Through the Deep Waters

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  She still sat in the chair but with her hands braced on the armrests, leaning forward a little. Tense. Alert. Like a prairie dog keeping watch for a preying hawk. His heart turned over. She’d asked what had broken him. An unexpected question formed in his mind.

  What had broken her?

  Dinah

  Dinah waited until the man with the basket of eggs entered the dining room. Then she flopped back into the chair with a sigh of relief. Had she really fallen asleep out here in the open? What a foolish thing to do. Anyone could have sneaked up on her—and someone did!

  When the chair legs crashed against the floor, she’d been certain he was coming after her. In her sleepiness, his dark suit, combed-back hair, and solid form had too closely resembled another man. But then he spoke kindly. And then he limped. And then he asked her forgiveness.

  She shook her head in wonder. He’d only frightened her, but he asked for her forgiveness. He hadn’t even sneaked a look at her chest—she knew because she watched his eyes. He behaved respectfully, speaking to her gently while keeping his eyes and hands to himself. No, he hadn’t been anything like the men who visited the brothel or the man who’d hurt her.

  Even so, she needed to be careful.

  Now wide awake, she contemplated going inside. She’d tried to go in earlier when the train cars emptied of passengers, but the man at the desk asked if she was eating, and when she said no, he sent her away before she could explain. Now that everyone was gone, she should let the manager know his new chambermaid had arrived. But she didn’t move.

  The man with the eggs was in there, talking to the manager. She didn’t want to disrupt their conversation. Mostly she didn’t want to see the man again. He must think her a complete ninny, the way she’d behaved. She hated feeling so jumpy inside, always fearful. The egg man said he’d gotten hurt a long time ago and it hardly bothered him anymore. Would she be able to make the same claim someday?

  The sound of footsteps—uneven ones—reached her ears. She hunkered low in the chair and peeked over the high back. Sure enough, the egg man was leaving. She tried to see his face. If he looked happy, she’d know he’d sold his eggs. But he held the basket upright in the curve of his arm. If it was empty, he wouldn’t have a reason to carry it up against his ribs. So he must not have sold them.

  Unexpectedly, anger boiled in her middle. He’d looked so eager, saying he hoped the manager would buy his eggs. Would a cook need eggs? Of course he would—Rueben had arranged for daily delivery of eggs at the Yellow Parrot. So why had the manager said no? She watched the man stride away in his funny big step–little step way. If she had a house and a kitchen, she’d chase after him and buy some eggs to make up for the manager’s refusal, even if it took every penny she had left in her pocket. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair.

  “May I help you?”

  The voice startled her so badly she yelped. She bounced up from the chair and turned to find herself being scrutinized by a short, wiry, gray-haired man wearing round, thick spectacles on the end of his nose.

  The man’s heavy gray brows descended in a scowl. “Are you a guest here at the Clifton?”

  Dinah shook her head. “No, sir. I was hired to be the new chambermaid.”

  His expression remained dour. “You’re Miss Dinah Hubley?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What are you doing out here on the porch, then? The telegram Mrs. Walters sent yesterday afternoon indicated you’d be arriving on the morning train. The morning train’s already come and gone, and you haven’t checked in with me.”

  So this must be the hotel manager. The past days had been fraught with difficulties—standing firm against Miss Flo’s wheedling to stay and take her mother’s place, handling Tori’s death and burial, traveling to Kansas City, being sent to Florence to clean rooms rather than serve diners … And now she was being scolded when she’d only done what the man at the desk inside had told her to do, which was to go away. Added to that, the manager had refused to buy the nice man’s eggs.

  “What was wrong with the eggs?”

  The manager blinked twice, his pale-brown eyes huge behind the thick lenses. “I beg your pardon?”

  Why did it matter to her whether the hotel bought the man’s eggs or not? Because he’d asked her forgiveness, that was why. No one—not even Rueben, who’d scolded her severely for going to the hotel room before admitting he was really angry at Miss Flo, not at her—had ever asked her forgiveness before. But how could she explain her interest to the manager? Dinah sighed. “Never mind.”

  The man harrumphed. “Well, Miss Hubley, I am Mr. Irwin, the dining room manager and staff supervisor. I assume you have a bag somewhere?” He seemed to search the area.

  What few items she owned she’d stuffed into a woven satchel. She retrieved it from its spot beside the chair where she’d slept. “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well, then. Come with me.” He turned and moved across the porch floor with hardly a sound, his frame so slight. Dinah followed, observing how sprightly he moved for an older man—much more so than the egg man, who was no doubt decades younger. But Mr. Irwin hadn’t been run over by a wagon wheel when he was eleven.

  She pushed aside thoughts of the egg man and trailed Mr. Irwin past a pair of closed doors where guests had been sitting a half hour ago, past a lunch counter where the smell of bacon and yeasty bread still lingered, and then up a narrow flight of enclosed stairs that emptied into a long hallway well lit by gas lamps on both sides. He led her to the last door on the left and pointed to the number six painted in gold on the center panel.

  “You will share this room with our other chambermaid. She’s working right now so I will introduce the two of you later. Her name is Ruthie Mead—a fine young woman. She’s been employed here at the Clifton for more than a year and will be able to explain the cleaning procedures to you. Since you traveled all night, Mrs. Walters recommended allowing you today to rest and begin your duties tomorrow.” He didn’t seem very happy about letting her rest. He pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked the door, then handed the key to her. “Don’t lose that.”

  Dinah curled her fist around the brass key and stepped over the threshold. She dropped her bag on the carpeted floor and glanced at her new home. Although cheery with lace curtains at the windows and flowered paper on the walls, the room was barely large enough to hold the double iron bed, wardrobe, bureau, dressing table, and washstand. She would share this small space with someone else? When the interviewer had mentioned room and board, Dinah envisioned a room of her own. Another expectation dashed.

  “Come to my office this afternoon after you’ve had a chance to rest a bit and we’ll find uniforms to fit you. While employed by the Clifton, you’re to wear a uniform at all times, even when away from the hotel. You represent the Clifton and will conduct yourself with decorum or risk dismissal.” The man’s scowl never faded.

  Trepidation tiptoed across her scalp. Was he still angry about finding her on the porch, or did he disapprove of her for some other reason?

  “We also expect our employees to be tidy, so if one uniform becomes soiled, you need to change it immediately. Take your soiled items to the basement washroom. Laundresses are always on duty and will see to your needs, so there’s no excuse not to have a clean uniform at your disposal at all times.”

  Accustomed to doing her own wash, Dinah silently celebrated this piece of news.

  “Now, Miss Hubley, I must return to my office. At noon feel free to sit at the counter and order a plate. I’ll alert the lunch-counter staff of your arrival.” He turned and departed.

  Dinah closed the door, paused for a moment, and then turned the lock. The other chambermaid should already have a key, but she didn’t want anyone else walking in on her unannounced. It took only a few minutes to put away her belongings. With the money Miss Flo had given her, Dinah had purchased three simple calico dresses—one of which she now wore—shoes, stockings, and underclothes. She’d always gotten by with little and could
continue to do so. Something had to stay the same after everything that had changed.

  She started to stretch out on the bed for a nap—she’d hardly slept on the rocking train last night. But the bed was made so neatly—the sheets pulled taut and the bright patchwork quilt centered perfectly on the mattress—she hated to muss it. And she couldn’t determine which side the other chambermaid had already claimed. So instead of lying down on the bed, she settled herself on the floor in the corner behind the wardrobe, rested her head against the wall, and promptly fell asleep.

  Ruthie

  Ruthie Mead hummed as she made her way to the staff’s sleeping quarters. Despite having been hard at work for nearly five hours already, her steps were light, her spirits high. Today the new chambermaid would arrive! She couldn’t wait to meet her new friend. For she was certain she and the new girl would become fast friends, just as she and Phoebe had been.

  For a moment, sadness descended. Ruthie missed the former chambermaid. The past week of cleaning rooms on her own had been so lonely. But she didn’t begrudge Phoebe’s decision to marry her beau and take care of her own little house instead of hotel rooms. Someday Ruthie hoped to have the same chance for marriage, when God deemed it time, but for now she could pay her own way and even share with Mama and Papa every month. Papa’s preacher salary barely stretched to cover the family’s needs. How it pleased her to help. Thank You, dear Lord!

  She kept her key hanging on a chain around her neck where she wouldn’t lose it. She eased the chain from beneath her uniform bodice and bent forward to unlock the door. Still humming “Bringing in the Sheaves,” one of Papa’s favorites and hers, too, because it skipped happily along the notes rather than slogging, she stepped into the room and aimed herself for the wardrobe, where her fresh aprons waited.

  But her humming abruptly stopped when she nearly stumbled over a satchel lying at the foot of the bed—evidence that indeed the new chambermaid had arrived. She searched the room for other indications of another’s presence, and she spotted a pair of legs stretching across the short expanse of floor between the edge of the wardrobe and the bed. Stifling a giggle, Ruthie rounded the bed and crouched next to the stocking-covered legs and pair of black boots with the feet lying slack so the toes pointed in opposite directions.

  Leaning forward a bit, she peered into the corner. The giggle she’d pushed down moments ago found its way from her throat, and the girl asleep in the corner opened her eyes with a start. Ruthie stuck out her hand. “Hello there. I’m Ruthie. You must be the new chambermaid. But what are you doing there in the corner?” She tittered and couldn’t resist teasing. “When my little brothers are hiding in a corner, it’s because they’ve done something wrong and they don’t want Mama or Papa to find them. Have you done something wrong?”

  The girl scrambled upright with a flurry of ruffly petticoats and calico skirts, but she remained pressed into the narrow slice of space behind the wardrobe and watched Ruthie with wary blue eyes. She didn’t speak.

  Ruthie straightened, uncertain how to proceed. Such a peculiar girl … “You are the new chambermaid, aren’t you?” Maybe this girl had sneaked in and really was hiding. Two months ago a man had managed to hide out for two days in the hotel without paying a dime. The sheriff arrested him for loitering. Ruthie hoped she wouldn’t have to turn this girl in as a loiterer.

  The girl gave a slow nod.

  Relieved, Ruthie smiled. “What’s your name?”

  “D-Dinah.”

  “Dinah! Your name is Dinah?” Ruthie could hardly believe it. “Why, my little sister—she’s five and is the cutest little girl you’ve ever seen—is named Dinah June. I was named for my grandmother, but my mama is Leah and my papa is Jacob, and they said they had to have a little girl named Dinah since the Leah and Jacob of the Bible had one. They had five boys before they had another girl—my mama and papa, I mean, not the Bible people—and they were so happy when God blessed them with little Dinah.”

  The chambermaid Dinah was staring at Ruthie in complete confusion.

  Ruthie laughed. “I’m sorry. My folks scold me all the time about talking too much, but I can’t seem to help myself. My head is full of ideas and thoughts, and my mouth is never reluctant to share them.” She caught Dinah’s hand and gave a light tug. “Come on out of the corner. There’s no need to hide.”

  The new girl stepped out of the shadowy space. She pulled her hand from Ruthie’s grasp and put it behind her back, as if protecting it. “I’m not hiding.” Her tone held a hint of defensiveness.

  “I didn’t intend to insult. But I’ve never found anyone sleeping in a corner that way, although a missionary to China visited our church one time and said he slept on the floor while he lived in the foreign country.” While Ruthie talked, she slipped off the apron, which she’d stained by spilling a bit of leftover tea from a cup left in one of the rooms, and retrieved a fresh one from the wardrobe. “I’d make a terrible missionary because I much prefer sleeping in a bed. Don’t you?”

  “It’s your bed. I didn’t want to muck it up.”

  Ruthie pulled the clean apron over her black dress and tied the strings behind her back. She smiled broadly, eager to put Dinah at ease. So taciturn, she was! “Don’t be silly. It’s our bed now.” Dinah didn’t speak a word. Her expression remained sour. Ruthie blew out a light breath and tried a different approach. “So where are you from, Dinah?”

  For a brief moment, Dinah ducked her head, her forehead crinkling into rows as crooked as the ones Seth carved in Mama’s garden with a hoe. “Chicago.”

  Ruthie squealed. “You came all the way from Chicago? Mr. Irwin said you’d arrive by train today, but he didn’t tell me you’d be coming from a big city. I’ve never even visited a big city. You’ll have to tell me all about it.”

  The furrows in Dinah’s forehead deepened.

  Uneasiness squeezed the excitement from Ruthie’s chest. “B-but only if you want to.” Mercy, she’d never stammered in nervousness before. Not around strangers or customers or even bashful people. But something about this girl left her floundering. She forced another smile. “Well, I only came up to change my apron. We’re to stay fresh and tidy at all times—I’m sure Mr. Irwin told you. Now that I’m presentable again, I’ll”—she eased toward the door—“get back to work.”

  She paused with her hand on the knob, obliged to be friendly enough for two people since Dinah seemed lacking in cordiality. “It’s nearly lunchtime. I take my noon meal at the counter downstairs. If you join me there, I’ll introduce you to some of the other staff—the ones who aren’t busy serving in the dining room. They’ll have to wait until evening to get acquainted with you. Mr. Harvey wants us to become like family, so they’ll all be eager to meet you. Do you want to join me at lunchtime?”

  An odd look flittered across the girl’s face—a mixture of longing and fear. She offered a hesitant nod.

  “Good! I’ll see you in a bit, then. Enjoy your rest, Dinah.” Ruthie clicked the door closed behind her and headed for the stairs. An image of Dinah’s unsmiling face filled her memory. Oh, such a solemn girl. She might have a hard time living with this one. But hadn’t Papa taught her to never let someone else’s behavior dictate her own? She would do as the apostle Paul instructed the Colossians—she would put on mercy, kindness, meekness, and patience.

  As she trotted down the stairs, holding her skirt high to keep from tripping, she consoled herself with the thought that Dinah was probably only tired from her trip—all the way from Chicago!—and feeling a bit out of place in her new surroundings. In a few days, they would be as comfortable together as she and Phoebe had been. Her smile returned. Of course they would.

  Amos

  Amos counted his money again, but the amount remained the same. He shifted his gaze from the carefully stacked coins on his table to the single window of his little house. The beautiful colors of the sunset had already faded from the sky, leaving a smudgy gray expanse in its place. He’d never liked this time of day�
�no sun shining but not yet any stars to blink overhead. The depressing view added to the memory of the hotel manager’s words brought a wave of defeat.

  “Four dozen eggs a day? Mr. Ackerman, our kitchen staff requires three times that number on a daily basis. I’ll not deny your eggs seem of highest quality, but you can’t possibly meet our needs with such a small flock of chickens. Now, if you were to triple or even quadruple your flock, then I would most likely purchase your eggs. But not until then.”

  All the walk home, Amos had pondered how to increase his flock to meet Mr. Irwin’s demands. While scattering grain for the birds, working in his garden, and repairing the fence, he’d continued to think and pray. Now, sitting at his supper table with the meager contents of his money jar glinting in the lamplight, he gathered the conclusions he’d reached.

  He had space for a bigger flock on his land. He’d need a bigger chicken house, but he could tear down the two sheds on the back edge of his property and use the lumber to expand the current chicken house. Fortunately his arms and back were still strong even if his damaged leg slowed his progress. If he bartered with the neighboring farmer to clear a bit more of his land, he could increase his corn crop for feed. He didn’t mind working longer and harder to take care of a bigger flock.

  But how to get the bigger flock? Chicks cost money. He shifted his attention to the stacked coins again. Mr. Irwin said to triple or quadruple his number of birds, but to even double his flock would cost more than what he had. His shoulders sagged. A sigh wheezed from his lungs. “You’ve blessed me in so many ways with this house and land and barn. I’m grateful for what You’ve given, and I don’t want to be a complainer like the Israelites who could never be satisfied with what You gave them, but …”