The Sleeping Night by Samuel Barbara

Author:Samuel, Barbara [Samuel, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BelleBooks, Inc.
Published: 2012-06-21T04:00:00+00:00

“You and your God.” He gestured with one hand toward the front room. “Go on and put it up.”

While she was gone, Isaiah picked up the typewriter and settled it on the table, lifting off the heavy square lid. When she came back, her skirt swishing against her legs, he said, “You pour me another cup of coffee, I reckon I could show you how this works, too.”

She lifted her chin, one hand on her hip. “Conscience bothering you, Isaiah?”

He glanced at the typewriter. “I reckon it is.”

“About time,” she scooped his mug from the table, refilled both cups, and sat down. “Okay, now show me. Whole lot better than a gun.”

“You got that right.” He illustrated the carriage return and the shift key. Angel slipped a piece of paper into the carriage and sat down in front of him to try typing a line. He stood behind her, smelling the mix of sweat and oranges that came off her skin, noticing her small, well-formed head and the fine wispy hair. He thought of moving her hair off her neck, putting his nose to the damp place at her nape. He knew she would not turn away.

And then they’d both end up dead, or worse. “You gettin’ the idea,” he said, and moved toward the sink, drinking his coffee.

“I know there’s a way to type with all your fingers. Do you know how?” She pursed her fat little lips. The bruise on her cheek made his head ache.

“You can probably get a book at the library.” He put his cup in the sink. “I have to get back. “

“Oh.” She stood up, catching her hands behind her back. “Thank you, Isaiah.”

For one last, long minute, he indulged his long loneliness and told himself to remember how those wide green eyes looked, right now, with their flecks of yellow and blue. Then he swallowed and backed away. “You’re welcome.”

Even to his own ears, his voice was gruff.

On the back porch, she stopped him. “Isaiah, I’m not a fool, you know.”

“I know that.”

“It’s just all so . . . overwhelming. My daddy. The store.” She shrugged. “You.”

He only listened.

“I’m trying to figure out what my life should look like, but I don’t know right now.” She held out a folded piece of paper. “I wrote you a letter the other day.”

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