a mix of half-grown teeth and baby teeth and two that had almost reached full size. Go on and get your daddy’s book. The big one.

Angel looked at him for a moment.

Go on, he said, nudging her, a secret in his dancing dark eyes.

Suspecting a trick, she nevertheless did as he said, finding the book on the table in the living room where it always sat. As she hurried back through the thinning collection of customers in the aisles, her daddy caught her arm. Where you think you going with that book, gal?

Just to the porch, Daddy. Isaiah said to get it.

Parker pursed his lips, then let her go. Be careful with it, hear?

Angel drew herself up to her full height, the heavy book clasped against her chest. Have you ever known me or Isaiah either one to be uncareful with a book?

Behind her, a man chuckled; Parker, meeting the man’s eye, grinned, too. As she hurried on her way, she heard somebody say, You got your hands full with that ’un. Smart as a whip, she is.

But Angel paid it little attention. Grown folks always talked like that about her, and about Isaiah, too. Which was why she imagined they had become friends. Somebody was always shaking their heads about one or the other of them, or making a little sound in their mouths like the food was good, Mmn-mm-mm. Only in this case it was a what are you ever gonna do with that child? noise.

Once, some grown-up had looked at Parker and Jordan, talking quietly by themselves and said (like Angel and Isaiah were deaf) What are you gonna do about those children? Straight out.

Parker had looked at the woman through the smoke of his cigarette and said, I don’t aim to do nothing. They’re children.

The woman had made that sound in her throat, then gone on with her shopping. Isaiah and Angel had talked about it and decided the difference they felt in themselves was the fact that both their daddies had gone to France for the war. They came back different, so naturally their children were different, too.

Parker often read to them on these soft Saturday nights after all the customers went home. He read a lot of books. But this one, both agreed, was the best. Fairy Tales from Around the World.

Angel carried the book outside to Isaiah.

Sit down, he said, the secret spreading now to his face, where a dimple winked in his cheek. He opened the book with ceremony. Which one you want? he said.

Still puzzled, she shrugged. I don’t care.

Come on, Angel. You always pick one.

"Okay. Hansel and Gretel." She giggled, because he hated it. It scared him.

But without a single protest, he opened the book to the story and began to read, Once upon a time . . .

Angel listened, her mouth hanging open for a long, long moment, staring at him as he bent his head over the open pages. He didn’t read it as good as her daddy did, but it was a whole lot better than what Angel could have done.

"You can read?"

You hear me, don’t you? But a grin betrayed his belligerent tone, and he softened. Pretty good, huh? I been practicin’ all summer. Your daddy gave me a book of my very own.

Oh, you’re doin’ real good. She tucked her dress over her knees. Read me some more.

And he did.

Much later, Parker and Jordan came out on the porch, where the children had moved to drawing with pencils on flat sheets of butcher paper. The men’s voices drifted over Angel, making her sleepy, and she laid her head down on her hands to rest for just a minute. Their words were indistinct, only their voices plain, and she waited for the laughing that would come.

But tonight their voices were serious. Isaiah’s great dark eyes focused on the men, the crayon in his hand forgotten.

What’s wrong? Angel asked him.

He frowned in a puzzled way, his gaze fixed on his father. I ain’t too sure, he said in a soft voice. Somethin’.

Parker glanced at the children. Little pitchers have big ears, he said, pursing his lips.

Well, said Jordan, a gentle smile replacing the worry in his face, so they do. You children done already?

Isaiah glanced at Angel quickly. If they said yes, then Jordan would stand up and hold out his hand for Isaiah. The evening would be over. No, sir, he said.

Whyn’t you come on over here, anyway. Let me tell you a story tonight. He settled back in the chair to make room on his long legs for both children. They scrambled up and he looped an arm around each, slowly beginning to rock back and forth in the still night. Parker turned off the porch light, then lit a cigarette, ice clinking in his tea as he lifted the glass to his lips.

Angel settled her cheek against Jordan’s shirt. Isaiah rested his head on his daddy’s shoulder. The gentle rocking made Angel sleepy and she yawned, closing her eyes as Jordan’s deep voice rumbled through his chest into her ear. A long, long time ago . . . he began.

Long as she could hear that velvety rich voice in her mind as she drifted off to sleep, Angel didn’t even care about the story. Isaiah shifted, his knee bumping hers, and she drew her legs a little closer to give him more room. She heard him take in a shuddery, long breath that turned into a hard yawn. Without opening her eyes, she smiled.

Much later, she stirred, and found herself in her own bed. Foggily, she turned over. She listened for a minute, and sure enough, the sound of her daddy and Jordan talking came in through her window. She drifted away again.

The next Saturday was the last of the month. Things had gone pretty much like always all day. Angel ran errands for her daddy, fetching lengths of cloth and keeping tea brewed to cool the lips of the customers. As she worked, she kept looking for Isaiah, who was always first through the door.

The night grew later; the customers drifted away. Angel’s daddy told her to get the broom and start sweeping up.

She was angling the old broom under the lip of a set of shelves when Isaiah burst through the screen door, letting it slam hard behind him. His face was dirty, his clothes askew, and his chest heaved like he’d been running a long way.

An immediate hush fell over the voices of the remaining customers, voices that had, until that minute, been rolling easily about the long front room of the store. All eyes fell on the boy, including Angel’s. They knew, looking at that face, that whatever they heard wasn’t going to be good. Angel felt her stomach fall to her feet and she clenched the handle of the broom with fingers that would be full of splinters the next day. Isaiah’s eyes swiveled around the room, lit on Angel, and passed to her father, who broke the silence.

What is it, Isaiah? Speak up, child, speak up.

Mama said come get you. His voice was thin with horror. They killed my daddy. His lip trembled, his eyes wide and shimmering with terror. They killed him—

At the remembered ugliness, Isaiah fell straight to the floor in a dead faint. Later, Angel didn’t remember doing it, but she ran to Isaiah, washed his face with a cloth she had wet with cool water, then helped him out to the porch to get some air when he came around with a jerk. By then there was hardly anybody else around; only a few women with a keening sound to their voices and a worry in their whispers.

It didn’t make sense to Angel right away, about Jordan High being dead because it was the first time in her life (unless you counted her mama—and she didn’t remember her) anybody she knew died. As she sat

Reviews for The Sleeping Night

[nicholette_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I liked this book even though this wasn’t something I'd normally grab to read. It held my attention and made me interested in the characters. There's some back in forth with timeline, letters that have been written and the story, but they go together to enhance instead of distract the reader. Not something I've seen authors do very successfully in other books. If I’m browsing and see this author I’d be grabbing the book next time.

[cyncie · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

She is white. He is black, and they are best friends as children in a small segregated Texas town pre-World War II. He serves in the war and returns with adult feelings longing for validation and a way to claim their love without getting them killed. This is a compelling portrait of the old segregated South and the very personal often horrific struggle of individuals pre-civil rights movement.

[bookdivasreads · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Barbara Samuel has crafted an emotionally wrenching and soul-stirring story with The Sleeping Night. The story begins in 2005 with a prelude to a war memorial dedication and an author reading in a rural Texas town. The reader is then whisked away to the same town in the 1930s and 1940s. Angel Corey is the white daughter of a store owner, a store owner that sells to the "coloreds" and lives on the wrong side of the color-line. Her mother died shortly after her birth so she is being raised by her father with somewhat unconventional ideas, such as the equality between whites and blacks. Isaiah High is just a few years older than Angel, but he is a black male being raised in an era of Jim Crow laws. As children, Angel and Isaiah play together, read together and even nap on laps together. As teenagers they are prohibited from playing together. As young adults they help one another remain sane during World War II through letters; Angel is now a war widow and Isaiah is a soldier in Europe. They both know that they cannot return to the level of friendship they had as children, but they also know that it has moved far beyond simple friendship into love.Angel was allowed to be unconventional as long as her father was alive, but he died shortly before Isaiah returns to the States. Her sole remaining relative, a paternal aunt, expects her to fall in line with societal rules . . . sell the store, move into town and become more respectable. When Angel is pushed out of her church by the bigoted actions of the church governing body, she all but severs ties with the town of Gideon. Her only friends remain the High family, Mrs. Pierson (a family friend), and Mrs. Pierson's niece, Gudrun Stroo. Mrs. Pierson is a refugee from Poland and World War I and her niece is a refugee from Denmark and World War II. Both understand the notion of hatred without cause and try to provide a safe haven for both Angel and Isaiah as it becomes clear that they love one another.The Sleeping Night isn't an easy read simply because of the topics presented: racism, bigotry, and hatred. However, it also presents some wonderful issues such as love, family and survival. The citizens of Gideon Texas were probably no different from those in other towns in the 1930s and 1940s. People were expected to adhere to certain societal and class rules with the pervasive notion that whites and blacks do not mix. The idea of an interracial couple, especially a black male and white female, was more than taboo; it was grounds for justifiable homicide against the male. Reading about the growing attraction between Angel and Isaiah during this time period provided a lot of tension, racial and otherwise. Ms. Samuel presents star-crossed lovers that hope for a life together that simply cannot be at that time and in that place. I was captured by the stories of Angel, Isaiah and the gentle (and not-so-gentle) townsfolk of Gideon Texas from the first chapter to the last, so much that I read it in one sitting. The Sleeping Night may make you cry or get angry at the injustices in the world but it will also make you smile, laugh and hope for a better tomorrow.

[rainpebble_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I so enjoyed this beautifully written novel from the six time RITA award winning author Barbara Samuel. It is the story of a forbidden love during the WWII era. It begins with childhood friends; a black boy and a white girl. He goes off to war. They continue their friendship through letters back and forth. When he returns they continue their friendship and people within the community begin to get ugly about it. This is where it became a real page turner for me. The worse times became, the closer Angel and Isaiah became. This one was good enough to earn 4 1/2 stars from me and I do recommend it but it may be a little too much on the romantic side for some. It was the perfect read at the time for me.

[virginiagill · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book was both a gentle step into the past and a harsh reminder we really haven't come all that far. Walking through the lives of Ms. Samuel's characters and getting to experience the ways love was shared during times society made some relationships impossible was like opening the perfect gift. I will be looking forwad to more from her.

[almadmc · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I loved the book. It showed how life could be without pre-conceived prejudices. Certainly Angels Dad set the example initially. The letters between Angel and Isaiah were beautiful . Isaiah and Angels characters were very well developed. I would recommend this novel as a must read. I was holding my breath at one point of the story. This does not happen often in a novel. I am looking forward to reading other works by Barbara Samuel

[godsgirl_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book was very good and I liked it for the most part but did not LOVE it. It's quite romantic and her descriptions are very vivid. Love books about the south. Hard to hear again about all the racism in the south back then and still exists in many places. Loved how she tied in many facts about WWII and that the Europeans are so much less racist than we are. Seems like it should be the opposite.

[dotland101 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

One of THE BEST contemporary romance novels I read this year. Highly recommended. This is a not-so-distance-in-time kind of romance story or fiction that many of us used to read, but that some of us can even (especially from the South) relate to, whether pro or con, hopefully "pro" since a good romance story deserves good and happy ending. "The Sleeping Night" is a story of love during the World War II in 1940s between a white woman and a black man from Texas, no less. Would being a war hero from the WW-II came home back to Texas makes one bit of difference? Could a life time friendships since childhood survive racism and society to have a chance to grow into love between man and woman years later after time apart with only letters to keep each other company and comforted? I hate to spoil it for you, so y'all will have to read this wonderful story. I repeat... Romance novels lovers CAN'T miss this book! I'm fairly a newbie in romance genre myself and subsequently, there are many great romance writers out there that I haven't had a chance to read their wonderful work, and this is true to my familiarity with the novels by Barbara Samuel (aka "Ruth Wind" and "Barbara O'Neal). So, this is my very first book of Barbara Samuel I've had the pleasure to read and I just L-O-V-E it. "The Sleeping Night" will hold you riveted to your wherever you decided to put yourself down to read this book, bed , couch, wherever... you just couldn't help rooting for Angel and Isaiah (at least that what happened to me). It's a heart-warming and melting story that you only wish there were more of it out there in our (real) world. I would have given more than five stars to "The Sleeping Night" from Barbara Samuel if it were available. For those who're familiar with her works, y'all know how many RITA awards she has won. That alone should speak highly of her.

[sdbookhound · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I enjoyed the story of Angel and Isaiah and their forbidden love. I especially enjoyed the letters that they wrote to each other as they gave a little extra understanding to their characters. While I wouldn't say that I was at the edge of my seat while reading this book, it was good enough to keep me interested throughout. I would recommend this book to my friends.

[jsprenger_4 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The Sleeping Night is a wonderful and touching story. Set in the 1940's, we journey with two courageous people, Isaiah and Angel, and their love affair. But this book is so much more than a romance novel, and will keep readers interested right up to the end. This is a must read, and I couldn't put it down.

[lulu150 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is a great book! I am having a hard time trying to find the right words to describe this book because what I keep putting down will spoil the ending and I do not want to do that! So, I think I will say this, this is a wonderful book; it pulls at your heart strings and makes you think. It tells a wonderful story of carefree children and also the rules of society that everyone must follow in the 1940's. If you are looking for a great book to read I highly recommend this book! Enjoy!

[tricia35 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I loved this book! I really enjoyed the letters going back and forth between Angel and Isaiah. It made how te felt about each other more real. In 1946 love between them is not allowed. I liked how the book ended. This is the first time I have read anything from Barbara Samuel, I will be looking for more books from her! I will recommend this book to my family and friends.

[macygma · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Next door neighbors, basically but twenty worlds apart. Isaiah High and Angel Corey were best friends their entire lives until they became teens and then, by mutual unspoken agreement, they were pulled apart. Her dad and his mom saw things they didn’t and decided their way was best. And, in WW II Texas, it was. Angel’s mom died at her birth, leaving her to be raised in her papa’s general store, on the riverbank in Gideon, Texas. Across the river, in lower Gideon, lived the folk who the other residents depended on: the maids, housekeepers, nursemaids, gardeners, drivers, etc. all poor. All black. Such is the environment Isaiah came from – his father was a Medal of Honor winner but, of course, in the 1940’s he didn’t get it. He was black. Isaiah was encouraged to join the Armed Forces in WWII by Angel’s dad. He saw the storm coming in his part of Gideon and knew that Isaiah would change dramatically across the ocean in foxholes. What he didn’t plan on were the letters that passed between his daughter and the High boy weekly until the war ended. Then, as he had planned to never do again – Isaiah came home.This story broke my heart. I knew, as we all do, of the Southern cruelties to people of color. And some even know of the worse cruelties inflicted on those associating with them. All the characters in this story, especially the small-minded; were written with purpose and truth. The Christians who absolutely were not and the few who tried to change their minds will be with me for quite awhile.

[sarah_gruwell · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Another powerful work by Barbara Samuel. The backdrop for her romantic story is jaw-dropping to say the least. I’m not sure that most romance novelists would feel comfortable setting such a tale in Jim Crow Deep South America right after WWII and make that romance interracial. It raises a lot of issues and emotions that may not be exactly conducive to a romance; yet, I’ve learned that this author isn’t afraid to explore some dark with her romantic light.She explores all the horror that such a setting entails: lynchings, belittlement of the African-American population as well as single independent women, and an environment in which simply glancing in the wrong direction can cause death. The author isn’t afraid to show the starkness of such a situation and put her characters smack dab into it. Yet, I think all that bleakness stands as a sharp contrast to how beautiful love can be in such circumstances. Angel’s and Isaiah’s love for each other starts in childhood and grows into a potent power for good in their lives. There’s a ton of obstacles to overcome to get to the good, no less that attempted rape, murder, and harassment in broad daylight on the town’s main road in public. But the journey there is powerful in all that adversity and the author really knows how to draw her readers into that same journey. Her romance is beautiful and top notch.I also enjoyed the historical tidbits the author includes with her powerful story. The plight of WWII-ravaged Europe and the Holocaust are explored in the letters exchanged between Angel and Isaiah. The American WWII home front also finds some page time in widowhood and the ever-heartbreaking telegraphs telling a family of a loss. I liked the look at post-WWII rural Texas, too. The author shows us how even though they sacrificed for our country, the returning African American soldiers were not respected or treated differently at all. Everything was ho-hum regularity back home, and I liked how the author showed that was so jarring for the returning soldiers. Going from respect to condescending attitudes must have been a real eye-opener. There are some powerful lessons in this novel along with the romantic beauty of it.A powerful love story in such a bleak setting makes this a historical romance to treasure. It moves the emotions strongly and gives the reader a glimpse into a dark part of American history. It’s a historical romance that teaches as well as transports emotions away. This is another homerun from this author for me. I’ve definitely got to look into more of her works. Highly recommended for any historical romance reader who doesn’t mind some dark with their light.

[reneebooks · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Barbara Samuel is a talented writer and this story of an interracial couple in post-war Texas is griping, emotional and wonderfully done. Angel Corey grows up in her father's general store just beyond the edge of the white population of Gideon, Texas. Mr. Corey is an unusual man. This is the Jim Crow south, but he caters to the black population. He treats his black customers with respect even befriending one man who brings his son Isaiah with him. Isaiah and Angel become best friends as children. But as they grow older the deep prejudices of the south keep them apart. When WWII comes along Isaiah enlists in the army and ships out to Europe. He and Angel begin to write to each other and their relationship develops. After the war he returns to Gideon and learns that Angel's father died recently and she now runs the store. Samuel does an amazing job of describing the conditions of the horrible racial problems of the time and it seems these star-crossed lovers cannot possible achieve their HEA but she pulls it off beautifully. It's a very romantic love story that develops slowly over the years. This is an amazingly emotional book and one I'll never forget. I loaned the book to a friend but I can hardly wait to get it back for a re-read.

[dawn772 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A very engrossing story set in 1945 Texas. It was light on romance and heavy on racism and atrocities of WWII. I liked the letters starting chapters format which were oftentimes more interesting then the many details of daily living. An interracial couple struggles to suppress their love during a time when it was forbidden.

[mom2lnb · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I absolutely love Barbara Samuel's stories of forbidden love, and now that I've read The Sleeping Night, I have yet another one to add to my keeper shelf. Ms. Samuel is one of the most talented authors I know at writing interracial tales of seemingly impossible love. She is also one of the best at conveying a deep sense of yearning between her characters that makes me as the reader want to weep with joy when they finally come together and get their HEA. I like how she expresses the connection between the hero and heroine through longing looks, the barest of touches and shared words. The words are particularly important to this book because a large part of it is told in an epistolary format. It was Angel's letters that gave Isaiah the strength to keep going in the midst of the horrors of WWII, and he in turn had someone with an open and listening heart to whom he could write about both the good and the bad things he'd witnessed. Their letters begin in a friendly way and gradually build into something deeper, even if they can't come right out and say, “I love you.” They also share their appreciation of words through the books they both love so much. All the book references were wonderful, as well as how the pair still maintain their individuality by enjoying different types of books. Angel is a rather plain young woman with the heart of a lion. She married one of her childhood friends just two weeks before he shipped out to fight in the war and was widowed mere months later. Deep down, it wasn't her husband that she truly loved though, but Isaiah, who had been her best friend and constant companion throughout most of her life. Angel is a kind, caring person with a strong and loving faith in God. She was extremely well brought up by a daddy who had an epiphany during his own wartime experience where he believed that Jesus came to him and told him that He loved everyone equally no matter the color of their skin. When Angel's father returned from the war, he opened a store where he primarily serves the black people on the “wrong side” of his small Texas hometown, and Angel has been helping him since she was a little girl. Angel is a free-spirited young woman with a vivid imagination. She loves to go barefoot and be outside in nature and has an affinity with animals. The little injured bird she tamed is really cute. She is also a talented cook and adores children, longing for some of her own, but for now, settles on teaching her Sunday School class. Angel is a generous soul, always doing for others, but she suffers prejudice of her own, both for her decision to live alone and keep running the store after he father passes away and for her sympathy toward the African Americans in the community.Isaiah has loved Angel since he was a little boy. He even told his father that he was going to marry her someday, which earned him a stern reprimand, because in that era, even a little boy who was black saying something like that about a white girl could get himself killed. I could really sense Isaiah's pain and frustration over the racism that was rampant in Texas and the entire South at that time. It was the prejudice that had taken his father's life, and even after returning home from fighting in the war, Isaiah was still treated like a second-class citizen, as though his sacrifice was meaningless. It had been a refreshing change for him to be treated decently by the British and Europeans who weren't bothered by the color of his skin and didn't care much for America's segregation debate. Isaiah had all but vowed never to return home, but an errand for an old acquaintance and the call of his heart for Angel brought him back to the same hateful, bigoted Texas he'd wanted to leave far behind. Isaiah obviously cares very deeply for Angel and is frustrated by not being able to express his feelings because of the danger it could put them both in, but underneath his anger over not being able to claim the woman he loves, Isaiah is a gentleman with a scholarly side. He treats his mother with great respect, and loves children every bit as much as Angel does. He is also a very talented builder.It's obvious that Isaiah and Angel are prefect for each other, which is why as a reader it was a little bit frustrating that they couldn't be together sooner. I understood that Isaiah and Angel couldn't touch or even interact very much because of the danger they faced from racists, but it does make the early part of the story move a little slow. I was absolutely dying for them to just brush in passing or maybe think of one another in more overtly romantic terms, which would have built a little more sexual tension. Even now though, I can't decide if this was a weakness of the story or pure genius on the author's part, because it appeared that Isaiah and Angel were trying to avoid even thinking of each other in that way, knowing how impossible their love would be. When they finally do touch, it's a very emotional moment, but it still takes a while for things to build between them. When the first love scene finally happens, it was utterly beautiful. While I wouldn't categorize The Sleeping Night as an inspirational romance per se, it does contain a very gentle spiritual message. Angel maintains a strong but quiet faith in God and His ability to work good even in the midst of the most trying circumstances. Isaiah, on the other hand, understandably lost his faith after witnessing the horrors of WWII. Angel never tries to change his mind though, but instead treats his views with respect and offers him understanding and patience, believing that she can have faith for both of them. Ultimately, it is her gentleness and love that helps to restore Isaiah's faith. I really loved and related to how this part of the story played out, and think that many authors of inspirational romances could learn a lesson from it about not having one character browbeat the other when it comes to spiritual issues. Overall, The Sleeping Night was yet another beautiful story from Barbara Samuel's fertile imagination. It was one of the earliest books she wrote, but at the time, there was no market for it. I'm so glad that her significant other encouraged her to dust it off, give it an overhaul, and get it published. It's definitely a refreshing and welcome addition to the romance genre that I highly recommend.Note: I received a copy of this book from the publisher in exchange for an honest review.

[sar450 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

***Caution - contains spoilers***Love, love, loved this story. You get both perspectives of the love story at the same time, and also at three different time periods (childhood, during the war, and once the war is over). As a reader, you feel like you really understand the feelings that Angel and Isaiah have for each other; and it really tears your heart out. You want them to be together, but in 1940s segregated Texas, this is dangerous for both of them.No matter how hard they try, though, these two characters are drawn to one another. All of this influenced by a mass of other interesting characters - their fathers, Mrs. Pierson, Gudren (a survivor of the Holocaust), and Edwin (a creepy man who constantly hounds Angel to marry him). We get a glimpse of the war through Isaiah's eyes and learn of the places he went, and the people he met, as well as the differences between European and American opinions on segregation. Even though Isaiah knew returning home would mean returning to a place where he is disrespected and ignored, he cannot stay away from Angel.Angel is lonely. Her mother dead for her whole life, and now losing her father, who was the man who made her who she is, instilling in her a love of all people and a willingness to help, even at great expense to herself. She wants to hold onto her father's store with everything she has, to keep some part of him and her history intact, but as the people of the town become more and more forceful, she is faced with the reality that her safety is in danger, and she could lose everything she holds dear.I loved the writing, I loved the characters, I loved the glimpse into Angel and Isaiah's futures at the end of the novel, which really brought everything together. This story has it all and I would recommend it to anyone looking for a well thought out, and enthralling story about two people whose love for one another helps them face challenge after challenge, but who are drawn back together time after time.I received a copy of this book from the publisher in exchange for an honest review.