Through the Deep Waters (17 page)

To Dinah! Who’d not even been polite enough to give him a simple greeting! Who’d run out of the church last week over some unknown but undoubtedly petty slight. As if Mr. Ackerman would ever be loutish enough to slight anyone.

Ruthie released an unladylike snort and turned from the bed to survey the room, seeking anything else in need of attention. And her gaze fell on the lovely
painting hanging above the two graceful chairs forming a sitting area in the corner of the room. Although other rooms required cleaning, she crossed the thickly carpeted floor and stopped before the painting, allowing herself several minutes to absorb the peaceful scene.

Painted in dreamy pastels, the image of a man and woman strolling through a flower-laden garden appealed to her femininity. The garden with its fountains, wrought-iron gate, and many flower beds of rainbow colors was similar to the gardens in front of the hotel. She closed her eyes, imagining placing her hand in the crook of Mr. Ackerman’s arm and strolling slowly along the flat rock pathway while the sun beamed down and brought out the deepest colors in every petal.

Lost in her daydream, she began to sway, pretending to match her stride to his. And reality slammed down upon her. Her eyes jolted open. Mr. Ackerman couldn’t stroll with her. Not with his limp. His uneven gait would tug her arm with every step. The romance of the inner reflection faded, and sadness momentarily sagged her shoulders. She wished Mr. Ackerman’s limp didn’t bother her, but it did. Otherwise, he was perfect—tall and handsome, strong yet gentle, a man who wasn’t afraid to bow his head in church. All of the qualities she wanted for a husband, Mr. Ackerman possessed. Except …

Ruthie gathered her cleaning supplies and hurried to the next room before Mr. Irwin peeked in and caught her woolgathering. But as she cleaned, thoughts of Mr. Ackerman continued to tiptoe through her mind. What if he’d been born with a bad leg? Some babies came into the world with damaged limbs or other problems. And what if
his
babies were born with bad legs, the way Ruthie had been born with Mama’s red hair and Papa’s long fingers? It could happen, couldn’t it?

Worry followed her as she completed the tasks and moved on to another room. She needed to talk to Mama, to pray with Mama, to search her soul for her true feelings toward Mr. Ackerman. In the meantime, she discovered one consolation that appeased her aching heart. He might be trying to pursue Dinah, but Dinah would never be caught. After all, a girl who’d come from an affluent background would expect more than a lame chicken farmer for a
husband. She wouldn’t be surprised if Dinah had taken this position to snag herself a wealthy businessman, the way Minnie intended. So even if Mr. Ackerman thought he wanted Dinah, he’d soon be as put off by her as everyone else had been. And that would leave him for Ruthie.

Dinah

Dinah swept away the grit and bits of cut grass the wind had blown onto the long porch fronting the hotel. Although the heat of midday left her sticky with sweat, she didn’t mind being given the task. She liked the smell of the flowers, which bloomed in profusion in the well-tended gardens. The fountains sang a sweet melody, and even the distant whistle of the train pleased her ears. She looked forward to the locomotive’s approach when the ground beneath her feet trembled, sending vibrations from her soles to her scalp. She felt alive outside.

And out here, away from everyone’s eyes, she could relax.

She gave the thick straw bristles a solid push and sent the dust sailing. The
whish
against the porch floor created a satisfying sound, and the clean swath left behind on the painted boards made her smile. How gratifying to see the immediate difference a thrust of the broom made. She moved to the next section and worked the bristles against the lapped siding to free the dust trapped along the edge of the porch.

An odd, offbeat
creak-creak
intruded upon the sound of her sweeping. She’d heard it once before, but she couldn’t place it. Lifting her head, she searched for the source of the noise, and she spotted Mr. Ackerman pulling his little wagon along the street. The wooden wheels sent out the creaking. She froze, torn between wanting him to notice her and wanting him to go on without seeing her. Why did this man create such turmoil within her?

She held her breath and watched him pass, his tall form bent slightly at the waist to adjust his height to the handle on the wagon. Then something in the wagon’s bed shifted. A little black nose, two bright eyes, and a pair of
floppy ears—one black, one white with black spots—appeared over the edge. Dinah let out a little gasp of delight.

The wagon stopped, and Mr. Ackerman turned his head in her direction. She knew the moment he saw her because a smile broke across his face. He lifted his hand in greeting.

She uncurled her fingers from the broom handle and waved back. She returned her gaze to the puppy, which now placed its paws on the edge of the wagon and let its tongue flop from its little mouth. It seemed to be smiling. A giggle grew in her throat and spilled out before she could stop it.

Mr. Ackerman’s grin broadened. He pulled the wagon up the walkway between the fountains and stopped at the base of the stairs. “Would you like to pet the puppies?”

Dinah had always liked puppies. And kittens and rabbits and even ducklings. But she’d never been allowed to have a pet. Animals were dirty, Miss Flo said, which Dinah had thought an odd statement, considering the appearance of some of the men she allowed into her parlor. She inched her way to the edge of the porch and peered over the spindled railing into the wagon bed. To her delight, two roly-poly dogs splotched with black on white wriggled on a bed of hay. She couldn’t hold back another light laugh.

“Come on down and give them some attention if you like,” Mr. Ackerman invited. “I just took them away from their mama, and they’d probably welcome a cuddle or two.”

Dinah flicked a glance toward the windows. Would Mr. Irwin look out and scold her for taking time away from work? But it was lunchtime. She was allowed a break at noon. Without another thought, she scurried down the steps and reached into the wagon. Both puppies swiped at her with velvety tongues and batted her with thick little paws. Their entire backsides bounced with the exuberant wagging of their stubby tails.

A genuine smile formed on Dinah’s lips and refused to dim. “They’re so cute! What are their names?”

Mr. Ackerman chuckled. She caught him scratching his head as he grinned
down at the dogs. “Well, I was just thinking on that. I can’t decide whether I want to name them Shadrach and Meshach—”

Dinah wrinkled her nose. Those names sounded like the strange ones the preacher had read last Sunday.

“—or Samson and Gideon.”

“Samson and Gideon,” Dinah said emphatically. Then she cringed. Had she really told him what to call his puppies? She shouldn’t be so bold. “That is, if you want something easy for them to learn. I’m sure Shad … Shadrach and Meshach …” Goodness, she could hardly say them. How would a puppy remember them? “… are fine names, but Samson and Gideon could be shortened to Sam and Gid.”

Mr. Ackerman squinted one eye and examined the puppies. “But I could shorten Shadrach and Meshach to Shad and Shach. And the pups are black and white with gray smudges, as if they’ve been scorched. The biblical Shadrach and Meshach spent time in the fiery furnace, as you know. Of course, they escaped unharmed, but even so …”

She didn’t know who those people were who’d gone into a furnace, but the thought made her shudder. She curled her hands beneath the puppies’ chins and lifted their little faces. The smaller of the pair had one blue eye and one brown one. She was instantly smitten. “They look like Sam and Gid to me.”

“All right, then. Samson and Gideon.”

Dinah looked at Mr. Ackerman in surprise. He’d agreed with her?

The puppies bounced their wet noises against her palms, and he chuckled. “They seem pleased with the names, too. You made a good choice.”

Joy filled her so thoroughly she wanted to laugh. He’d given her a gift, and she wished she knew how to tell him how much he’d pleased her. But all she could do was gaze at him in wide-eyed wonder.

His smile turned tender, as if he read her secret thoughts, and then he took one shuffling step toward her. “Miss Hubley, did … did your roommate deliver a message to you from me?”

Heat filled her face as she recalled racing out of the church last Sunday. She hadn’t deserved his apology, and now she had the chance to tell him so. If she
could find the courage. With her fingers in the puppies’ soft fur, she ducked her head and mumbled, “Yes. But it wasn’t necessary. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He bent his knees slightly and angled his head to catch her gaze. “Then why did you run out the way you did? Are you sure it wasn’t because I frightened you?”

Yes, he’d frightened her. He was frightening her now. She didn’t know how to respond to his kindness. She feared his kindness would suddenly change, the way the man in the hotel room had gone from smiling and complimentary to hard and demanding in the space of a heartbeat. She couldn’t share all of that with him, but she could assure him he’d been innocent in sending her away from the church.

“You didn’t frighten me. I just knew I shouldn’t stay. I don’t belong in church with—” She sucked in a sharp breath, swallowing the words that had almost escaped, and finished weakly, “I don’t belong in church.”

His eyebrows descended. Not a scowl of anger, but one of such compassion it caused tears to prick Dinah’s eyes. “Why, Miss Hubley, everyone is welcome in church.”

Oh, if only it were true. She took a step away from the wagon, away from the man whose tender voice and concerned face raised waves of both panic and longing. “Not me. I … I have to get back to work now.”

She raced for the porch, and moments later the
creak-creak
of wagon wheels let her know he’d departed. But her remembrance of their brief time together refused to depart. She carried the image of his stricken face in her memory the remainder of the day.

Amos

Just as he had last Sunday, Amos waited beside his bench for Miss Mead to move toward the church doors. Dinah hadn’t come. He hadn’t expected her to after their brief exchange on Thursday, but he still hoped. As he’d shooed the chickens into the chicken house where they’d be safe from predators and then tied Sam and Gid to fence posts with sturdy ropes, he prayed for her to come. The entire dusty walk to town, he repeated the prayer.
Let her be there. Lord, let her come to church
.

But his prayer had gone unheeded, and his need to see her—to explore why she didn’t feel welcome in church—kept him waiting for Miss Mead to stop talking and come down the aisle so he could ask her about Dinah.

He fidgeted in place, wishing she’d hurry. She and her mother had their heads together while the youngest member of the family—a cute little girl with curly red hair caught up in a big white ribbon—pulled at her mother’s skirt. The boys had darted outside already, and Amos heard their happy shouts from the yard. His heart swelled. He’d like to have a big, boisterous family like the preacher’s. Someday. But for now, he just wanted Dinah to feel welcome in the house of the Lord.

A frown pinched his brow even while he nodded greetings to other parishioners and toyed with his hat. As a boy, he’d been taunted in the schoolyard, called Amos Staggerman, instead of Ackerman, because of his clumsiness. When choosing teams for stickball or kick the can, the other kids always picked Amos last and then never put him in to play. Instead, he stood to the side and watched the other children play. When he got older and attended
town parties and dances, no girl ever accepted his invitation to dance, put off by his awkward gait.

But at church—ah, at church—he’d found his place of acceptance. There he was at peace, secure in the knowledge that God didn’t care if his hips were crooked and he limped when he walked. God didn’t care if he raised chickens instead of growing wheat, the way his father and grandfather had before him. God didn’t care about what he couldn’t do. God cared about
him
—loved him so unconditionally He’d allowed His Son to die for Amos’s sins. And it pained him to think of Dinah feeling unwelcome in the one place where everyone should feel openly received.