Through the Deep Waters (16 page)

He turned his attention to the front, determined to set aside his worries and listen to the minister’s words—how believers, who’d been adopted as brothers and sisters of Christ, could claim the same lineage as Jesus Himself. An uplifting, encouraging message if ever there was one. But his gaze lit on the reddish hair of the preacher’s daughter, and his thoughts turned to Miss Hubley again. He could ask Miss Mead to deliver an apology. Then his conscience would be clear.

The service closed with an enthusiastic delivery of “O for a Thousand Tongues to Sing.” Amos remained in his spot until Miss Mead made her way down the aisle. Before she could step outside, he called her name and she turned. Her face lit up when she spotted him, and unexpectedly heat filled his face. Maybe he shouldn’t beckon to her right there in the church where people might misunderstand. But she was already weaving between others to reach him, so he would give his message and then depart.

“Good morning, Mr. Ackerman. I only have a moment—the buggy will be here soon to transport me back to the hotel.” Miss Mead’s cheerful voice matched the look of bright expectation on her face.

Amos cleared his throat. “I only need a moment of your time. I wondered if you would tell Miss Hubley something for me.”

It seemed Miss Mead’s expression clouded, but she nodded.

“Please tell her I’m sorry if I embarrassed her this morning.”

Now he couldn’t deny the scowl climbing her face. “What did you do?”

His cheeks burned hotter than the late July sun. He swallowed. “She will know. Just, please, tell her I meant no harm and I hope she will come back to church next Sunday.” He paused. He wasn’t a very good judge of women’s feelings, but he sensed Miss Mead was not happy. He added hesitantly, “Do you mind giving her the message?”

A smile formed, but it seemed pasted on rather than genuine. Miss Mead gave a brusque nod. “Of course, Mr. Ackerman, I will give your message to Miss Hubley.” She glanced toward the open doorway. “Oh, there’s my ride. I need to go.” She looked at him again, and something akin to pleading showed in her eyes. “Was there anything else?”

He shook his head, glad to be done. “No. Enjoy the rest of your day, Miss Mead.”

“Yes. Thank you. You, too, Mr. Ackerman.” She turned and left, but she lacked the usual bounce he’d always seen in her step.

Amos frowned. What had caused Miss Mead’s change in demeanor? He hoped it wasn’t anything he’d done. Insulting one woman on this Sunday was already one too many. Then he recalled his brothers complaining about women being moody. Since they’d both courted several women before choosing a wife, they had more experience with females than he did. He would trust their judgment. Likely Miss Mead, although generally sunny, was having a moody day. As long as she would deliver his message—and he couldn’t imagine a minister’s daughter being dishonest with him—she could be moody all she wanted. He was more concerned about Miss Hubley’s feelings.

Dinah

Dinah scuttled from the hotel room, her arms overflowing with linens from the bed. Ruthie stepped directly in her pathway, forcing Dinah to halt. The look of displeasure on the other girl’s face sent a shiver of apprehension across her
frame. After nearly a week of not speaking to Ruthie, Dinah felt strange addressing her roommate, but a nervous question found its way from her throat. “Wh-what’s wrong?”

“Why did you leave service early?”

Dinah crunched her lips tight. The pain of realizing she had no place in God’s house returned, stinging her anew.

Ruthie waited a few seconds, then drew in a breath that expanded the bibbed front of her apron. She appeared to be gathering courage. “I have a message for you.”

From Mr. Phillips, who’d been a chef in Chicago? From Miss Flo? Someone else from the Yellow Parrot who’d discovered where she’d gone? Dinah held her breath, her pulse pounding so hard she wondered if Ruthie could hear it.

“Amos Ackerman—from church—asked me to tell you he’s sorry for embarrassing you.” For a few seconds Ruthie’s lips twitched as if a bumblebee were trapped inside her mouth. Then she blurted, “What did he do to make you leave?”

Dinah hugged the linens to her chest. All he’d done was sit beside her. Share his Bible with her. Acknowledge her presence. He’d been kind. Dinah said, “Nothing.”

Ruthie tipped her head and raised one reddish eyebrow. “He must have done something or he wouldn’t have asked me to tell you he’s sorry. Men don’t apologize for no reason.”

To her experience, men didn’t even apologize when they
had
reason. Dinah stepped past Ruthie. “He didn’t do anything. He doesn’t owe me an apology.” She hurried off before Ruthie could ask anything else.

Dinah dumped her armful of linens into the laundry chute, then stood staring down the dark tunnel. Although she needed to return to work, she allowed herself a few moments to remember the gentle smile Mr. Ackerman offered as he’d asked to sit beside her and the way his deep voice had filled her chest to overflowing when he sang.

He thought he’d embarrassed her somehow, and he felt bad enough to
send Ruthie with a message of apology. The warmth that had enveloped her when he’d slipped onto the bench next to her flowed over her again, and she closed her eyes, savoring the essence of acceptance it offered. But then she gave herself a shake. Hadn’t she determined she had no place in a church with decent folks? Her lineage didn’t belong, and neither did she.

She slammed the door on the chute and marched up the hallway in search of Ruthie. She’d tell her to send a message back to Mr. Ackerman. He didn’t owe her an apology, but she owed him one for running off the way she had. Once she’d asked Ruthie to tell him so, she would erase all memory of Mr. Ackerman and his kindness from her mind.

Amos

Amos scraped the rake across the dirty straw, chuckling as the fluffy yellow chicks cheeped and scampered away from the wooden prongs. “Here now,” he said gently, “I am not after you. Only the mess you made.”

For such little things, they sure managed to muck up his barn. But he would forgive them. They were so small, so innocent, and they stirred his sympathy in their helplessness. Just as the brown-haired chambermaid with eyes of palest blue who worked at the Clifton Hotel stirred his sympathy.

He released a little self-deprecating snort. Now even the chicks were reminding him of Dinah Hubley? He paused and leaned against the rake handle, absently watching the chicks find the courage to return and peck at his boot strings. Why couldn’t he erase her from his mind? Each day for the past three days, she had crept into his thoughts at odd times, stealing his focus and making his chest go tight in an unfamiliar way. He’d taken to thinking of her as Dinah rather than Miss Hubley. Dinah … The name suited her. Ma would say it was an unpretentious name—pretty yet humble.

There in the barn with only chicks for witnesses, he dared to speak her name, softly, sampling its sound. “Dinah.” Then again, stronger. “Dinah.” He smiled. Yes, he liked the way it rolled from his tongue. He laughed a little, glancing around to make sure no one overheard his silliness. Which was also silly since no one else was there. He laughed more and the chicks scattered, leaving him standing alone.

Then he sobered.
Alone …
Just the way Dinah had been on the porch the first time he’d seen her. And on the bench at church this past Sunday. The way he was every day here at his farm. Words from Genesis, spoken by God
Himself, whispered to his memory:
“It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him an help meet for him.”

He tipped his head, frowning, wondering. In the past when a thought refused to leave his head, he’d eventually accepted the idea was not his own but was planted by God. His chicken farm proved that God-planted ideas bore fruit. So could it be this girl—this girl who was so alone—was meant to alleviate his aloneness?

Of course, after today he wouldn’t be alone anymore. The speckled pups he’d located at a farm south of town were finally big enough to leave their mother, and he would bring them home on Thursday when he finished delivering eggs to his customers in town. He’d chosen two pups, both boys, and he intended to name them Shadrach and Meshach. Or Samson and Gideon. Either way, he hoped they’d live up to their names, becoming strong protectors for the chickens. He’d lost a hen only last night to a fox.

The chicks’ peeping pulled him to the present. He set the rake to work once more. But another thought sneaked into his mind, bringing his busy hands to a halt. The puppies would give him company, yes, but he could hardly consider a pair of dogs, no matter how helpful,
helpmeets
.

He whispered the name that would not depart from his thoughts. “Dinah …” Did God mean for her to be his?

Ruthie

Ruthie whisked the feather duster over the little scrolled shelves on either side of the dresser’s mirror and wished for the dozenth time since Sunday morning that she could sit down with her mother for a long talk. With the half circle–shaped shelves free of even a speck of dust, she draped the delicately embroidered doilies on the shelves, then centered the sweet figurines of cherubs just so on the snowy doilies. Satisfied with their positioning, she moved on to dust the pair of tables standing sentry on either side of the bed.

What advice would Mama give concerning her infatuation with Mr.
Ackerman? Although Papa was the parent most likely to offer advice, even if it was unsolicited, Ruthie preferred to hear Mama’s thoughts because she would surely be more understanding than Papa. As a schoolgirl, Ruthie had thought herself besotted on three different occasions, and each time Papa had firmly instructed her to put off such thoughts until she was old enough for marriage. Well, eighteen was certainly old enough. Mama had married Papa when she was three days past her eighteenth birthday, and Ruthie was now nearing her nineteenth year. So Papa shouldn’t fuss. And Mama would tell her … what?

Ruthie tapped her chin with the duster’s wooden handle, waiting for words of wisdom to fill her head. But none came. With a huff of frustration, she tucked the duster into her apron pocket and began fluffing the bed pillows, finding relief in giving the feather-filled rectangles solid thumps. Did every girl suffer such confusion and longing when a man had captured her heart? If Phoebe were still here, she could share her feelings with her good friend. But she didn’t feel close enough to Dinah. Or to the servers, who’d formed pairs the way girls tended to do and left her feeling like an outsider, even though they didn’t hold themselves aloof from her the way Dinah did.

She adjusted the pillows so they rested neatly at the headboard, resisting the urge to pound her fist on them instead. Papa would be sadly dismayed to know how jealous she’d become of her roommate. Jealousy was an ugly emotion—Papa had preached fiery sermons on the tenth commandment. She’d managed to set aside resentment concerning Dinah’s wealthy background. She’d even overcome coveting Dinah’s lovely, flowing hair and eyes of delicate blue that gave her a china doll appearance. But despite her best efforts, she could not quell the envy that filled her when she remembered Mr. Ackerman asking her to deliver a message to Dinah.