Through the Deep Waters

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  He swallowed. Should he even express a “but” to the One who’d already given him so much? Then he decided to go ahead. The Almighty God knew his thoughts anyway, so he wouldn’t surprise Him when he spoke them aloud. He turned his face to the ceiling. “But with forty-eight chickens I’ll never have enough money for what I really want.”

  Tightness built in his chest. The chickens weren’t his biggest dream. Becoming a family man like his brothers was his biggest dream. But he couldn’t have one without the other. “Is it too much to ask for a bigger flock? I’ll be an honest farmer, Lord. I’ll continue to tithe—I won’t be selfish with the profits. I’m not asking for a fancy house or a new carriage or even a hip that doesn’t pain me when I walk. I can make do with little. But, dear Lord, can’t I please have what Titus and John have? Can’t I have a wife and children?”

  He rose and plodded to the bucket of water he’d brought in earlier. He heated a pan of water on the stove, poured it into a basin with a little lye soap, then scrubbed the few items he’d used when preparing and eating his supper. As he set the clean plate in its place on the sideboard, an idea struck with such force he dropped the fork. It clattered against the wooden floor, its ting-ting-ting! matching the wild clamor in his chest.

  He slapped his forehead and laughed aloud. “What a fool I must be not to see the answer!” He looked up, shaking his head and grinning at the ceiling beams as if God’s face were there instead. “Thank You, Lord, for opening my feeble mind.”

  He hurried back to the table, doing a double hop on his good leg in his eagerness, and separated out the fifty-cent piece from the other coins. As he dropped the pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters into the jar, he laughed again. Why hadn’t he thought of it earlier and saved himself some worry? If he bought a rooster or maybe even two, his eggs would be fertilized. He could leave behind a few eggs each day for the chickens to hatch. Then when the chicks were hatched, he’d let the pullets grow up to lay eggs, and the roosters could be butchered, bartered, or sold.

  As he reached to set the money jar on its high shelf, he caught a glimpse of the night sky outside his window. Black velvet had replaced the dingy gray, and stars winked white. He sent a silent prayer of thankfulness to the One behind the stars. Yes, it would take longer, raising his own chicks to expand his flock, but did he have to be in a hurry? Mr. Irwin hadn’t said, “Come back next week or I can’t work with you at all.” So Amos could be patient. His dream was worth waiting for.

  Dinah

  While Ruthie visited the outhouse, Dinah scrambled into her nightclothes and dove beneath the covers. The open window allowed in a breeze, but even so the room was stifling. The lightweight quilt might as well have been a stack of wool blankets. She’d rather lay uncovered on top of the cotton sheet. If she had a room to herself, that was exactly what she’d do. But sharing a room meant having someone—someone she hardly knew—see her in her nightgown. She couldn’t bring herself to let anyone, not even someone as harmless as Ruthie, see her dressed so scantily.

  After being issued uniforms from Mr. Irwin, she’d followed Ruthie and observed the cleanup practices Mr. Harvey required. The man was a stickler for cleanliness, much more so than Miss Flo. The beautifully decorated rooms reminded her of the one in the hotel where she’d met the gentleman, and she hadn’t wanted to enter them. But Ruthie had laughingly ushered her over the thresholds, teasing that she couldn’t very well clean from the hallway.

  As Ruthie demonstrated the required cleaning practices, she told Dinah about Mr. Harvey’s wife traveling all the way to Europe to purchase linens and furniture for the rooms. Listening to Ruthie blather on and on had helped chase away the ghosts haunting her mind. By the end of the day, she’d made a silent vow to forget the only other hotel she’d visited and concentrate on doing exactly what was needed to please Mr. Harvey.

  In addition to showing her the ropes, as Ruthie had put it, the outgoing chambermaid introduced her to the other staff members. Everyone—the cook, the kitchen helpers, the busboys, and the waitresses—welcomed her into the Clifton family, just as Ruthie said they would. Dinah swiped at a trickle of sweat easing along her temple as she tried to recall their names. If she was going to live and work with these people every day, she needed to be a part of them. But their easy acceptance, instead of pleasing her, left her on edge. She wished she could understand why.

  The doorknob rattled and Ruthie breezed into the room. Dinah had never met anyone who moved with such grace. Did the girl’s feet even touch the floor? And how could she be so cheerful at this hour after working all day? Ruthie hummed—Dinah had discovered if Ruthie wasn’t talking, she was humming—as she removed her dressing gown and hung it on a hook behind the door. She glided around the end of the bed, and Dinah expected her to extinguish the lamp and fall onto the mattress. Instead, she paused at her side of the bed and smiled at Dinah.

  “You’re tucked in already. Have you finished praying?”

  Dinah searched her memory. She recalled being instructed on how to dust, sweep, wash the pitchers and bowls, strip and remake beds, and fluff pillows. But she didn’t recall anything about praying. She shook her head.

  “Well, you’re welcome to join me if you like. God’s ears are capable of listening to two of us at once.” Ruthie dropped to her knees beside the bed. Only her head and shoulders showed above the high mattress. She pressed her folded hands beneath her chin and closed her eyes. “Dear God—”

  Clutching the covers to her chest, Dinah sat up and stared at the other girl. “What are you doing?”

  Ruthie’s eyes popped open. She looked as dumbfounded as Dinah felt. “I’m praying. I always pray before I go to bed. Don’t you?”

  Before going to bed, Dinah had always willed the noises from down below to stop so she could sleep. She shook her head.

  “Do you pray in the morning, then?”

  Dinah scowled. “I don’t pray.”

  Ruthie’s eyes flew wide. She gripped handfuls of the quilt as if she needed an anchor. “Not at all?”

  “No.”

  “But, Dinah, you have to talk to God every day.” Ruthie sounded so dismayed Dinah experienced a rush of guilt she didn’t understand. “If you want Him to bless you, you have to make time for Him.”

  Dinah flopped back against her pillows, jerking the quilt as she went. Ruthie lost her grip on the fabric. She didn’t know who this God was, but she’d never been blessed. Was it because she hadn’t made time for Him? She pushed the thought aside. If there was a God who gave blessings, He didn’t bestow them on girls raised in brothels.

  Ruthie continued to stare at Dinah with sad eyes. Dinah rolled over so she wouldn’t have to see her. “Do whatever it is you’re doing so we can turn out the lamp and go to sleep. We’ll miss the ten o’clock curfew if you don’t hurry.”

  For long seconds silence hung in the room. Then Ruthie’s soft voice carried to Dinah’s ears. “Dear God, thank You for another day to work hard and earn my keep. Thank You for giving me the strength to finish my tasks. Help me always do my best and bring You glory. Be with Mama and Papa, Seth, Jonah, Noah, Timothy, Joseph, and little Dinah June. Bless them and keep them safe.” She prayed for each of the staff members by name, asking for various things, including healing for the dishwasher’s husband. “And, dear God, thank You for bringing Dinah to the Clifton Hotel.”

  Dinah’s heart skipped a beat. Eyes wide open and unblinking, she held her breath and waited to hear what Ruthie would say next.

  “Help her to feel right at home. Let us become good friends. Please give us a good night’s rest and let us awaken fresh and ready to do Your will tomorrow. In Your Son’s name I pray, amen.”

  A slight creak followed by a looming shadow on the wall let Dinah know Ruthie had risen from her knees. The light flickered, and then Ruthie’s shadow was swallowed up by darkness. The mattress shifted, and a soft sigh sounded from behind Dinah, along with muffled rustling as Ruthie apparently wriggled into a comfortable position. />
  Dinah’s chest ached, and she released her long-held breath. She stared unseeing at the wall, tired but too tense to rest, and listened to the nighttime sounds of her new home. Wind whispered through the window. The curtains gently swished against the windowsill. A night bird called. In the room next door, a bedspring popped and someone coughed.

  Ruthie whispered, “Good night, Dinah. Sleep well.”

  A lump filled Dinah’s throat. Occasionally she’d paused outside her mother’s door and called, “Good night.” Tori had always hollered, “Go to bed already!” No one, not even Rueben, had wished her a good night. And no one had ever prayed for her. She should say, “Good night, Ruthie.” Or “Thank you, Ruthie.” But an unwelcome emotion writhed through her middle, and her tight throat refused to release the words.

  Dinah blinked back tears. Why couldn’t she be more like Ruthie? Open. Happy. Kind. Comfortable with herself. She recognized the feeling holding her captive. Envy. After several more seconds, another sigh wafted from Ruthie’s side of the bed. Soon deep breaths let Dinah know the other girl had fallen asleep. But Dinah lay awake, her mind playing over her first day in Florence, Kansas. She remembered the egg man apologizing for startling her. Mr. Irwin scolding her. The smiles and welcomes from the staff members of the hotel. And she remembered Ruthie’s prayer.

  She’d watched the other girls at school huddling together at recess to chatter and laugh, sometimes flirting with the boys. They never invited her into their circle, though. She’d longed for a friend, and the idea of having one now created a deep ache in the center of her chest. But she wouldn’t be friends with Ruthie. If she opened herself up to this girl—if she told her where she’d been and the things she’d done—Ruthie would run away in shock. And Dinah would be crushed. So even though Ruthie had prayed for them to be good friends, Dinah would make sure it didn’t happen.

  She was here to work. To impress Mr. Harvey. To become one of his girls. Maybe then she would be worthy of forming friendships.

  Dinah

  After only three days of working at the Clifton Hotel, Dinah settled into an easy routine. Rise early, wash, twist her hair into a coil, don her black dress and full-length white pinafore apron, then join others in the staff dining room off the kitchen to eat a delicious breakfast. Mr. Gindough, the hotel chef, cooked as well as Rueben, but she wouldn’t tell her friend so in the letter she planned to send as soon as she had time to sit down and write.

  After eating, she collected fresh linens from the laundry room, retrieved her basket of cleaning items from the closet, and went to work. Even cleaning the rooms followed a pattern. First strip and remake the bed, then wash the pitcher and bowl, dust or scrub every surface depending on what it needed, sweep the floor, and dispose of rubbish.

  When every room was clean and ready for the next guest, she remained in the chambermaids’ small sitting room near the front desk and listened for what Ruthie called the “beckon-me bell,” which meant one of the guests had need of something—a cup of tea, an extra pillow, a newspaper … She never knew what might be requested, but she was expected to respond quickly and adequately. She did her best not to disappoint the guests or Mr. Irwin.

  And she did her best to hold herself aloof from the other staff members, which proved to be the most difficult of the tasks. After a lifetime of people turning up their noses at her, she now lived among a group who seemed too willing to accept her unquestioningly. Their friendliness ignited a deep desire to be part of them, but oddly it also frightened her. She wanted to join in the chatter at the lunch counter, to tease with the busboys and blush at the flirtatious comments the railroad men threw at the girls the way the others did. They were all so relaxed and unfettered and carefree.

  But the years of living in the Yellow Parrot had stolen the carefree from her. When the busboys teased or the railroad men flirted, Dinah’s insides rolled. When the girls formed a talkative circle, whether laughing or serious, Dinah tensed. She didn’t know how to lightheartedly chat or tease or flirt. As much as she wanted to belong, she knew she didn’t. Because she wasn’t like them. So she kept her distance, fearful she’d accidentally share the secrets of her past and let everyone know just how different she really was.

  On Saturday, rather than eating her turkey sandwich at the counter with the others, she took her plate to the chambermaids’ sitting room. The pale blue-and-green-striped wallpaper, white wicker chairs, and clusters of potted plants filling the corners gave the little windowless room an airy, porch-like feel. Dinah appreciated the Harveys for making every part of the hotel and restaurant—even the parts only occupied by staff—cheery and comfortable. She sat in one of the chairs, draped a napkin across the skirt of her pinafore, and then placed the plate in her lap.

  As she lifted the thick sandwich to her mouth, Ruthie entered the room. Ruthie held a plate in one hand and a glass of frothy milk in the other. As usual, she was humming a merry tune. When she spotted Dinah, she smiled and plopped into the second chair.

  “I wondered where you’d gone. I hope I’m not intruding, but the counter was too noisy for me today. A host of men from the town came in, all excited about a cow auction, and their loud voices gave me a headache.”

  How could Ruthie look so happy if she had a headache? Although curious, Dinah didn’t ask. Ruthie set the glass of milk on the ridiculously tiny table between the chairs and lowered her plate to her lap. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, just as she did at bedtime. Dinah watched out of the corner of her eye, wondering about Ruthie’s strange habit of praying. She’d noticed several others following the same practice in the breakfast room. She considered pretending to pray just so she wouldn’t be left out, but closing her eyes while others had their eyes open made her feel as though they were all staring at her. So she didn’t do it.

  Ruthie picked up her sandwich and took a bite. “Mmm. I’m glad there was enough turkey left from yesterday’s dinner to have sandwiches today. Mr. Gindough makes the best turkey. So moist, and with just the right seasonings. I hate to say it’s better than my mama’s turkey, but it really is.” She took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. After a sip of milk, she aimed a grin at Dinah. “Did your mother bake turkey as good as this?”

  Dinah flicked a crumb from her lips with her finger, nearly laughing as she tried to imagine Tori wrestling a turkey into a roasting pan. “Um … no.”

  Ruthie giggled as if Dinah had said something clever. “Even if this turkey is better, I bet Mr. Gindough can’t bake gingerbread as good as Mama’s. Her gingerbread is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Last month she baked a whole gingerbread cake just for me, and I was completely selfish and didn’t share one bit with anybody.” She paused to take another bite of her sandwich, then followed it with another dainty sip of milk. “What’s your favorite food your ma makes?”

  Dinah’s stomach trembled. She didn’t want to answer. She didn’t want to answer with the truth. She opened her mouth, fully intending to tell a lie, but something else spilled out. “My mother didn’t cook. Rueben did.”

  “Who is Rueben?” Ruthie seemed genuinely interested.

  Rueben was her only friend. But she couldn’t say so. “Our cook.”

  “Oh my.” Ruthie lowered her sandwich and stared at Dinah. “You had a cook in your house? Your family must be wealthy.”

  Dinah released a little snort. If only Ruthie knew how wrong she was. She set the remaining half of her sandwich aside and rose. “I’m going to go get myself a glass of milk. I think I’ll get a piece of pie, too. Do you want one?”

  Ruthie sat, silent and staring, as if dazed.

  What had stricken the always-jabbering girl silent? Dinah frowned. “Ruthie, do you want a piece of pie?”

  Ruthie gave a little jolt. “Pie? Oh. Yes. If there’s a piece of cherry remaining, I would like one. Thank you.”

  Dinah hurried out, relieved to have left the conversation behind. Odd how the simplest topic, such as favorite foods, led to divulging parts of her past. She’
d have to try even harder to discourage Ruthie from asking so many questions. It wouldn’t be easy—Ruthie was so talkative she even muttered in her sleep. But somehow Dinah would find a way to discourage the girl. She couldn’t let anyone know where she’d lived before coming to Florence. Not if she intended to be a waitress when she turned eighteen.

  Ruthie

  Ruthie gazed after Dinah, marveling. A cook in her house! She’d never known anyone who’d employed their own cook. She would never have guessed Dinah came from such extravagant means. Her clothes, although obviously new, didn’t hint at money. Her speech—what little she said!—didn’t reflect a cultured upbringing. Her willingness to work as a chambermaid also seemed in opposition to the expected attitude of someone who’d been raised with servants to see to her needs. If she’d thought Dinah a puzzle before, her befuddlement increased a hundredfold with this new bit of information.

  She finished her sandwich, playing back over every minute since she’d discovered Dinah asleep in the corner behind the wardrobe. Despite her best efforts, Ruthie hadn’t been able to draw Dinah into a meaningful conversation. Dinah had also snubbed the others’ attempts at friendliness. She’d reasoned with herself that Dinah was bashful, was tired, was striving to adjust to her new surroundings. Could it be she was—Ruthie cringed even contemplating such a thing—snobbish? After all, even Papa preached it was harder for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God than for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle. Ruthie had seen a camel once—a big, lumbering beast—in a circus. The sight had brought the reality of the scripture to life. Dinah’s seeming disdain of speaking to God in prayer could very well represent the biblical reference.

  Ruthie nibbled her thumbnail, suddenly worried. Could she live with someone who was snobbish? Bashfulness could be overcome. Tiredness would fade. Time would bring familiarity. But she knew no cure for snobbishness. The thought of being treated with indifference every day for weeks on end did not sit well. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine enjoying leisurely activities while someone else performed the rudimentary tasks in her home. Despite her active imagination, the pictures refused to form.