Drowning. He was drowning in joy.
Angel broke away and tugged him into her bedroom at the back of the house where they fell on the comfort of the bed, and there were no thoughts then, only mouths and hands and skin, only soft cries and fierce nips and the ancient rhythm of sex.
A long time later, Angel felt Isaiah shift away from her. “Don’t go,” she whispered.
“I’m not going anywhere, baby.” He reached down to pull the sheet over them. He bent his head and kissed her neck before settling next to her again, propped on one elbow. When he grinned, the dimple in his left cheek gave him a boyish expression. “That was really something you had for me.”
She stretched against him, rubbing her shoulder up against his chest like a cat. “I thought I just might fade away waiting to see you again. I didn’t expect you tonight.”
“I didn’t expect to be here.” He brushed her hair away from her face, eyes growing serious. “I stood out there in the trees thinking about all the things that could happen to you if Edwin finds out about this. It’s dangerous, Angel. We should figure out how to get out of here, where to meet, and then just stay the hell away from each other until we get there.”
“I know. I spoke with Mrs. Pierson this morning. She is going to take the store as an investment and find someone to work it.”
“Good. Meantime, we just won’t even talk.”
“That scares me. What if we miss each other somehow?”
“We won’t.”
“All right. But let’s not talk about it right now.” She nuzzled her face in to his neck, smelling the familiar scent. “Not now.”
“Look at me.”
She sighed and fell back on the pillow.
“You can’t run now into one of your books—and you got to be clear about what you want.”
“You know what I want.’’
He shook his head, curling one hand around her face. “You have to tell me.”
The light in the room was dim and smoky-colored. Angel tugged the sheet around her more closely. She shook her head. “You’re still underestimating me, Isaiah High.”
“Am I?” His face was sober, and more vulnerable than she had ever seen it, and suddenly she thought of him at six, reading to her on the front porch, so proud and pleased, doing it to impress her. “No matter what, it’ll never be an easy life.”
She touched his jaw, vast tenderness spreading over her ribs. “You want to make sure I know what I’m getting myself into, don’t you? That I love you enough for that.”
“You don’t how ugly people can be.”
She lifted her eyebrows, “What? Somebody might call me a name, or spit in my face or something? Somebody might threaten me or someone I love?” She pressed her lips together. “We’ll be on the outside, never inside.”
“Always,” he rumbled, and traced the line of her collarbone. “Won’t be easy to make friends, not for us, or—” He cleared his throat. “Any babies we have. D’you ever think of that?”
She thought of her dream, just before he came home, a beautiful girl child with black curls and chubby hands. The longing for that child slammed her so hard that she had to close her eyes, tears rushing up through her so fast she could stop them. In a cracked voice, she said, “Yes, I have.”
He bent to her, pressed his head against hers. “Does it scare you?”
A thousand answers twisted around themselves. “Yes,” she said. “And no. I wish it wasn’t going to be like it is.” She bit her lip and glanced outside to the falling twilight. “I used to get mad at my daddy sometimes, when I was a little older and nobody wanted to be friends with me because of him, where we lived, how outspoken he was about everything. I used to wonder why he couldn’t just shut up for five minutes and let everybody think he was down here exploiting the colored folks like anybody else.”
He laughed.
“I’m a naturally friendly person, Isaiah. I like to be with people and talk to them and know what’s in their minds. It’s always been a tiny bit hard to be always on the outside like I am.”
“I see that.” His hand moved on circles over her belly. “Go on.”
“I wish it didn’t matter.” She touched his springy hair. “I wish there were all kinds of beautiful, all kinds of loving, room for everybody. I wish hate and bombs and Hitlers would just stop.”
His hand was still. “But that ain’t gonna happen.”
“I know. It won’t happen. And I’m going to love you until I die, no matter who likes us or our children or don’t like us. So we might as well just make the best of it. Not like I don’t know how to live on the outside.”
He tugged her close. “There’s a place for us. We’ll just keep looking till we find it.” His arms were tight around her, his big leg lassoing both of hers. “Are you gonna have some babies for me to hug and kiss?”
“As many as you want,” she said softly, “but we better hurry up, cuz I’m not getting any younger.”
“We just have to do more of this, then,” he murmured and kissed her ear.
She giggled suddenly. “Oh, Isaiah, you know what my name’s gonna be?” She collapsed against him, shaking with laughter. “Angel High!”
He laughed with her, then pulled himself upright. “Not until we can get out of here.’’
“It won’t be long now, Isaiah. Somebody’s bound to take this store, now they know I’m willing to just give it over.”
He stood up, visibly wincing as his ankle took his weight. Tugging on his pants, he shook his head. “I don’t think so, not with all that’s gone on.”
Reluctantly, Angel put her slip on. “Maybe you oughta go on to Dallas, wait for me there, and I’ll join you as soon as I get things settled.”
“Please,” he protested. “I’m just gonna walk away and leave you here? That doesn’t even make any sense, Angel. No sense. You shoulda had your behind outta here the first time Edwin smacked you. Maybe you should go on to Mrs. Pierson’s tonight. I’ll take you there.”
She gave him a look. “You can’t even walk across the room, Isaiah. How are you gonna see me over to Mrs. Pierson’s?”
Isaiah sank down on the chair to put on his socks. A mulish expression crossed his brow.
“I’ll be all right here tonight, go to Mrs. Pierson’s in the morning. Everything will work out.”
“That’s what you always think, Angel, but it’s just not always true. Life ain’t a fairy tale, and even God can’t help you if a man’s crazy enough.”
A terrible sorrow weighted his voice. So many things had been torn inside of him—war had torn him in ways not even the death of his daddy and the beating in the woods could do. It would take time for those places to knit, for his faith to come back—if it ever did.
Could even love heal that bitterness?
And yet, what were the odds that they would even be standing together like this, meeting each other’s eyes in love and hope? She disappeared into her dress and shook her hair free. “God can do anything, Isaiah.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I’ll get everything together tonight, say my goodbyes to the ladies in the morning.” She held up a finger. “Wait, though. I want you to take something for me.” She opened a drawer and took out the red tin where she’d kept his letters. “I saved every one. Take it with you.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Nothing. I just won’t have room in my suitcase.”
He tucked the tin close. “All right.”
They walked to the back door, where Isaiah paused to kiss her tenderly. “That’s going to have to last, Angel, for both of us. We can’t be taking chances like this. You move to Mrs. Pierson’s tomorrow and we’ll figure out our plan from there.”
“I promise.” She grabbed his hand, lifted it to her lips, kissed the bend of his fingers. “I have never been happier, Isaiah. I mean that.”
“Me, either, Angel. I mean it, too.” Everything in him softened, and he lifted her fingers to his own lips. “I love
you, Angel, that’s a fact. I don’t know if it’s the best thing for either one of us, but I’m never going to leave you. Never, you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“I had a cane here somewhere.” He picked it up off the floor. “Keep that gun by you, Angel. Right by you.”
“I will. Don’t worry,” She pushed his arm a little. “Get some rest.” She watched his limping figure until it disappeared into the twilight and trees. As the dusty light swallowed him, a sudden sense of foreboding thudded in her belly and she wanted to call him back. Instead, she closed the door, shaking her head. Just getting jumpy.
A long hot bath and a cup of tea made her feel better. Ebenezer scratched at the window and she let him in, fed him and herself, and then gathered her things into two suitcases. There wasn’t much she had to bring when it came down to it. Her clothes were mostly from before the war, all worn out and ragged. She had three good dresses, a few pairs of panties and slips, photos of her father and the store and a couple of books she had to keep.
Enough, she thought, finally headed to bed. Enough.
— 39 —
June 2, 1946
Dear Angel,
I’m writing this from my bedroom. Must be going on to midnight, and I’m not sleepy, because I’m on fire. Everything in me is lit up like Christmas, twinkling and blinking and dancing around. My little toe is tapping and my earlobes and my eyelashes feel lit up. I close my eyes and think of your mouth and my chest aches. I think of sleeping with you all night long and waking up in the morning and having coffee and I want to get up and dance. I never thought I’d feel this happy, and at the same time, it seems like this was coming for us since we were children. Remember when I brought that snakeskin to you, the night we read together? You were wearing a yellow dress with teeny polka dots on it. Someday, I’d like you have another dress like that.
I’m thinking tonight of our children and that makes me want to fly. Your babies. Mine. All of us sitting around some big table somewhere, having supper, day after day. That’s not so glamorous, is it, but it sounds like a dream come true. Children, a home, you. And both of us following those old dreams however we can, maybe only in little ways. I can find some work with a builder. Maybe you can go to school. Maybe we both can, I don’t know. I got money saved. A lot. Mrs. Pierson gave me more when I brought Gudren back, so we can figure something out.
I am just so happy, Angel. I want to write it all over the page. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. So many times in my letters I wanted to say something like that and I never could. When you wrote me that letter about the cake . . . .have mercy (ha ha). Someday I want you to read that letter out loud to me.
Now maybe I can go to sleep and get ready to start a new life tomorrow. With my baby. With you, my Angel.
Love,
Isaiah
— 40 —
Somewhere in the deepest part of the night, Angel awakened sharply, sitting bold upright in bed, her mouth dry with fear. She grabbed the gun automatically as she listened to the heavy silence, peering into the dark until dots danced in front of her eyes.
A noise blasted into the quiet—Ebenezer shrieking from the rooms in front of the house. A thud followed the eerie, warlike cry, and Angel realized vaguely he had thrown himself at the window or door. Quietly, she threw the covers from her and crept to the window of her room. Ebenezer cried out again, the sound unlike anything she’d ever heard him make before—almost a human scream.
Bloodcurdling.
From outside came the low sound of voices, and a rumbling chuckle she didn’t recognize. Working sweaty fingers more tightly around the gun, she made sure it was cocked and moved soundlessly to the window to peer into the back yard.
Nothing. At least nothing she could see. A cloud filmed the half-moon and the flickering shadows of trees could have hidden a dozen men. She crept from her room into the hallway that led to the store, then slipped into her daddy’s room, keeping her head low.
Here, the voices were clearer. She counted them: Tom and Jake, a voice she didn’t know, and Edwin. Four. Moving stealthily in a way that was at odds with their previous crashing, crazy vandalism. This was like a mission.
Her heart was pounding so hard it interfered with her hearing and she took a moment to breathe in and out, trying to calm herself. Think clearly. What were they doing? Did she dare break for the woods out the back door?
Ebenezer shrieked again, and she glanced toward the sound. He’d follow her out and they’d know, she thought, grimly. Out the front, or out the back, but if she ran fast enough, she might be able to elude them long enough to get to the tree house.
One of the men shouted, “Ready!”
Angel ducked without really knowing why. She expected shotgun blasts or rocks through the windows. She didn’t expect the roar that blew in from the front of the store, a sudden explosion—and then, the unmistakable scent of gasoline.
“Ebenezer,” she whispered, jumping up to run toward the door. A blast of heat pushed her back almost instantly, and for one single, endless second, she stared in horror at the bright orange flames shooting up the walls, devouring the work of a lifetime.
If Ebenezer had been there, he was gone, sucked into the inferno.
Her heart cracked in two. Baby!
Sudden hammering blows sounded at the back door and Angel whirled back into her father’s bedroom crouching behind the door, her throat dry, pulse racing. There had to be a way out of here.
Think, Angel.
Overhead, the flames began to lick over the roof, crackling and hissing like an evil serpent. God, you’re gonna have to deal with this one, she prayed mindlessly. Help me, help me, help me.
Have courage.
Swallowing hard, she wiped her fingers, checked the gun again, and heard the back door give way, followed by footsteps and a cry. “Angel Corey!” Edwin bellowed. “You better come out here!”
She didn’t know how he knew where her bedroom was, but she heard him in there, turning things over, swearing. “She ain’t here again, goddamnit!”
Footfalls rattled along the hall way and the bathroom door slammed open, a closet opened, and they finally made their way toward her hiding place. As they approached, Angel ran across the room to the window, throwing it open, unmindful of the noise. She scrambled over the sill and fell to the ground outside, gun still in hand. As her bare feet hit the dirt, she started running. The sound of the flames was turning to a roar and she could hear shouts coming from inside, but she ran like hell, rounding the back of the house for the woods—
And slammed hard into a solid wall of man. Bobby Grover, the voice she hadn’t placed. He grabbed her, and with a cry, Angel stomped on the arch of his food.
With a cry of surprise, he held her arm and backhanded her across the mouth. Angel tasted blood, but behind her, she could hear shouts.
They would kill her. Without hesitation, she lifted her hand and fired the pistol into Bobby Grover’s soft gut.
He made a grunt of surprise then fell away from her. Angel felt his blood on her hand, but her adrenaline was so high that she nearly couldn’t think.
A voice screamed in her mind—run! Run!
She tore through the trees, hearing shouts and a cat call behind her. The fire roared high into the night sky, full of light and sound, like a celebration, an inferno.
She ran. Her feet, even leathery as they were, took a beating, tearing on hidden rocks and thorns and tree roots. Branches beat her face, caught her eyes and hair. She heard a sob and realized it was her own.
Behind her came the sound of other feet, following the sound of her own. Edwin cried, “Here I come, honey!”
He crashed through the trees behind her, and she could hear the others coming, too, making noise, crying out. Behind her, Edwin cackled, only a few feet away. “Here I come!” he shouted. He crashed through the trees behind her.
Angel could hear the
others coming, too, making sounds of glee that sent an almost supernatural wave of horror washing through her.
Her foot caught in a tangle of vines, and she went flying. She felt it in slow motion, felt the earth rise up and then slam into her chin and breasts. The gun flew out of her hand, discharging as it landed. She coughed, the wind knocked out of her, and scrambled to her feet, wiping blood off her mouth. In the darkness, she kicked leaves and patted the earth frantically, trying to find the gun. Nothing. “Please, please, please,” she panted, like an animal, her voice coming in sobs.
Right behind her, she heard twigs snapping, feet crashing, and there was no time left. She sprang up and hurtled through the trees. A stitch caught her side and she stumbled, and scrambled again.
“I’m coming, honey! I know you’re waiting!” Edwin cried, and it was close, so close.
Dear God.
His hand snagged her hair and Angel screamed. She swung her fists toward his face, catching the edge of his chin. He laughed. “Angel, I had no idea you were such a wildcat.” She cried out, clawing for him, kicking, and he grabbed her close to him, her arms pinned against her sides. “I got her, boys.” His hand was threaded painfully through her hair and he snapped her neck back, “Don’t I, sugar? I got you now.”
Angel stared at him and swallowed. Fear made her very cold.
“Isaiah!” There was such urgency in Geraldine’s tone that Isaiah sprung awake, but not without a shaft of pain shooting through his eyes.
He groaned softly.
“’Saiah! Get up! The Corey place is on fire.”
He bolted awake.
Have mercy. He struggled into his clothes, firing questions. “When you see it? How long? You hear anything else?”
The Sleeping Night Page 26