Through the Deep Waters (15 page)

Conversation at the full table in the middle of the room ceased as Dinah made her way across the room and then resumed in a flurry of comments when she’d departed. Amelia turned backward in her chair and pinned Ruthie with a curious look. “What were you two talking about? She looked positively peeved.”

Minnie hunched her shoulders and giggled shrilly. “Yes, what did you say to make her storm off that way?”

Ruthie hadn’t thought Dinah stormed away. And she hadn’t seemed peeved as much as resigned. But to say so would only create a rift between her and the servers. She’d taken the position as chambermaid because Papa hadn’t wanted her to become a dining room worker—he didn’t like the idea of her serving men. The others already teased her about her overprotective papa. She didn’t want to be teased for defending Dinah.

So she forced a cavalier shrug and curled her lips into a weak grin. “Oh, nothing much. It doesn’t matter, really.”

“Well, now that she’s gone, come join us,” Lyla said.

If Ruthie went over, she’d probably be coerced into talking about Dinah. She hesitated.

Dean added, “Breakfast’s the only time Poke and me get to talk to you gals. C’mon, Ruthie. Start your day with some fun. Once we leave here, it’s all work and no play, and we all know that makes Jack a dull boy.”

Minnie nudged Dean’s shoulder. “Or makes Ruthie a dull girl.”

“Like Dinah,” Dean said.

They all snickered.

Ruthie did not want them to think of her the way she thought of Dinah—as being snobbish and too good for everyone else. And Dean was right. Once breakfast was over, the chance for fun was gone. She needed a little fun to make up for the dreary start to her day. She snatched up her plate and hurried over to the table.

For the remainder of the week, Ruthie sat with the servers and the busboys
at breakfast while Dinah sat by herself. At the end of each day, when the girls gathered for a bit of chitchat in one of their rooms before curfew, Ruthie joined them but never offered her room for the place to gather because Dinah would have to be included. As uncomfortable as it was to share a room and not talk, Ruthie managed to hold her tongue and leave Dinah in peace. If that’s what her roommate wanted, and it didn’t bother her to be thought of as a snobby recluse, then Ruthie would honor it. By the end of the week, she’d become accustomed to sharing a room and work duties while pretending she was all alone.

On Sunday morning, she dashed out the front doors at a little before nine to climb in the buggy and ride to worship service. Today Poke held the reins, and Lyla and Minnie sat beside him. Matilda was on the closest side of the rear seat and two others, their identities hidden by the shade cast by the leather canopy, filled the other side of the bench. Everyone else was ready to go.

Ruthie grimaced as she trotted to the edge of the buggy. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. Scoot over a bit, Matilda, and let me come in.”

Matilda let out a disgruntled huff, but she shifted to the front edge of the seat and opened a tiny slice for Ruthie to occupy. As Ruthie fell into the seat, she glanced sideways and jolted. On the far side of the seat, Dinah Hubley sat staring straight ahead with her chin held high.

Dinah

Dinah watched the buggy roll away from the churchyard and her stomach lurched. Unless she wanted to walk back to the hotel—an unpleasant thought given the already high temperature and dusty streets—she had to stay for the service. And wasn’t that why she’d come? To attend the service?

She fell behind the others as they moved as a group toward the church steps. Her uniform marked her as one of them, but she wasn’t. Not really. She’d felt so alone all week, but in her solitude Ruthie’s comment from her first day in Florence had continually played in the back of her heart.
“God loves you very much,”
Ruthie had said. From the very center of her being, Dinah longed for someone to love her very much. People never had. Not even Rueben, who’d at least been kind to her. But God wasn’t people. Maybe … just maybe … God could love her if she took the time to get to know Him. And since church was the place Ruthie had declared the best for meeting God, Dinah had come.

Ruthie darted straight to the front to her family, just as she had last week, but this time she didn’t ask Dinah to join her. The servers all filed into a bench on the right in the middle of the worship room. They didn’t cast so much as a glance in Dinah’s direction, so even though there was room for her, she didn’t join them. Instead, she chose a spot on the very back bench on the left side. As far from the others as she could be without sitting outside the doors. She gripped her hands together in her lap and listened to the parishioners quietly chat with one another as they waited for the service to begin.

Dinah’s chest felt tight and aching. She might as well be invisible, sitting there all alone. She’d told Ruthie she didn’t care what the others thought, but
she did care. She cared too much. When Ruthie had accused her of thinking herself too good for everyone, she’d wanted to both laugh and cry. Too good for everyone? Such a ridiculous thought. But it was better to have them think a lie than to know the truth. So she’d allowed the misconception even though it meant being shunned.

Shunned …
All she could ever remember was being cast aside. Belittled. Mistreated. Memories of hurtful comments and open snubs from those she’d encountered from childhood on rose from Dinah’s mind to haunt her. She cringed, imagining the people now filling the benches—good people, honest people, pure people—discovering just how unworthy she truly was. She had no business sitting among them. No God, not even one humble enough to occupy this simple dwelling, would want anything to do with her. She was only fooling herself, trying to grab on to something that didn’t exist.

She shouldn’t stay. Not until she’d had a chance to redeem herself. Next year—after she won Mr. Harvey’s favor by working hard and earned the position as server—she would come back. Then God might have reason to love her.

Voices faded to silence as the preacher strode through the door and headed up the aisle to the front. In a few seconds, if they did what they’d done last week, everyone would stand to sing. And she’d be able to sneak out, unnoticed. Her heart pounding with the desire to escape, she waited until Mr. Mead called out the title of the opening hymn and invited everyone to rise. She bolted upright and, with her head bowed low, turned to hurry out of the building as the people began belting out, “Shall we gather at the river …”

But she’d only taken one step when someone moved into her pathway. A tall, broad someone in a dark suit and dusty boots who filled the small space between the benches, leaving not even an inch of passageway. She lifted her head, intending to ask the person to excuse her, but when her gaze lit on his face, her tongue seemed to stick to the roof of her mouth.

Mr. Ackerman smiled—a bashful, gentle, almost imperceptible upturning of his lips—and whispered, “May I join you?”

Dinah blinked, gathering her senses. He’d asked to sit beside her. Instead
of passing her by or telling her she wasn’t welcome on his bench, he’d asked to join her. The tightness in her chest eased as warmth flooded her. She couldn’t speak, but she gave a quick nod and turned to face the front, although she couldn’t resist peeking sideways at the big man standing beside her.

Mr. Ackerman held his head high and added his voice to the singing. Dinah didn’t know the words, so she stood and listened, finding great pleasure in the deep, rich baritone flowing from Mr. Ackerman’s throat. “ ‘Yes, we’ll gather at the river, the beautiful, the beautiful river; gather with the saints at the river that flows by the throne of God.’ ” Dinah didn’t know where this river would be found, but the expression on Mr. Ackerman’s face as he sang—relaxed, happy, even eager—made her pine for the opportunity to go there.

The song ended, and Mr. Mead gestured for everyone to sit. He lifted his Bible and called out, “Turn to Matthew, the first chapter.”

All across the room, pages rustled as people opened their Bibles. Mr. Ackerman laid his worn Bible on his knee and opened it gently, as if fearful his large fingers would damage the fragile pages. When he found the page he wanted, he slipped his hand beneath the Book and held it so Dinah could see, too. Her face went hot, but she tipped sideways a bit to peek at the open pages.

She followed along as Mr. Mead read a long list of strange names who begat other strange names. Some of the names, such as Josaphat and Zorobabel, sounded so funny they made Dinah want to giggle. But no one else seemed amused, so she bit the inside of her cheeks and held her humor inside.

When he’d reached the end of the names, Mr. Mead read, “ ‘So all the generations from Abraham to David are fourteen generations; and from David until the carrying away into Babylon are fourteen generations; and from the carrying away into Babylon unto Christ are fourteen generations.’ ”

He set the Bible aside and smiled at the congregation. “Not very intriguing reading, is it? I saw a couple of you yawn.” Self-conscious chuckles rumbled, and Mr. Mead’s smile broadened. “And why do all those names matter? It matters because God wants us to know Jesus’s lineage. God wants us to know Jesus’s forebears. He wants us to know from where Jesus came.”

From where Jesus came …
Dinah’s ears began to ring with such intensity
the preacher’s next words were lost to her. Lineage mattered to God. And what was her lineage? Her mother was a prostitute and her father someone who’d paid to lie with her mother. Shame, hot and consuming, swept through her. If lineage mattered to God, she was already lost.

She could change her position as chambermaid to server, but nothing would ever change her parentage. Her body trembled. She didn’t belong here. Not now. And not ever—not if lineage held enough importance to be printed out in great detail in the Bible, which Ruthie had said was God’s Book.

On shaking legs she scrambled to her feet and stumbled past Mr. Ackerman, who looked at her with surprise. He stretched his hand to her as if to hold her back, but she skittered around it and darted out the open doors.

Amos

Amos watched Miss Hubley’s dark skirt disappear and then listened to her feet pounding down the front steps. A few frowning faces turned to see who caused the ruckus, but Preacher Mead continued as if there hadn’t been any disturbance. So the people faced the front again. Amos kept his gaze aimed forward, but he could no longer focus on the sermon.

Why had Miss Hubley run out? She’d looked frightened. Panicky. The same way she’d looked the day he found her sleeping on the porch. The same way she’d looked when he approached her beneath the clothesline in the hotel’s backyard. His heart turned over. Somehow he must have alarmed her again. Had he been too forward, asking to sit beside her and then sharing his Bible with her?

He’d meant nothing by it. He arrived nearly late again, and by sitting in the back, he didn’t disturb those who were already settled. He usually sat back here alone. Finding her on the bench had surprised him, but when she said he could sit there, too, he’d been pleased. He liked having some company. But maybe she’d chosen the seat so she could be alone. Of course she wouldn’t be impolite enough to refuse his request to sit beside her. He’d intruded. Then
when he held his Bible for her to share, he embarrassed her since she apparently didn’t have one. So she felt the need to leave.

Remorse soured his stomach.
Lord, I didn’t mean to chase her from the church, a place where all should feel welcome
. He needed to apologize. But how? Every time he neared her, she ran away like a scared rabbit. His chest constricted. He supposed by now he should be used to people shying away from him. So often his limping gait made folks uncomfortable. Even his own father kept his distance, as if Amos’s bad leg were reason for embarrassment. If he went after her, he’d probably only make things worse. And he had enough troubles right now, what with eggs disappearing daily from the chickens’ roosts and some small animal making a feast of two of his birds last week. But somehow he needed to convey his regret for troubling her.