A Holt Medallion 2001 Winner
2000 National Readers' Choice Award Finalist

When Callie Randolph and David Hamilton meet, their worlds have all but fallen apart. Callie had dreamed that her first intimate moments with a man would be a beautiful, loving experience, and David had dreamed that love could conquer the direst of situations. Both were disillusioned. Yet as their lives become intertwined, they find strength and healing in each other and in their relationship with God. The only thing that keeps them apart is a secret they hold deep within themselves. But on Christmas Eve as the clock strikes midnight, their dark secrets surface, lit by a bright, new day and a Christmas blessing.

Then when you call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. And you will seek me and find me, When you seek me with all your heart.

                                 Jeremiah 29: 12 - 13

REVIEWS

Gail Gaymer Martin's poetic style flows from the page, drawing the reader in like a beautiful painting. The story is compelling, disturbing, and satisfying. I enjoyed every moment of my time with these characters and feel confident the reader will as well. 
T. Bateman, Inspirational Romance  - To view this full review click here.

An impressive debut in the inspirational category. Real characters dealing with complex and emotionally disabling problems in realistic ways. UPON A MIDNIGHT CLEAR is all about faith - in each other, in love and in God. I enjoyed this story and look forward to Ms. Martin's next offering.
Karen Larsen, Scribes World

"Upon a Midnight Clear" is a special story of rediscovery and healing. I cried through the entire read and couldn't put it down. Refreshing, giving fresh hope to those who experienced hurt and loss in their past, Upon A Midnight Clear is a tender journey of healing and renewal you don't want to miss."
Cheryl Wolverton, Rita Finalist, Love Inspired author

5 Stars - Although I am not normally an Inspirational romance reader I was pleasantly surprised. I not only enjoyed this book [Upon a Midnight Clear], but I thought it was relevant to issues people have had to deal with in the past and the present. Through this book Gail Gaymer Martin shows her faith in God and love, and the healing God can do in a person's life. This is a great read for anyone.
Carol Castellanos, Sime~Gen Romance Coordinator

Excerpt from UPON A MIDNIGHT CLEAR

"But I've made a decision." Callie lifted her eyes to her mother's. "I'm not going to give elderly-care anymore. I'll find something else."

"Praise the Lord, you've come to your senses. Callie, you have a nursing degree, but you continue to waste your time with the 'death-watch.' You need to live and use the talent God gave you."

Deep creases furrowed Callie's forehead. "Please don't call it the 'death-watch.' Caring for older people has been a blessing. And I do use my talents." She shook her head, amazed at her mother's attitude. "Do you think it's easy to nurse someone who's dying? I use as many skills as I would in a regular hospital."

Grace fell back against the chair. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to belittle your work, but it's not a life for a young woman. Look at you. You're beautiful and intelligent, yet you spend your life sitting in silent rooms, listening to old people muttering away about nothing but useless memories. What about a
husband . . . and children? Don't you want a life for yourself?"

She flinched at her mother's words. "Please, don't get on that topic, Mom. You know how I feel about that."

"I wish I knew when you got these odd ideas. They helped put your father in his grave. He had such hopes for you."

Callie stiffened as icy tendrils slithered through her. How many times was she reminded she helped kill her father? After his death three years earlier, the doctor said her dad had been a walking time bomb from fatty foods, cigarettes, and a type A personality. Though guilt poked at her, she knew she hadn't caused his death. Yet, she let her mother rile her.

Grace scowled with a piercing squint. "I think it began when you stopped singing," she said, releasing a lengthy, audible sigh. "Such a beautiful voice. Like a meadowlark."

"Stop. Stop, Mother." Callie slammed her hand on the tabletop. "Please, don't call me that."

Grace paled. "Well, I'm sorry. What's gotten into you?" She gaped at Callie. "You're as white as a sheet. I only called you a--"

"Please, don't say it again, Mother." Callie pressed her forehead into her hand.

"I don't know what's wrong with you." Grace sat for a moment before she began her litany. "I don't know, Callie. I could cry when I think of it. Everyone said you sang like an angel."

Callie stared at the newspaper, the black letters blurring. Her mother wouldn't stop until she'd made her point. Callie ached inside when she thought about the music she always loved. She struggled to keep her voice calm and controlled. "I lost my interest in music, that's all." Her fingernails dug into the flesh of her fisted hand.

"Your father had such hopes for you. He dreamed you'd pass your audition with the Jim McKee Singers. But his hopes were buried along with him in his grave."

Callie modulated her pitch, and her words exited in a monotone. "I didn't pass the audition. I told you."

"I can't believe that, Callie. You've said it, but everyone knew you could pass the audition. Either you didn't try or . . . I don't know. Being part of Paul Ivory's great evangelist ministry would be any girl's dream. And the Jim McKee Singers traveled with him in the summer all over the country, so it wouldn't have interfered with your college studies. And then you just quit singing. I can't understand you. "

"Mother, let's not argue about something that happened years ago."

Callie folded the paper and clasped it in her trembling hand. She rose without comment. What could she say that she hadn't said a million times already? "I'm going to my room. I have a headache." As she passed through the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder and saw her mother's strained expression.

Before Grace could call after her, Callie rushed up the staircase to her second floor bedroom and locked the door. She could no longer bear to hear her mother's sad-voiced recollections. No one but Callie knew the true story. She prayed the vivid picture, like a horror movie, would leave her. Yet, so many nights the ugly dream tore into her sleep, and she relived the life-changing moments again and again.

She plopped on the corner of the bed, massaging the taut cords in her neck. The newspaper ad appeared in her mind. David Hamilton. She grabbed a pen from her desk, reread the words, and jotted his name and telephone number on a scratch pad. She'd check with the Christian Care Service tomorrow and see what they had available. At least, she'd have the number handy if she wanted to give Mr. Hamilton a call later.

She tossed the pad on her dressing table and stretched out on the bed. A child? The thoughts of caring for a child frightened her. Would a child, especially a sick child, stir her longing?

Yet she'd resolved to make a change in her life. Images of caring for adults marched through her head. The thought no longer appealed to her. Nursing in a doctor's office or hospital held no interest for her, patients coming and going, a nurse with no involvement in their lives. She wanted to be part of a life, to make a difference.

She rolled on her side, dragging her fingers through the old-fashioned chenille spread. The room looked so much as it did when she was a teenager. How long had her mother owned the antiquated bedspread?

Since college her parents' home was only a stop-off place between jobs. Live-in care was her preference, away from her parents guarded eyes, trying to cover their sorrow and shame over all that had happened.

When she graduated from college, she had weighed all the issues. Geriatric care seemed to encompass all her aspirations. At that time, she could never consider child-care. Her wounds were too fresh.

Her gaze drifted to the telephone. David Hamilton entered her mind again. Looking at her wristwatch, she wondered if it were too late to call him. Eight in the evening seemed early enough. Curiosity galloped through her mind. What did the ad mean: a "special" child? Was the little one mentally or physically challenged? A boy or girl? Where did the family live? Questions spun in her head. What would calling hurt? She'd at least have her questions answered.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, rose, and grabbed the note pad. What specific information would she like to know? She organized her thoughts and punched in the long-distance number.

A rich, baritone voice filled the line, and when Callie heard his commanding tone, she caught her breath. Job interviews and query telephone calls had never bothered her. Tonight her wavering emotions addled her. She drew in a lengthy, relaxing breath, then introduced herself and stated her business.

Hamilton's self-assured manner caught her off-guard. "I'm looking for a professional, Ms. Randolph. What is your background?"

His tone intimidated her, and her responses to his questions sounded reticent in her ears. "It's Miss Randolph, and I'm a professional, licensed nurse." She paused to steady her nerves. "But I've preferred to work as a home care-giver rather than in a hospital. The past four years, I've had elderly patients, but I'm looking for a change."

"Change?"

His abrupt question struck her as arrogant, and Callie sensed his arched eyebrow.

"Yes. I've been blessed working with the older patients, but I'd like to work with . . . a child."

"I see." A thoughtful silence hung on the air. "You're a religious woman, Miss Randolph?"

His question confounded her. Then she remembered she'd used the word "blessed." Not sure what he expected, she answered honestly. "I'm a Christian, if that's what you're asking."

She waited for a response. Yet, only silence filled the line. With no response forthcoming, she asked her question. "What do you mean by special, Mr. Hamilton? In the ad, you mentioned you needed a care-giver for a 'special child.'"

He hesitated only a moment. "Natalie . . . Nattie's a bright child. She was always active, delightful, but since her mother's death two years ago, she's become . . . withdrawn." His voice faded.

"Withdrawn?"

"Difficult to explain in words. I'd rather the perspective care-giver meet her and see for herself what I mean. Nattie no longer speaks. She barely relates to anyone. She lives in her own world."

Callie's heart lurched at the thought of a child bearing such grief. "I see. I understand why you're worried." Yet, panic crept over her like icy fingers inching along her spine. Her heart already ached for the child. Could she control her own feelings? Her mind spun with flashing red warning lights.

"I've scared you off, Miss Randolph." Apprehension resounded in his statement.

She cringed, then lied a little. "No, no. I was thinking."

"Thinking?" His tone softened. "I've been looking for someone for some time now, and I seem to scare people off with the facts. . . the details of Nattie's problem."

The image of a lonely, motherless child rose in her mind, tugging at her compassion. What grief he had to bear. "I'm not frightened of the facts," Callie said, but in her heart, she was frightened of herself. "I have some personal concerns that came to mind." She fumbled for what to say next. "For example, I don't know where you live. Where are you located, sir?"

"We live in Bedford, not too far from Bloomington."

Bedford. The distance was only a couple hours from her mother's house. She paused a moment, thinking. "I have some personal matters I need to consider. I'll call you as soon as I know whether I'd like to be interviewed for the position. I hope that's okay with you."

"Certainly. That's fine. I understand." Discouragement sounded in his voice.

She bit the corner of her lip. "Thank you for your time."

When she hung up the telephone, Callie sat without moving. She should have been honest. She'd already made her decision. A position like that wouldn't be wise at all. She was too vulnerable.

Besides, she wasn't sure she wanted to work for David Hamilton. His tone seemed stiff and arrogant. A child needed a warm, loving father, not one who was bitter and inflexible. She would have no patience with a man like that.

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