Through the Deep Waters

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Papa’s brow formed lines of concern. “Night terrors are usually a result of a deeper problem. Holding it all inside won’t do her any good. I will certainly pray for Dinah.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And, Ruthie, don’t give up on her. You’re likely her only friend. Especially now that she and Mr. Ackerman have parted ways. Take every opportunity to remind her God can heal whatever is causing her night terrors.”

  “I will.” She gave Papa one more quick hug, then climbed down. She waved as the wagon carried him away. Then she hurried into the hotel, eager to be out of the cold. Inside, she deposited her wool coat in her room, straightened her hair that had been loosened by the relentless Kansas wind, then went down to eat her dinner.

  When she entered the luncheon room, she spotted Dinah sitting at the far end of the counter. She paused and observed the other chambermaid for several seconds, noting her downcast face, the way she poked at her food with the fork rather than carrying any bites to her mouth, the cloak of sadness that drooped her frame. Clearly, Dinah was in agony. And Mr. Ackerman had missed church two Sundays in a row, so he must be suffering, too.

  Sympathy welled within her. What should she do? Papa’s admonishment rang through Ruthie’s head. “Seek ye first …” Closing her eyes for a moment, Ruthie consulted her heavenly Father. Then, with a determined bounce in her step, she made her way across the floor to the empty stool beside Dinah.

  Dinah

  “Mmm, is that roast pheasant with mushroom stuffing? It smells wonderful.”

  Dinah glanced at Ruthie, who slipped onto the stool next to her and looked with interest at the uneaten food on Dinah’s plate. The aromas rising from the meat and mound of moist, seasoned breadcrumbs were making her stomach churn. She should have requested the cream of asparagus soup instead. Not that she would have been able to swallow that, either.

  She pushed the plate toward Ruthie. “You can have it if you want. I haven’t touched it.”

  “Are you sure?” Ruthie pursed her face into a worried frown. “You’ve hardly eaten enough to keep a sparrow alive lately. You’ll make yourself sick if you aren’t careful.”

  Dinah shrugged, and after a moment’s pause Ruthie bowed her head to pray. As Dinah observed her roommate’s humble pose and her lips moving in silent communication, she experienced a deep pang of longing. How must it feel to lift one’s heart to God and believe He cared enough to listen?

  Ruthie raised her head and reached for a fork from the little basket on the counter. She stabbed up a small bite of stuffing, then closed her eyes and murmured in pleasure. “Oh, Dinah, you really should have tried this. Mr. Gindough must have used rosemary and sage as flavorings. Even cold, it is delicious. Are you sure you don’t want it?”

  Dinah shook her head. “No. I … can’t eat.”

  Ruthie had lifted another bite, but at Dinah’s comment she set the fork on the plate and shifted to look full into Dinah’s face. “My papa always says when someone can’t eat, it’s because his stomach is full of something else.” She placed her hand over Dinah’s. “I know you’re sad, and I understand why. But not eating won’t fix anything. You need to eat, Dinah.”

  “I know you’re sad, and I understand why.” Ruthie’s gentle statement echoed through Dinah’s mind. Well-meaning as she might be, Ruthie didn’t understand. How could she? She hadn’t lived Dinah’s life. She hadn’t suffered scorn and rejection and mistreatment. Resentment and anger welled, creating a maelstrom in her heart. If she didn’t escape, she would explode.

  Dinah yanked her hand free of Ruthie’s light grasp and hopped off the stool. “I’m going to go to work.”

  Ruthie abandoned the plate and scampered after Dinah. “Dinah, wait!”

  People awaiting their turn in the dining room or at the luncheon counter loitered in the lobby. Dinah wove between them, wishing she could lose Ruthie in the process. But the relentless girl stayed with her pace for pace.

  When they reached the storage closet where cleaning supplies were kept, Dinah whirled on Ruthie. “Would you please leave me alone? You don’t know why I’m sad, and you’re only frustrating me by trying to pretend you know. So leave me be!” She turned to enter the closet.

  Ruthie grabbed her arm and gave a fierce yank. “You aren’t getting rid of me that easily. You are going to talk to me, Dinah Hubley. You owe me that much.”

  Dinah’s mouth dropped open. She’d seen Ruthie’s stubborn side before, but she’d never witnessed such forcefulness. She squirmed against Ruthie’s firm grip, remembrances of another time someone held her so tightly raising a wave of panic. “I owe you nothing!”

  “Oh, you don’t?” Ruthie’s eyes glittered, and she held her head at a contrary angle. “For months now you’ve interrupted my sleep with your nighttime screams and moans. I know you’re sad about losing Mr. Ackerman as your beau, but there’s something else bothering you. Something that came with you from Chicago.”

  Flashes of memories played through Dinah’s mind, dizzying in their dance of torment. The leering faces of the men at the Yellow Parrot, her mother’s bawdy costumes, her teacher’s contempt, Miss Flo’s harsh treatment, the businessman’s uncaring ravage of her body … Her chest ached. Her throat grew tight. Her breath began to puff in little bursts as if at that very moment she was being ogled, humiliated, rejected, defiled.

  Ruthie shook Dinah’s arm again and leaned close. “I will not leave you alone until you tell me what plagues your nights and makes you hold yourself aloof from anyone who would be your friend. Say it! Let the secret out!”

  Dinah gritted her teeth and gave a vicious twist of her arm. Ruthie’s hand finally fell away, and Dinah backed up out of the girl’s reach. She rubbed the spot where Ruthie’s fingers had bit into her flesh. The secret, as Ruthie had called it, burned in the center of her being. She wanted to release it, to send it far, far away. But its exposure on New Year’s Eve hadn’t bought her freedom from its grip. Instead, it had cost her Amos. There was no escape. She would carry the ugly stain of what she’d done to her grave.

  Ruthie advanced, backing Dinah into the closet. She smacked the door closed behind her, sealing the two of them in the murky space infused with the scent of mildew from the damp strings on the mops. Her voice cut through the gray—firm yet somehow also kind. “I’m waiting. You won’t feel better until you let it all out. So tell me. Tell me. Tell me.”

  Dinah clutched her temples and squeezed her eyes tight. “It won’t help. Nothing can change it. Nothing can take it away.”

  “Take what away?” Warm hands closed over Dinah’s shoulders. “What are you trying to lose, Dinah?”

  Her body trembled so badly she wondered how her legs held her upright. If Ruthie let go, she might crumple onto the floor. Drawing in a shuddering breath, she willed her quivering limbs to still. She rasped in an anguished whisper, “M-my past.” With the simple utterance she collapsed into Ruthie’s arms.

  Ruthie

  Ruthie blinked, straining against the deep shadows as she held Dinah. She should have chosen a different place to talk, but it was too late now. She glanced left and right, seeking something on which to sit. Two buckets waited on a low shelf. Holding on to Dinah with one arm, she bent forward slightly and slipped the buckets free. She turned one upside down and guided Dinah onto its bottom. Then she upended the second one for herself. She’d never perched on such an uncomfortable stool, but the seats weren’t nearly as important as Dinah’s reedy admission.

  Clutching her hands together in her lap, Ruthie prodded, “What about your past?”

  Dinah’s face appeared pale and haunted in the dim light. “I’ve already lost Amos. And if Mr. Irwin discovers wh-what happened, I won’t be able to be a server. Servers are required to be—”

  Ruthie internally finished Dinah’s sentence. Young, attractive, intelligent, of good moral character. But why should Dinah worry? She was all of that. Or was she not? Ruthie gulped as an uncomfortable thought crept through her mind.


  Dinah began to sob. “I’m—I’m dirty. Amos knows it. That’s why he left me.” Suddenly she reached for Ruthie, catching her hands and clinging with a frightening ferocity. “But you can’t tell anyone! Please? I have to become a server. It’s my only hope.”

  A hymn swept through Ruthie’s memory, and without thought she began to sing. “ ‘My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.’ ”

  Dinah drew back. “Wh-what?”

  Ruthie ignored Dinah’s puzzled query and continued singing. When she reached the third verse, she sang louder while tears pricked in her eyes as the reality of the words ignited joy in her heart. “ ‘When all around my soul gives way, He then is all my hope and stay.’ ” Her voice caught, and she couldn’t sing any longer.

  She closed her eyes and lapsed into silent prayer. Papa was right, dear Lord. You are what we need most of all. Please help me show Dinah the truth that You—not a beau, not a server position, not anything in this world except You—are her Hope. And thank You for reminding me of the truth, as well.

  “Ruthie?” Dinah’s voice cut through Ruthie’s reflections.

  She opened her eyes and blinked until her vision adjusted enough to make out Dinah’s uncertain face. She smiled. “Dinah, do you want to lose your past?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then listen to me. There’s a verse in the Bible—John 3:16. It says, ‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’

  “God knew we would make mistakes and do things we shouldn’t. Those wrong things are called sins, and when we carry them, we feel, as you said, dirty.” Ruthie’s words poured out faster and brisker as she inwardly prayed for Dinah to accept the touch God wanted to offer. “But God loves us, and He doesn’t want us walking around with the burden of sins weighing us down. So He sent Jesus, His Son. Even though Jesus was blameless, He died on the cross so His blood could wash away our sins and remove our dirtiness. There’s another verse—in Hebrews, I think. The seventh … no, eighth chapter.”

  Why hadn’t she brought her Bible with her? She pressed her memory, trying to recall the exact words. Eyes closed, she envisioned the text on the page of her well-worn Bible, and she began to recite, “ ‘For I will be merciful to their unrighteousness, and their sins and their iniquities …’ ” She opened her eyes, and tears spilled down her cheeks. She finished in a breathless rush, “ ‘… will I remember no more.’ Oh, Dinah, you want to lose your past? This is how. You ask Jesus to save you from your sins. You believe He will do it. And in God’s eyes it will be as if you never sinned at all. Your faith in Him will make you whole.”

  Dinah stared at Ruthie. Agony and desire warred in her eyes. “But Amos said I was stained. He said he … he couldn’t touch something that carried a stain.”

  Ruthie shook her head slowly, remembering her foolishness in wanting Papa to know as much as God. A bubble of laughter built in her throat. She and Dinah were more alike than she’d ever realized. She knew just what to say to Dinah now. “You can’t depend on Amos Ackerman. He’s just a man. But God is God. He loves bigger and forgives better and gives more abundantly than any man ever could.”

  Ruthie eased off the bucket—by now its hard edge had surely left a bruise where she sat—and knelt before Dinah. She placed her hands on her friend’s knees. “Earlier today my papa told me I needed to seek God and His righteousness instead of thinking that getting married and starting a family would make me happy. So now I’m telling you the same thing. Don’t think being courted by Mr. Ackerman or becoming a server will fulfill you. Those things aren’t bad, but they aren’t eternal. Only a relationship with God will last forever. God loves you. He sent His Son to die … for you. He wants to take your sins away. He wants to be your Father.”

  Dinah’s eyes flew wide. “I … I never had a father.”

  Ruthie swallowed hard. Little wonder Dinah had made such a mistake without a father’s tender guidance. She gave Dinah’s knees a brisk pat. “Well, you can have one now. Do you want Him, Dinah?” She stared at Dinah’s unsmiling face, waiting, hoping, praying.

  Several seconds ticked by while Dinah seemed to gaze into nothing and her hands repeatedly clenched and unclenched. Then she sagged forward, her forehead nearly meeting Ruthie’s. “I want Him. What do I do?”

  Ruthie smiled through her tears. “All you have to do is ask. Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ … and you will be saved.”

  With hesitance, in a voice so small Ruthie might have imagined it, Dinah said, “I believe.” She straightened her shoulders and spoke with more boldness. “I believe.” Wonder broke across her countenance. Tears flooded her eyes. She raised her face to the ceiling. “I believe, God. I believe.” Although the words emerged on a sob, no one could deny the joy ringing in her tone. “I believe, I believe …”

  Ruthie situated herself on the bucket again and sat in silent witness to Dinah’s awakening. She’d never seen anything more beautiful. A lump of gratitude filled her throat. Such an honor, to play a part in guiding Dinah to the everlasting love of her heavenly Father. Tears rolled unendingly down Dinah’s cheeks, and warm rivulets flowed down Ruthie’s face, as well. She felt God’s presence in the closet with them, penetrating both of their beings.

  She folded her arms across her middle, envisioning God’s arms holding her close. She and Dinah had each received a healing today. Whatever You want for me, wherever You want me to go, God, I’ll follow.

  Dinah had found her peace. And so had Ruthie.

  Dinah

  After dressing for bed Dinah turned from the wardrobe to find Ruthie closing the Bible she’d purchased. The tips of several strips of paper stuck out from the Bible’s top edge, splaying in various directions. Their haphazard arrangement reminded Dinah of wildflowers along the side of a road. Her lips twitched into an amused grin. “What did you do to my Bible?”

  Ruthie skittered forward, her face alight. “I marked several of my favorite passages. See? At the top of each marker is the reference I want you to read. And so it’s easy for you to find them, I inserted a paper at the right page. Now that you’ve decided to be a follower of God, you will want to grow in your faith. Reading your Bible is the way to grow. So”—she thrust the Book at Dinah with a little giggle—“here you are! Grow!”

  Dinah took the Bible and gazed in wonder at the number of slips protruding. Ruthie had an envious grasp of God’s Word to be familiar with so many different passages. “Where do I start?”

  Ruthie pressed her finger to her chin, seeming to examine the markers. Then she tapped her fingertip on one. “This one. It’s a story, a very short story, about a woman who reminds me of you. This woman had—” She waved her palms as if erasing something in the air. “Oh, me and my talk-talk-talk! Don’t let me tell it to you. Read it yourself.” She hurried to her side of the bed and knelt on the floor, folding her hands in her familiar prayer pose.

  Dinah peeked at the reference written on the paper’s tip in Ruthie’s flamboyant handwriting—Luke 8:43–48. A part of her desired to open the Bible and absorb herself in the story, but another part of her resisted. Amos had told her about a story in the Bible, and the images of Bible-Dinah’s assault still hovered in the back of her mind. Did she want to risk filling her mind with yet another heartbreaking tale?

  “Did you forget which one I showed you?” Eagerness quavered through Ruthie’s voice.

  Dinah sent her roommate a sheepish look. “I know which one you said. But … it isn’t a sad story, is it? I read about a woman named Dinah, and I …” Unpleasant remembrances dried her throat. “I can’t forget how sad it was.”

  Sympathy showed in Ruthie’s eyes. “What happened to Dinah in the Bible was sad. Even though she went to the neighboring village when she’d been instructed not to, Shechem should not have … er, taken her. And Dinah’s brothers … Oh my.” She shook her head sorrowfully. “That story has troubled me, too. There
is so much wrong in it.” Then her expression brightened, and she nodded toward Dinah’s Bible. “But I think you’ll find the one I marked full of right. Read it, Dinah. Go ahead.” Ruthie closed her eyes and bowed her head.

  While Ruthie prayed, Dinah sat on the edge of the bed and placed the Bible in her lap. Swallowing a knot of worry, she slipped her finger between the pages and flopped the Book open. She scanned the little numbers beneath chapter eight until she located forty-three. Drawing in a breath, she leaned forward and began to read about a woman who had suffered a blood disorder no physician could cure. But then she touched the hem of Jesus’s robe, and her illness was healed.

  Her heart caught as she read the final verse. “And he said unto her, Daughter, be of good comfort: thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace.” Dinah placed her palm over the wonderful words as warmth flooded her. Setting the Bible aside, she dropped to her knees beside the bed and bowed her head. Although she’d listened to Ruthie’s prayers countless times in the past months, she wasn’t sure what to say. Her relationship with God—her Father—was so new. So she prayed what was on her heart.

  Dear God, thank You for healing me. Thank You for loving me. Thank You … Amen. She rose as Ruthie rose. Ruthie extinguished the lamp, and both girls slipped into bed.

  Ruthie’s content voice carried across the darkness. “Good night, Dinah.”

  “Good night, Ruthie.” But she lay with eyes open, staring at the gray ceiling. Closing her eyes meant dreaming. The images—familiar and frightening and unwelcome—began to take shape in the back of her mind. Then, as sweet as a lilac’s bouquet wafting on a fresh spring breeze, Jesus’s statement to the woman who touched His robe whispered through her heart. “Thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace.”

  Dinah closed her eyes.

  “Go in peace.”

  Her body relaxed, every muscle becoming loose and liquid.

  “Go in peace.”

  Dinah slipped off to blissful, dreamless sleep.