Through the Deep Waters

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  He shook his head, touched by her concern. “I can’t imagine being disappointed by you, Miss Hubley.” He slid her letter into his Bible, continuing to offer a smile he hoped would set her at ease. “I hope you won’t be disappointed with mine. My penmanship …” He rubbed the underside of his nose and chuckled. “I didn’t get very high marks on that in school.”

  To his delight her lips tipped into a shy smile. She placed his letter in her Bible, then lay her open palm on the cover, as if shielding it. “I’m sure it’s fine. I’ve …” She met his gaze, and although her face still held its embarrassed flush, a hint of boldness entered her expression. “I’ve never received a letter before. I’m eager to read yours, but I’ll have to wait until I’m finished with my work today.”

  He took her final comment as a hint she needed to return to the hotel. Although reluctant to part company already, he pushed to his feet, his stiff hip making him clumsy and slow. Dinah rose as well and stepped into the aisle. Together, they followed the last few straggling worshipers into the yard. The cool breeze nipped at them, and she hugged herself, locking her Bible between her folded arms and the white bib of her apron.

  She angled a timid grin at him. “I’ll put another letter—a longer one, I promise—under the cushion for you tomorrow morning.”

  He liked the way the sunshine brought out the amber highlights in her hair, the way she crinkled her nose as she squinted against the sun’s bright beams, even the way she hugged her Bible, as if she held something precious. If they hadn’t been standing in a churchyard in full sunlight with more than a dozen townspeople nearby as witnesses, he might be tempted to steal a kiss from her. Ma would be mortified to know he was thinking such things on Sunday morning.

  He took a backward step. “I’ll be sure to look for it. And I’ll leave one for you, too.” The other Clifton Hotel workers were already in their buggy, and they all seemed to be watching him and Dinah. Another hitching step put a few more inches between them. He pointed at the buggy with his chin. “You’d best skedaddle—your carriage is waiting.”

  She flicked a look in the direction of the conveyance, and a scowl marred her sweet face. The scowl pleased him even more than a smile would have. She wasn’t eager to leave his company, either.

  Dinah

  Dinah stifled a sigh. How pleasant to stand here in the scant shade of a nearly leafless elm with Mr. Ackerman. Next to his tall, broad form, she felt safe. She’d feared the wonderful feelings of her time with him at the Calico Ball had been figments of her imagination—that when she saw him again, her illusions of his princeliness would shatter. But no, if anything her feelings had magnified. His kind nature and gentle manner of speaking soothed her and made her long to remain near him, like a chick tucked beneath its mother’s protective wing. But of course she had to go. Work awaited.

  But when work was over, she would read his letter. The letter he’d written just for her. She inched backward, holding her Bible and its letter between the pages as if it were her lifeline. “Good-bye, Mr. Ackerman.” The farewell escaped on an airy sigh.

  “Good-bye, Miss Hubley. Have a good day.”

  He sounded formal, no special inflection in his tone to indicate he found their parting painful, but she noted the lack of sparkle in his eyes. Illogical, perhaps, but her heart lifted to know he was sad to see her go. With the image of his serious countenance seared in her memory, she whirled and scampered the remaining few feet to the buggy.

  “Finally.” Minnie sent a sour look over her shoulder as Dinah climbed in and squeezed into the tiny spot left. “I thought you were going to stand there and talk forever.”

  Dean flicked the reins and set the horses in motion. “Aw, let her be. We’d have had to wait a whole lot longer if it’d been you grabbin’ words with a fellow. Especially if it’d been that dandy who stayed at the Clifton three nights ago.”

  Minnie nudged Dean’s arm.

  He gave her a light bump with his elbow in return. “How long past curfew did you dally behind the carriage house, Minnie?”

  “Dean …”

  “Bet you thought nobody saw you, huh?”

  Dinah and Ruthie exchanged a look. Ruthie’s brow crunched in worry. Dinah swallowed against her dry throat. If Minnie was caught flirting with a man, she’d be released from her position as a server. Why would she take such a risk?

  Minnie nudged Dean again, hard enough to rock him in his seat. “And just how late were you out, Dean Muller? You’re a fine one to berate me when you were breaking the silly curfew rule, too.”

  Dean laughed. “Don’t worry, Mins. I won’t tell. And none of the girls will, either.” He sent a look across the buggy full of women. “Her secret’s safe with us, right?”

  “Oh, of course,” Lyla said quickly. “I won’t tell a soul.” Matilda and Amelia murmured their assents.

  Ruthie leaned forward. “Minnie, you know better than to be out after curfew. Especially with a man.”

  Minnie shifted sideways in the seat and glared at Ruthie. “We were only talking. There’s nothing wrong with talking. And just because your father is a preacher doesn’t mean you can preach to me.”

  Dinah cringed at the girl’s harsh tone, but Ruthie didn’t even flinch. She said quietly, “I’m not preaching to you. But we can all get in trouble if you don’t follow the rules. If you’re caught and Mr. Irwin finds out we all knew you were sneaking out with a man, we could be released from duty, too. Maybe you should think about that before you decide to stay out past curfew.”

  Minnie sniffed and turned her back on Ruthie. Dean stopped the carriage near the hotel’s front doors, and Minnie gave Lyla a push that nearly sent the girl over the edge of the seat. She clambered out behind Lyla and stormed into the hotel. Lyla waited beside the carriage for Amelia and Matilda to climb down. Then the three of them hurried in with their heads together, whispering excitedly.

  Ruthie and Dinah climbed out and followed. Ruthie’s steps lagged, and Dinah stayed close to her. Ruthie was clearly burdened, and Dinah wished she knew how to help. Before she could think of anything to say, Ruthie spoke again.

  “I wish Dean had kept quiet about Minnie’s late-night dalliance. I won’t tattle to Mr. Irwin, but our contract requires us to be honest, so if I’m asked …” Ruthie sighed. She turned a sad look on Dinah. “I fear Minnie is heading for trouble. A girl’s reputation can be permanently marred by sneaking off with a man, even if they’re only talking.”

  A wave of guilt struck Dinah with such force she stiffened her knees to keep herself upright. The secret she carried burned like a fire in her middle. She hugged her Bible so tightly the edge of the cover dug into her ribs.

  Ruthie went on in a somber tone, seemingly unaware of Dinah’s turmoil. “I hope she doesn’t lose her job, but mostly I hope she doesn’t lose her reputation. A reputation isn’t easily restored.”

  She headed into the hotel, but Dinah remained rooted on the porch, her stiff legs refusing to carry her forward. “A reputation isn’t easily restored …” Ruthie’s parting comment rang in her mind, stinging her with its truth. Her reputation in Chicago had been deplorable given her connection to the Yellow Parrot. She’d traveled a far distance from that place, but she carried bits of it with her still.

  Her breath gasped out in little puffs as her pulse sped more rapidly than the wheels on the train at full throttle. How could she escape every vestige of her past? A throbbing pressure in her ribs reminded her she’d been holding the Bible too tightly. She relaxed her grip but still cradled the Book. Inside the pages was Mr. Ackerman’s letter—a missive from a man unlike any she’d known before. She’d so anticipated getting to know him better. Perhaps allowing his attentions. But if he got to know her—and all her secrets—what would he do?

  “I can’t imagine being disappointed by you, Miss Hubley.” His sweet words, which had offered such assurance earlier in the day, returned. Were they true? Had she finally met someone who could overlook her past and only see who she was to
day—a hardworking girl who attended church and conducted herself with dignity? Her chest ached with the desire to be loved. Unconditionally loved.

  “I can’t imagine being disappointed by you, Miss Hubley.” Clinging to the promise of those words, Dinah returned to work.

  Amos

  Unable to wait, Amos read Dinah’s letter as he walked home. As she’d told him, it was very short, but he didn’t mind. He read it again and again, memorizing the words. Then he held it in front of him and admired the precise slant of the letters, the straight cross on the t’s, and the perfectly formed loops falling below the line. The letter was a work of art. But he wouldn’t frame it.

  As soon as he reached the house, he checked on the chickens and the dogs. Finding nothing amiss, he hop-skipped inside and got out the pretty paper he’d purchased and laid it on the table. Then, with the rock next to his ink pot, he set to work penning his second letter. He opened by thanking her for her letter and assuring her he found it pleasing. In the second paragraph he expressed his approval of her possessing her own Bible and encouraged her to read it regularly—her familiarity would increase with each use. And then he wrote about himself.

  My flock now numbers seven dozen hens, although eight of those are too young to lay yet. But they will start laying soon enough. While I wait, I’ve set aside another six hens to brood, with three eggs in each roost. So there will be more chickens coming.

  Amos paused, the pen gripped in his fingers. Would Dinah find this information about his chicken farm interesting? His father and brothers didn’t seem interested, although Ma asked questions and offered encouragement in her weekly letters. It would pain him if Dinah seemed uncaring, but he needed to tell her about his farm. About his plans. If she was to consider marrying him, she should know how he intended to support her.

  He dipped his pen and continued.

  I want to build my flock until it is large enough to meet the needs of the chef at the Clifton Hotel. It will take time, as long as two years—

  His heart lurched. Would she be willing to wait? He nibbled the end of the pen, contemplating whether to share this with her already. But he needed to be honest. With a sigh he placed the nib on the page and continued.

  But in the meantime I sell to people in Florence and manage to make a comfortable living.

  He hoped “comfortable” would be enough to satisfy Dinah. He filled the page describing the responsibilities of running a chicken farm, all the while imagining her working by his side. On the second page he told her about his farm—his house, the outbuildings, the spot of ground where he grew corn and barley for the chickens. His future dreams spilled onto the sheet as he added,

  My vegetable garden is small now, since I only grow enough to feed myself, but I have space to expand it when more is needed.

  He hoped she would understand the hidden meaning behind his simple statement.

  His hand was starting to ache from gripping the pen so tightly, and his writing was getting sloppier with every line. He should close. Dipping the pen one last time, he formed his final thoughts.

  Did you know that my name, Amos, and your name, Dinah, both come from the Bible? There is a book called Amos, written by the prophet Amos. Dinah’s story is found in the thirty-fourth chapter of Genesis. She was a woman from a family of strong faith but had much heartache.

  He closed the letter with the same salutation he’d used on the first letter, then set the pages aside for the ink to dry. He glanced at the clock and gave a start when he realized he’d spent two hours writing. Two hours? He couldn’t spend two hours each day on letters! But after this one, he would have three days to write the next one. So he could spend a little time each evening adding to his letter. Almost like a journal. He smiled, thinking of the chance to “talk” to Dinah every day.

  He stood to put away the ink pot, pen, and paper but decided to leave it out instead. If he’d be writing every day, it would save him time. But he returned the rock to its place on the mantel. With his fingers resting lightly on the rock’s rough surface, he focused on the band of amber. In the pale sunlight flowing into the room, the band shimmered like gold. A verse from Proverbs 31 trailed through his memory. “Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies.”

  He ran his finger across the gold-like stripe. Did gold cost more than rubies? He didn’t know the answer. He’d never purchased either. But he did know gold was costly. Precious even. He smiled. Precious … Just like Dinah.

  Dinah

  Dinah grimaced as Ruthie pulled the covers over her head. The light must be keeping her roommate from sleeping. She should extinguish the lamp. But she hadn’t finished her letter yet. She’d promised to write a longer one, and she intended to keep her promise. But she should hurry.

  Sitting as still as possible on the edge of the mattress to keep from jouncing Ruthie, she glanced over what she’d written so far on the fine stationery she’d purchased from the mercantile. The rows of words in black lead stood out proudly on the background of tan. Three stripes—two of brown with a narrow band of dark blue in the middle—formed a border on the left side of the page. The brown stripes reminded Dinah of Mr. Ackerman’s dark hair, the blue of his eyes. She hoped he wouldn’t suspect her reason for choosing this stationery over some of the prettier ones, but in her mind it matched him perfectly.

  She’d answered his three questions, finding it fairly easy to post a response. He might be surprised to learn she came from a humble background, but she sensed he wouldn’t be put off by it. Her reply concerning pets took only a few words: “I’ve never had a pet.” But thanks to Rueben she had some happy memories to share about birthdays. She gnawed a dry piece of skin on her lower lip as she reflected on the difference between hers and Mr. Ackerman’s ages. Would he think her too young when he learned she wasn’t yet eighteen? Even so, she wouldn’t lie. Not about that.

  Now that his questions had been addressed, she needed to write something more. What could she say? Since he’d asked her questions, maybe it was all right for her to reciprocate. Bending over the page once more, she wrote,

  I would like to know more about your family. Will you tell me all about them? What is your favorite food? I know you like dogs and chickens. What other animals do you like?

  She’d filled an entire page. Twice the length of her first letter. Satisfied, she folded the sheet into thirds and placed it on the bureau. A twist of the lamp’s key shrunk the wick, and the flame flickered and went out. Tiptoeing, Dinah made her way back to the bed and crawled in, taking care not to bounce the springs or rustle the blankets too much. She held her breath, waiting to see if Ruthie roused. But not even a mumble came from the opposite side of the bed.

  Relieved, Dinah relaxed against her pillow and closed her eyes. She deliberately conjured images of Mr. Ackerman—of him sitting straight and attentive beside her on the church bench, of his finger underlining the words in his Bible as the minister read, of his hand offering his missive to her. She played the pleasant remembrances over and over, hoping they would keep the nightmare at bay when she finally drifted off to sleep.

  But they didn’t.

  Ruthie

  October eased into November. Although winds blew colder as Thanksgiving neared, no snow arrived in Florence. The servers wistfully spoke of the first snow of the season, but Ruthie was grateful for its delay. Last winter she’d spent much time on her hands and knees scrubbing up the muddy footprints left by guests on the hotel’s carpets. She’d rather beat out dust than scrub up mud. Besides, snow made it harder to get to church, her one and only outing each week. She looked forward to that hour of service and the chance to grab a few minutes with her family.

  Ruthie had heard about winter doldrums—experiencing melancholy as skies turned gray and the temperatures dipped—but she’d never suffered them until this year. Perhaps, because the holidays were nearing, she missed her family even more and longed for hours of uninterrupted time with Mama, Papa, the boys, and little Dinah who w
as growing up so fast. Last year she’d at least had Phoebe, and the two of them managed to find reasons to be merry even though they worked on Christmas Day. Certainly some of her sadness came from being separated from the ones she loved. But some of it, she knew, was a continuing battle against envy.

  Each time Dinah retrieved a letter from beneath the cushion on the porch chair, Ruthie felt as though someone pierced her soul. When Dinah kept the lamp burning past curfew to write to Mr. Ackerman, Ruthie pulled the covers over her head and plugged her ears against the scritch-scritch of pencil on paper while gritting her teeth so tightly her jaw ached. When she observed Dinah reading—or rereading—one of Mr. Ackerman’s messages, the urge to peek over the girl’s shoulder nearly overwhelmed her. She was older than Dinah. She’d been waiting longer for a beau. Why couldn’t she be the one receiving the attention, the affection, the promise of a family to come?

  Then with the arrival of December came a new routine—one which Ruthie found even harder to bear than the exchange of letters between her roommate and the man who continued to pique her interest. Mr. Ackerman began visiting the hotel on Mondays and Thursdays at noon—taking his lunch at the counter. And Dinah always sat with him, as bold as brass, right in front of everyone!

  Ruthie knew she shouldn’t grumble. Their innocent lunch meetings didn’t break any rules. Dinah was a chambermaid, not a server, and the chambermaid contract didn’t forbid courtship. But the servers simmered at the blatant display, and Ruthie had to guard against siding with Minnie, Matilda, Lyla, and Amelia. Knowing the servers weren’t allowed the same freedom, shouldn’t Dinah be more considerate? Yet she also knew if Mr. Ackerman were taking the time to lunch with her, she’d seat herself on a stool next to him and engage in conversation as openly and unabashedly as Dinah did.