Through the Deep Waters (28 page)

Amos recalled his father speaking of his full quiver of sons, quoting the verse from Psalm 127, but Pa had considered three enough. Amos wouldn’t mind having as many as eight children in his quiver if the Lord chose to bless
him. But discovering Cale wouldn’t be one of them pierced him. “Well … well …” He didn’t know what to say.

Mrs. Mead slid into the chair next to her husband. “Cale speaks so highly of you, Mr. Ackerman. I can tell you’d be a good father.”

Amos lowered his head. Her words pleased him. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She went on in the same pert tone. “There are several young women in our congregation who would make fine wives. Have you considered courting?”

Preacher Mead cleared his throat. “Leah …”

Mrs. Mead crinkled her nose at her husband. She looked very girlish despite the threads of white in her red hair and the fine lines around her eyes. “Oh, now, Jacob, I’m not pressuring him.” She looked at Amos again. “Forgive me if I seem nosy. But a young man as yourself, with his own prospering business, is probably eager to begin his family. Am I right?”

Amos shrugged, chuckled softly, then nodded.

Her smile grew. “And have you found a young woman who interests you?”

Again, a soft chuckle escaped before he managed a quick nod. “Yes. She attends your church. Her name is Dinah Hubley.”

Mrs. Mead jerked slightly, and a look of disappointment flittered across her face before she formed a smile again. “Dinah … a very sweet girl. She works at the Clifton with our daughter Ruthie.”

Amos nodded. “I am taking Miss Hubley to the Calico Ball on Friday. I don’t know for sure that I will court her, but …” Why was he telling the preacher’s wife all this? Apparently he spent too much time with only chickens and two speckled dogs for company. Embarrassed, he fell silent.

Preacher Mead lifted his coffee cup, a silent invitation for his wife to refill it. She rose, and he turned to Amos. “Ruthie asked her mother and me to pray for Miss Hubley. Ruthie is concerned for Miss Hubley’s lack of faith.”

Amos frowned. “But she attends the church. Your daughter invited her.” He was grateful Dinah had set aside whatever misgivings she’d held about the simple church and accepted the invitation. He couldn’t court an unchurched woman, but her attendance had reassured him. Preacher Mead’s odd statement raised prickles of unease across his scalp.

“Yes, she’s attending, which is a good first step,” the minister said, “and we’re praying she discovers her need for a Savior.”

“You’re sure she’s … faithless?” Amos nearly held his breath, waiting for the answer.

Preacher Mead sighed. “I wouldn’t presume to judge someone else’s heart. But she hasn’t made a profession of faith, so we will pray until she does.”

Mrs. Mead held the coffeepot near Amos’s cup, but he put his hand over the opening. He wouldn’t be able to swallow anything else. He’d prayed for Dinah, too, but only for her to form a relationship with him. He shouldn’t even entertain such thoughts until he knew if she had faith in the one true, living God.

He pushed clumsily to his feet, his hip stiff from his time of sitting in the hard chair. “I should get back to my place. I’ve left the chickens unattended long enough.”

Preacher Mead also stood. “I’ll drive you. The children and I often go for a drive on Sunday afternoons. They enjoy the outings. It will only take me a few minutes to hitch the team.”

Amos needed time alone. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I’ll walk.” He patted his bad hip, forcing a smile. “Walking loosens the joint.”

“Very well.”

Amos thanked the minister’s wife for the good dinner. Then Preacher Mead walked him to the door. So eager to get off by himself and consider the revelations the preacher had shared, he even forgot to say good-bye to Cale. On the walk home, he prayed. As he performed his afternoon and evening chores, he prayed. Before dropping into his bed that night, he knelt awkwardly and asked God to give him peace concerning his upcoming evening with Dinah. But the heaviness in his chest was still there the next morning. And the morning after that.

Rather than anticipating the evening at the Calico Ball, he now dreaded it. What would he do if he asked Dinah “Are you a believer?” and she said “No”?

Ruthie

Ruthie gritted her teeth and reached for another cluster of flowers. She should be the one preparing to meet Mr. Ackerman in the fancy parlor in the turret. Instead, she was inserting tiny sprigs of dried field pennycress into the thick braid circling Dinah’s head. Some people called the wildflower stinkweed because it grew in the most unlikely places, and its white fingernail-sized blossoms had never been one of Ruthie’s favorites. But when nestled in Dinah’s dark honey–colored tresses, the unremarkable bloom took on a beauty.

With her coronet of flower-bedecked braids, Dinah appeared to wear a crown. And her dress! Oh, such a lovely gown … In a sweet shade of periwinkle with delightfully pink morning glories climbing on weaving vines of palest green, it couldn’t be more suited to the girl. The light blue brought out the pale color of her eyes, and the flowers matched the splashes of rose on her blushing cheeks. Obviously Dinah’s seamstress knew her well to choose such a complimentary fabric.

Jealousy nearly turned Ruthie’s stomach inside out. Peering at their reflections in the oval mirror, she felt downright homely even though she wore her new gown and had swept up her hair in a loose, poufed style she’d always felt accented her slender neck. She stepped away from the mirror to check the curling tongs, which she’d placed over the lamp to heat. She fingered the iron barrel and deemed it hot enough to form spiraling coils of the loose strands falling from Dinah’s temples and nape.

As she wrapped a strand of hair around the barrel, she contemplated why
she was helping the girl who was going to the ball with the man she’d hoped would be her escort. Two biblical admonitions simultaneously ran through her mind—
“Love your enemies, do good to them which hate you”
and
“If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink: for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head.”

She gave the tongs a gentle downward pull, and a perfectly shaped coil trailed over Dinah’s shoulder. She lifted another strand, reminding herself Dinah was hardly an enemy. And certainly the girl didn’t hate her even though she couldn’t honestly say they were friends. But performing these kind deeds for Dinah, considering the envy Ruthie held, was as difficult as if she did them for a hateful enemy. Even so, the teaching she’d received from her earliest memories would not allow her to be cruel. Not even to the girl who’d stolen her would-be beau.

But then, by the end of the evening, maybe Dinah’s aloof behavior would prove off-putting to Mr. Ackerman. By the end of the evening, maybe he would decide he’d rather have a girl who gaily talked and laughed and—

“Ruthie!”

Dinah’s shrill squeal started Ruthie so badly she dropped the tongs. A thin line of smoke rose, followed by the foul scent of singed hair. Dinah stared in horror at her reflection. Ruthie matched Dinah’s expression, remorse striking with more ferocity than the jealousy ever had.

“Oh, Dinah, I’m so sorry. I allowed myself to become lost in thought, and I left the tongs on too long. Oh!” She scrambled for the barrel, which had landed on the carpet beside her slippered feet. A scorched mark showed on one large cabbage rose. Ruthie groaned. “Oh, what a dolt I am …”

Dinah turned in the chair. “You aren’t a dolt. Anyone can have an accident.” She fingered the heat-stiffened lock. A small grimace creased her face, but she seemed to deliberately replace it with a weak smile. “Hair grows back, and if we reposition the rug, the bed will cover the mark. Please don’t feel bad.”

Tears pricked behind Ruthie’s eyes as guilt struck like a gale wind.
Lord, forgive my unfavorable thoughts. Dinah is behaving more Christlike right now than I am
. She sniffed hard and returned the tongs to the lamp. “I have some extra hairpins. I’ll weave the scorched strand into your braid, and no one will ever know it happened.”

An odd look flitted across Dinah’s face—both hope and agony. She ducked her head, and when she raised it again, the look was gone. She offered a quavering smile. “Thank you, Ruthie.”

“You’re welcome.” Ruthie carefully lifted the damaged curl and wound it gently into her roommate’s hair. “To be honest with you, Dinah, we could burn off all your hair and you’d still be the prettiest girl at the ball.” Her chest went tight as envy tried once more to take control. “You look beautiful.”

Dinah’s eyes widened and met Ruthie’s gaze in the mirror. “I do?”

Ruthie nodded emphatically. “You do.”

A genuine smile lit Dinah’s face. “Thank you.” Then she added shyly, “So do you.”

“I do?”

It was Dinah’s turn to nod.

Ruthie smiled. Then she laughed, remembering. “Last year Phoebe and I helped each other dress for the ball. We primped and posed before the mirror and even practiced waltzing before going up to the ballroom! That was the night Phoebe met Harold, and now she’s married and has her own house in Newton …” Her thoughts drifted away again, imagining the blessing Phoebe had received. Ruthie wanted it, too—a husband, a house, a family of her own.

“Ruthie?”

Dinah’s timid voice pulled Ruthie from her reverie. She looked into her roommate’s pale eyes, which glistened with unshed tears.

“Maybe … maybe tonight you’ll meet a ‘Harold’ who’ll be smitten with your red-gold hair and fine figure.”

Ruthie turned away. The only man who’d piqued her interest hadn’t chosen to escort her. And after Dinah’s sweetness to her, how could she even consider hoping he’d reject Dinah? A lump filled her throat, bringing with it the strong desire to cry. She lifted her lightweight shawl from the end of the bed and draped it over her shoulders. “Come, Dinah. It’s eight thirty already. We’d better go.”

Amos

Amos wished he could pace. His walk to town through the chill evening air had tired his hip, and pacing would make things worse. But standing still when his insides quivered in impatience was agony. He checked the face of the stately grandfather clock standing guard against the parlor wall. Eight thirty-two. He’d only been waiting seven minutes, but it felt like seven years.

He fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot and absently rubbing his hip. The same prayer that had lingered in the back of his heart all week winged heavenward again.
Lord, if I’m not meant to pursue her, let her be displeasing in my sight
. An image of Dinah’s smile the Sunday he’d found her sitting on his bench in church flooded his mind. Something in his chest fluttered in response to the remembrance.

He couldn’t call her beautiful—not in the classic sense. But there was a sweetness about her, an innocence that touched him. And her features were soft and pleasant, fitting well with her quiet demeanor. He especially liked her unusually pale eyes, as gently blue as a cloudless summer sky. She was young—not yet eighteen—but he sensed she possessed a soul wise beyond her years. She intrigued him. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
And now I’m only finding her pleasing again, Lord. What are You trying to tell me?

The delicate sound of a clearing throat brought his eyes open. His gaze fell on two young women who stood before him, each with shy smiles gracing their faces, each wearing fancy gowns, each with elaborate hairstyles … but only one with eyes of larkspur blue. He settled his attention on Dinah, and his heart fired into his throat, making it difficult to draw a breath.

Had he really thought her only pretty and not beautiful? He blinked twice, amazed by the transformation from chambermaid to belle of the ball. He gulped and wheezed out, “Miss Hubley, you … You look …” He searched for an adequate word. Nothing seemed fine enough. He finished, “Very nice.”

His simple statement apparently found favor because she blushed and ducked her chin in a demure pose. “Thank you, Mr. Ackerman.”

Amos, striving to be polite, turned briefly to Miss Mead. “As do you, Miss Mead.” He spoke truthfully. Miss Mead’s bright-yellow dress decorated all over with red rosebuds suited the preacher’s daughter well. He glanced around the small room, noting the others who had entered the parlor were in pairs. “Are you waiting for your escort?”