“This is Timothy Mead. He’s my best pal.”
Amos already knew Timothy, one of Preacher Mead’s passel of children. But he stuck out his hand as if they’d never met, and Timothy gave it a solid shake. Amos asked politely, as he’d been teaching Cale to do, “How are you, Timothy?”
“I’m fine, sir. Thank you.” Timothy proved he’d been taught manners, too.
Cale went on in his booming voice. “An’ guess what? His sister Ruthie works at the hotel—she’s the one I think you should marry.”
The three mothers broke into titters. Amos pushed himself to his feet, rocking the wagon. He caught the handle. “We’d better head back now, Cale. Good-bye, Timothy.”
“ ’Bye,” Timothy said, backtracking in short, quick steps and waving. “See ya Sunday, Cale.”
Halfway across town and well away from the others, Amos shot Cale a stern frown. “Listen, Cale, I’ll have no more talk about me getting married. Especially in front of other people.” The women’s laughter echoed in his memory, and such heat filled his face he wondered if smoke rose from his scalp.
Cale scowled in confusion. “But why? You’re old enough. Don’t ya wanna marry up with some nice girl? Timothy says his sister’s real nice. He thinks it’d be fine if you an’ her—”
“It isn’t up to Timothy.” Amos spoke firmly, hoping to quell the boy. “Getting married is a personal decision. I have to choose for myself.”
“So why not choose Ruthie?”
Amos tried to think of an answer that would satisfy the persistent boy, but none came. As Cale had said, Ruthie was a nice girl. A pretty one, too. Being a preacher’s daughter, she’d have been raised right, and she didn’t seem put off by his bum leg. There were several good reasons for him to choose Ruthie, but he had his heart set on someone else. However, he wasn’t going to tell Cale and have the boy blab it to everyone in the schoolyard. Amos bit his tongue and stayed silent. Maybe refusing to answer would convince Cale to give up on the topic of him marrying Ruthie.
They stepped off the Main Street boardwalk and headed for the railroad tracks. Cale skipped ahead a few feet and walked sideways so he could look Amos straight in the face. “Didn’t ya hear me? What’s wrong with Ruthie, Uncle Amos? Huh?”
Amos sighed. He should know by now Cale wasn’t easily quelled. He stopped and balled his hand on his hip. “I think you’re a little young for this, but since you won’t stop asking, I will tell you. I don’t love Ruthie. A man shouldn’t marry someone just because he’s old enough to get married or because the girl is nice. A man should get married because he loves the woman and wants to build a life with her. Not only should a man love a woman before he takes her as his wife, but he should have the means to provide for her. I still have work to do before I can provide for a wife and a family.” Longing nearly doubled him over. Someday soon, Lord, please? He finished in a quieter voice. “When I’m ready, I’ll decide who I should marry.”
Cale’s face pinched into a scowl. “How will you know?”
“How will I know what?”
“How will you know when you’re ready?”
Amos knew how to answer this question. “When the good Lord says so.” A picture of Dinah Hubley as she’d knelt beside the wagon, laughing at the puppies, flooded his memory. How sweet she looked, how gently she stroked their little heads. Wouldn’t she gaze down just as tenderly at a baby? He closed his eyes, imagining her cradling an infant in her arms.
Cale tugged at his sleeve. “Uncle Amos? Uncle Amos?”
With effort, Amos forced himself to focus on Cale. “What?”
Worry furrows formed across the boy’s forehead. “When will the good Lord tell you? Will it be soon?”
Amos swallowed as the image of Dinah faded. “I don’t know.”
Cale stomped his foot. “Well, He’s gotta hurry. ’Cause if you don’t get married soon, I’m not gonna be able to stay with you. An’ I don’t wanna go someplace else.”
Amos put his hand on Cale’s shoulder, the sheriff’s visit fresh in his memory, and spoke gently. “As I told you before, that isn’t up to us. We have to let the New York preacher decide where you’re to live.”
Cale knocked Amos’s hand aside and took a giant step away from him. “You don’t care if I go away.”
This surprise was greater than the first one. Hadn’t he already proved to Cale how much he cared about him? He’d been feeding him, sheltering him, helping him with his homework, and even bought a second pair of clothes for him to wear. “Of course I do.”
“No, you don’t, or you’d do what you have to so I can stay. Well … well …” Cale raised his fists and glared at Amos. “Then I don’t care, neither!” He took off running.
“Cale!” Amos grabbed the wagon handle and bolted after the boy in his hop-skip jog, but with two sturdy legs and no encumbrances, Cale outdistanced Amos within a few minutes. Grunting with irritation, he allowed himself to slow his pace. He’d reach home eventually and Cale would be waiting. Maybe by then the boy would have settled down enough for them to talk reasonably. Amos didn’t know being a father could be so difficult. As he walked, he prayed for wisdom to know how to best handle Cale’s anger, which he suspected was based on fear and disappointment. He’d do his best to be patient with the boy.
When he was less than a half mile from his house and his aching hip was shortening his stride, he heard Cale’s frantic voice calling his name. Alarm sent chills across his frame. He released the wagon and broke into his clumsy trot. Cale came running, his face wet with tears and his eyes wide with horror. He fell into Amos’s arms, pulling him to his knees. The boy sobbed against Amos’s chest.
He tugged the boy loose and held him by the shoulders. “What is it, Cale? What’s wrong?”
Shaking with sobs, Cale choked out, “There was a big dog in the pen! I chased him off, but the chickens—they’re … they’re dead!”
Amos
The sun was setting, igniting streaks of bold pink and yellow in the pale sky by the time Amos buried the last of the dead birds near the row of hedge apple trees at the far edge of his property. Cale, his anger forgotten in the face of tragedy, sat off to the side with Samson and Gideon tucked beneath his arms, watching Amos pat the soil smooth. Although his sobs had faded, silent tears continued to roll down his cheeks.
Amos’s heart ached. For the boy, who was so distraught. For the poor chickens, who’d been helpless against the attack of the dog. And even for himself. Such a loss … Thirteen dead birds, including the feisty rooster. It could have been worse. A pack of dogs might have wiped out his entire flock. The dog could have turned on Cale instead of running away. But Amos found it difficult to be grateful in light of what had been taken from him. Why hadn’t he put the birds in the chicken house before leaving?
Propping the shovel on his shoulder, he turned to Cale. “That’s the last of them. Let’s go back to the house.”
With a heavy sigh, Cale rose and scuffed along beside Amos, his shoulders slumping. Samson and Gideon seemed to reflect the humans’ sadness, plodding rather than frisking, their ears drooping and their heads held low.
Cale followed Amos into the barn and watched him return the shovel to its hook on the wall. He trailed Amos to the roosts, his chin bumping Amos’s elbow as he checked to be sure the eggs were still beneath the softly clucking hens. Then, so close the toes of his boots nearly touched Amos’s heels, Cale followed him to the house. Inside, the boy got in the way while Amos prepared a simple supper, but he didn’t scold. Cale needed comfort, and Amos needed it, too. So they took solace from each other’s company. Not until they’d finished eating and were washing their plates did Cale finally speak.
“Uncle Amos, Sam an’ Gid are dogs, an’ they don’t kill chickens. Why’d that dog do it?”
Amos’s chest grew tight. “I don’t know, Cale.” He wished he had a better answer. A fox or other wild animal would have taken one and would have eaten it, leaving only feathers behind. But not one of the birds
had been eaten. Just killed. Out of sport? Or meanness? He didn’t understand why the animal had attacked his flock, but right after he deposited Cale at school tomorrow, he intended to hunt it down and keep it from attacking anyone else’s barnyard creatures. He said, more bitterly than he intended, “Why do animals or people choose to do hurtful things? I suppose only God knows the answer to questions like this.”
Cale hung his head. “I didn’t even like that big ol’ rooster. But it still makes me sad he’s dead.”
For the second time that day, Cale moved into Amos’s arms. He didn’t cry but just clung, his face pressed against Amos’s chest. He held him for as long as he wanted, and then when the boy finally pulled back, Amos gave his skinny shoulders a gentle pat. “Go to bed now. Things will look brighter in the morning.”
Cale tipped his head and gave Amos a pleading look. “Can Sam an’ Gid sleep in here with me tonight?”
Every night Cale had asked the same question, and every night Amos had refused. He didn’t want the pups thinking the house was their domain. But tonight he said, “Go get them.” And Cale dashed off.
While Cale slept, Amos sat at the table, sipped strong coffee, and contemplated the setback the wild dog had created with its rampage. Nine of the dead birds were hens of laying age. It would take months before the eggs in the brooding roosts hatched and the chickens grew large enough to produce eggs. If at least nine of the hatchlings were girls, he’d be able to replace the lost hens, but he wouldn’t gain more layers to meet the needs of the hotel kitchen.
And, his thoughts continued as a bitter ache settled in his chest, it meant postponing providing for a family.
“Why, God?” He whispered the question in the quiet room. He listened for a long time, but no answer came.
Dinah
No, no, please … Not again … Dinah awakened with a soft moan, her body drenched in sweat. She blinked into the dark room, confused and frightened, her heart thumping at twice its normal rhythm. She was in Florence in her room at the Clifton Hotel, not in the room at the fancy hotel in Chicago. She was safe. Safe …
She worked so hard each day—deliberately worked herself to exhaustion. Worked hard to prove herself worthy, and worked hard so she wouldn’t have to think. During the daytime hours she mostly managed to keep the images at bay, but at night—oh, at night—they crept back to haunt her and rob her of the rest she needed.
Beside her, Ruthie slept soundly, unaware of Dinah’s turmoil. If only she possessed the ability to remain peacefully asleep all through the night. She’d sometimes been troubled by nightmares as a child, and she learned to roll into a tight ball and whisper comforting words in the darkness until she calmed herself. But here she didn’t dare tuck up her knees the way she had in her younger years—the bed was so narrow she’d surely bump Ruthie and waken her. She couldn’t whisper to herself, either, without Ruthie hearing. So Dinah forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. Eventually the wild thump in her chest calmed and her body ceased to tremble.
Tired but afraid she’d return to the same place she’d just left behind, she lay with her eyes wide open. Bits and snatches of the dream continued to play in her mind’s eye—disjointed images of a leering face, accompanied by feelings of helplessness, terror, and pain. Her heart begged for freedom from the ugly memories. When, when would they finally leave her for good?
Ruthie mumbled, a soft mutter ending with a sigh. Dinah blinked back tears. Obviously Ruthie’s dreams were pleasant ones. But why shouldn’t they be? Ruthie had grown up as part of a loving family in a small town where no brothels tempted men to squander their time and money. Everything Dinah had ever wanted—two parents, siblings, a happy home—Ruthie had always had. In that moment Dinah envied Ruthie with such ferocity she nearly forgot to breathe. Why did good come to some people and not to others? Why did she have to be one of the “others”?
“God loves you very much.” Ah, those words again … Just as the nightmares haunted her, the statement Ruthie made on Dinah’s first day in Florence repeatedly played through her mind. No matter how many times she tried to ignore it or argue against it or scoff in disbelief, the comment returned to tease her heart with the desire to accept it as truth.
In the dark room, with distressing images of her frightening dream still lingering in her memory, she chose to let the words soak in and chase away the vestiges of unpleasantness. Just as sunshine sent golden light over shadows, dispelling the murky gray, the simple statement—“God loves you very much”—flowed gentle peace through Dinah’s frame. Slowly, hesitantly, she let her eyes slip closed. No leering face appeared behind her closed lids.
And then another voice spoke from past days. “I hope to see you at service on Sunday …” An image of Mr. Ackerman, his face wearing a gentle smile and his eyes shining with sincerity, filled her mind. Remembrances of his kindness to her, his sweet apologies, even his tenderness to the floppy-eared dogs and the little boy named Cale paraded through her memory. With each sweet remembrance, the ugly one retreated further and further into the recesses of her mind, and her body relaxed until a grateful sigh whisked from her throat.
She could sleep now. And come morning, when the others climbed in the buggy for the ride to the clapboard chapel where Ruthie’s father preached, Dinah would go, too. She still wasn’t sure that God loved her very much, but contemplating the possibility had given her peace. So she would go to His house and tell Him thank you.
And she’d also give Mr. Ackerman a smile. It was the least she could do after all his kindness to her.
Amos
Amos jolted and stared in disbelief when he entered the chapel. She was there, on the back bench, and the moment she saw him, she smiled. The shock of finding Dinah Hubley in church, of seeing her face light with the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen, stole the bones from his legs. He dropped into his familiar seat, and his backside collided with the wooden surface hard enough to hurt, but what did he care? She was there. And she was smiling.
Smiling. At him.
Cale hadn’t even had a chance to sit down before Preacher Mead invited the congregation to rise for the opening hymn. Amos wasn’t sure his legs would support him—he quivered from head to toe in suppressed happiness—but he pushed himself upright and tried to sing. However, the furious pounding in his chest kept him from drawing enough breath to support the words.
So instead, he stood gazing at Dinah, who peeked at him out of the corner of her eye, a shy smile toying at the corner of her lips and cheeks blushing a rosy red. He’d asked God to open Dinah’s heart to him if he was meant to pursue her. And here she was, in his church, at his bench, with a smile on her face that could melt the hardest soul.
And she chose to offer it when he couldn’t possibly respond to it.
He bowed his head and battled a wave of regret. God, I can’t court a girl unless I have the means to provide for her. Why would You give me hope that she might find me acceptable when You know the loss I just suffered at my farm?
Caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t realize the hymn had ended and everyone had sat until a rumble of stifled chortles rolled through the room. He glanced first at Cale, noting the boy’s impish grin, and then at Dinah, who gazed to the side. Her face was a bolder pink than before. He sat so quickly the bench legs squeaked against the floor. A few more titters escaped, but then Preacher Mead began his sermon and people turned their attention elsewhere.
As hard as he tried, Amos could not focus on the preacher’s message. His awareness of Dinah went too deep for anything else to penetrate. He wanted to question her reason for attending. Had she come because of him? Why had she chosen his bench for her place in the chapel? Why had she smiled at him after so many weeks of carefully looking away? But he didn’t know if he’d have the courage to ask the many questions, or if she would have the time to stay long enough to answer.
When the service ended, Cale dashed off with Timothy Mead, leaving Amos and Dinah standing side by side in the little space bet
ween benches. He should step aside and let her pass, but she made no effort to leave, so he stayed in place, gathering his courage to ask the questions plaguing him.
With the other people visiting and laughing as they filed from the chapel into the yard, Amos believed no one would overhear him. His heart pounding in both eagerness and apprehension, he leaned forward a little. “Miss Hubley? I wondered—”
“Hello, Mr. Ackerman!” The cheerful voice interrupted from behind Amos.
Amos made a slight turn. Miss Mead stood in the aisle, beaming at him. Cale’s comments about marrying her rose in his memory and a worry struck. Had her younger brother repeated Cale’s words to her? He battled the urge to duck beneath the bench and hide. But courtesy demanded he remain upright and acknowledge her. “Hello, Miss Mead. How are you today?”
“I’m very happy.”
“That’s good.” He started to turn to Dinah again.
“Because Mama told me she finished my new gown for the Calico Ball.” Miss Mead was still talking, and Amos felt obliged to look at her again. She raised her shoulders and clasped her hands beneath her chin as she smiled at Amos. “I’m so excited to attend. I went last year, too, and had such an enjoyable night.” She paused and bit her lower lip. “Are … are you going to the ball, Mr. Ackerman?”
Amos attend a dance? He nearly laughed. He couldn’t even walk gracefully. He’d only humiliate himself by stumbling around on a dance floor. But if Miss Mead was going, then she—and Dinah, too—must have the evening free. If Dinah was at the dance and he went to the dance, then he would have the time he needed to talk to her, to get to know her better, to find out if her smile meant what he hoped it meant. He couldn’t court her—not yet. But he could find out if she would be open to it when he’d built his flock again.
He jerked to face Dinah so quickly he almost lost his balance. When he regained his footing, his voice escaped in a breathless rush. “Will you be at the Calico Ball?”
Through the Deep Waters Page 17
