Through the Deep Waters (30 page)

They filled their plates with quail pie, roasted lamb with finely chopped cucumber and dill relish, crab-stuffed shrimp, candied carrot coins, garlic- and rosemary-infused asparagus, and duck-liver pâté on thin wedges of toasted rye. The offerings, with the exception of the quail pie, were familiar to Dinah thanks to Rueben’s elaborate menus, and she nearly licked her lips in anticipation. At first Mr. Ackerman turned up his nose at the pâté, but when Dinah laughed at him and promised to finish it if he didn’t care for it, he took two pieces.

Back at the settee, they balanced their plates on their laps and ate, continuing to chat between bites and applications of their linen napkins. By the time they’d finished, Dinah was so at ease with Mr. Ackerman she felt as if she’d known him forever. And indeed she had. In her heart, her life—her real life, the one that mattered—began with her arrival at the Clifton Hotel.

Minnie approached with a large silver tray and asked for their empty plates. Mr. Ackerman placed his on the tray and then reached for Dinah’s, pleasing her with his consideration. They continued their easy conversation as
if no interruption had occurred. Dinah giggled when he shared the ways Samson and Gideon entertained him, and he shook his head in wonder at her tales about some of the guests’ unusual demands.

As the evening progressed, their talk shifted from casual topics to more serious ones. When Mr. Ackerman asked about her family, she gave a vague yet honest answer. “I never knew my father. He was gone before I was born. My mother died shortly before I came to Kansas. I had no brothers or sisters, so I am without a family.”

“I’m sorry.” His tone held such sympathy Dinah blinked back tears. He went on. “I am fortunate to have a big family. A mother and father, and two brothers, Titus and John. They’re both older and are married with children. So my family numbers ten in all. My father and brothers grow wheat on land near El Dorado that Grandfather Ackerman claimed in 1854 when the government opened the region to settlers.”

Dinah wondered why he alone had left the family land holding, but she decided not to pry. He might reciprocate by delving more deeply into her background. It was better, sometimes, to leave the past in the past. “Do you miss them?”

The same strange look he’d assumed when she asked about his leg bothering him returned. “Yes. Especially at night when my house is so quiet. But I hope to have my own family someday, and then my house won’t be quiet anymore.” He paused, looking into her eyes so intently. Could he see beneath the surface to her soul? She squirmed beneath the sharp scrutiny. Then he said, “Miss Hubley, do—”

“Last song, folks!” The violinist waved his bow over his head. “Last chance to dance, so grab your partner and find a spot on the floor. We’re winding up the evening with a fairly new tune called ‘Roses from the South’ by a German composer named Johann Strauss. We hope you’ll find it a fitting finale for our evening together.” He settled the glossy violin beneath his chin, placed the bow on the strings, and began a haunting yet heart-stirring melody. The others took up their instruments and, one by one, joined him.

The music was so lovely Dinah’s chest ached. She pinched her hands
between her knees and gazed at the dancers moving gracefully in a gentle waltz. So many crowded in the space that the women’s skirts couldn’t flare with their turns, but it didn’t matter. She tried to memorize the image so she could dwell upon it when the night terrors attacked.

“Miss Hubley?”

Mr. Ackerman’s quiet voice intruded. She sent him a quick sideways glance. “Hmm?”

“Would …” He swallowed. “Would you like to dance?”

She gawked at him, uncertain she’d heard correctly. “You want to dance?”

A nervous smile trembled on his lips. “I’m willing to try if you aren’t afraid to have your toes trampled.”

“I’m not afraid.” She bounced upright, her heart pounding with eagerness, and waited while he pushed to his feet. His look of uncertainty was almost comical, but she stifled the giggle pressing for release and placed her hand in his.

They couldn’t enter the dance floor—there wasn’t an extra inch of space—so they moved to the tiny patch of floor between the settee and a wing-backed chair. He held open his arms. The suppressed giggle escaped on an airy note as she moved into position. His hand descended lightly on her waist—a hand so big, so strong. Unbidden, memories of another man taking hold of her waist rose from the recesses of her mind. Apprehension ran like spiders up and down her spine, and she shivered.

He frowned slightly. “Are you cold, Miss Hubley?”

The concern on his face, in his tone, calmed her. This was Mr. Ackerman. Gentle, kind Mr. Ackerman. She’d seen his big hand stroke a puppy’s head and curl around a small boy’s shoulder in tenderness. She drew a breath and released it, the busy spiders changing to fingertips running lightly over a keyboard and bringing forth a sweet melody.

“I’m fine.” And in that moment she truly was.

A smile tipped up his lips, and then in unison they began to move to the music.
One-two-three, one-two-three
, she counted in her head as they turned in small circles. The first count jolted Mr. Ackerman the most, so their
movements were far from graceful, but Dinah didn’t mind. Not a bit. She gazed into his square, honest face, admiring the dark blue of his eyes and the sweet curve of his shy smile. She would rather dance with him in his clumsy gait than with any man on two good legs.

The song ended far too soon, and Dinah experienced a sense of loss when he dropped his hands and moved backward a step, distancing himself from her. They joined in the applause for the musicians, and then people began to amble toward the open doors. Mr. Ackerman offered his arm, and they fell into place at the rear of the group.

Laughter, chatter—the sound of happiness—filled the room, and Dinah found herself wanting to laugh and cry at the same time. The evening had been all she’d hoped it would be and more—her own fairy-tale story. She didn’t want it to end. When they reached the lobby, Mr. Ackerman turned to face her. She sensed he held the same wish for more time, and she found it easy to say, “Thank you, Mr. Ackerman. The evening …” She released a contented sigh. “I enjoyed it very much.”

“I did, too.” His voice came out gruffly, as if he constrained himself. “Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

She allowed her smile to respond.

“Miss Hubley, I wondered …”

Still feeling dreamy from their time moving to the sweet melody of song, she murmured, “Hmm?”

“Would you allow me to court you?”

All wistful remembrances dissolved. For the past two weeks, she’d contemplated how she would respond to this question if it was asked, but she never found an adequate answer. She’d enjoyed her evening. She admired him even more now than she had before. But courtship led to marriage, which would lead to intimacy. Her stomach rolled. Additionally, courtship would prevent her from becoming a server, the means of earning the respect and admiration she’d lacked her entire life.

But oh, how she’d enjoyed her time with him. If she were to consider marriage with anyone, she would choose gentle Mr. Ackerman. Yet the thought of
marriage—of him discovering her loss of innocence and of giving up the opportunity to be held in high esteem—held her speechless.

He sighed, lowering his head. “I understand if you refuse. After all, I am a stranger to you, and I can’t—I’m unable to—” He shook his head, then looked her in the face again. “If I were to court you, it would be a long courtship. I have much to do yet on my farm before I can support a wife and … a family.”

Red filled his face, and Dinah felt certain her cheeks glowed, too. Fortunately the other townsfolk had all left. She wouldn’t want anyone overhearing and then gossiping about her.

“But I thought, if you were willing, we could get to know each other. Slowly. And then, in time …”

Dinah liked the idea of advancing slowly. If she had time with him, she might find it easier to make a decision concerning her future. But how would they find time to be together? It was impossible given her schedule. She blinked back tears of disappointment. She should tuck this evening away in her memory, be thankful she’d had the fairy-tale hours, and send Mr. Ackerman on to court someone else. Someone worthy of his attention. Like Ruthie.

She bit back a groan of regret. “I work seven days a week. My only free hour is the one on Sunday when we attend service. I have no time for us to become better acquainted.”

His brows beetled and he tapped his pursed lips with his thick fingertip. Then he brightened. “We could write letters!”

Dinah frowned. “Letters?”

“Yes.” Enthusiasm made his voice thready. “I keep in touch with my family by writing letters. Because of the words going back and forth, they know about me and I know about them. We could do the same—we could write to each other.”

His zeal stirred her excitement. She’d never received a letter. Rueben had sent two postcards in response to her correspondence, but that wasn’t the same. A letter would be a treasure. “How would we exchange them? On Sundays at church?”

“At church, yes, we could do that. And on the days I come in to deliver eggs, we could exchange letters, too.”

Dinah cringed. “Mr. Irwin wouldn’t approve of me leaving my post to meet with you and exchange letters.”

He shrugged. “Then we’ll choose a spot where we can leave them. Someplace here at the hotel that you can reach and I would have access to. Where would be a good place?”

Immediately an idea popped into her head. “The porch, under the cushion on the wicker chair.” She didn’t explain which chair, but the way he smiled she knew he needed no further instruction.

“No one would bother them there?”

“No one fluffs the cushions except Ruthie and me. It’s part of our job to keep the porch dust-free. Ruthie wouldn’t keep a letter if she found it—she’d give it to me.” Odd how she’d come to trust these two people, both Ruthie and Mr. Ackerman.

“Then we have a plan.” His eyes twinkled, giving him a boyish look. “Letters on Sundays and on egg-delivery days, Mondays and Thursdays, yes?”

She shouldn’t agree. She would only be misleading him. A man as kind and giving as Mr. Ackerman deserved someone free of ugly blemishes and dark secrets. Yet when she opened her mouth, she said, “Yes.”

“Good.”

The pendulum clock on the lobby wall began bonging its tolls for midnight. Both of them jumped at the first bong, glanced at the clock, then at each other again. They both smiled, then released soft laughs, then fell silent in unison. The last bong rang and the chimes vibrated for several seconds, slowly fading. Not until the sound had completely died did Mr. Ackerman speak again.

“I should go.”

Dinah whisked a look at the night sky. The moon showed round and full. He would be able to find his way beneath the moon’s bright glow. Even so, she said, “Be careful,” surprising herself with the deep concern in her voice.

Tenderness drifted over his face. “I will. I will see you on Sunday, Miss Hubley.” He took her hand, raised it to his mouth, and brushed his lips over her chapped knuckles. Then, before she could respond, he turned and hitched his way out the door.

Dinah moved slowly to the doors and watched through the oval window as he made his way across the garden stepping stones and onto the road. Long shadows tried to shield him from view, but she followed his tall form until he reached the corner. Her nose pressed to the glass, she observed him pause and turn back. Even though she couldn’t make out his face from this distance and she knew he couldn’t see her, she raised her hand and waved.

He set his shoulders square. Moonlight glinted on his dark hair. His hand lifted to touch his lips and then swept outward as if freeing a dove. Holding her breath, she counted the seconds before gently clapping her hands together to catch the imaginary kiss. She put it in her pocket. Then, with a smile in her heart, she headed to her room.

Amos

Although it was nearly one o’clock in the morning when Amos reached his home, he was too awake to sleep. The evening with Dinah—discovering she did know God, witnessing smiles bloom on the young woman’s normally reserved face, and then holding her in his arms as they moved to beautiful music—had ignited something inside of him he hadn’t even realized lay dormant. How could he sleep when he felt more alive than he ever had before?

He tugged open the top drawer of his bureau and removed the writing tablet and pencil he used to communicate with his mother. As he headed for the table, he caught a glimpse of the rock he’d placed on the mantel. Smiling, he snatched it from its spot and then settled it on the table next to the lamp. His eyes on the rock, he plopped into a chair and laid out his paper and pen. But his smile faded when the lamp’s glow flowed across the writing tablet. He needed something pretty on which to put the words intended for Dinah. The dingy-looking paper with pale lines marching from side to side didn’t suit her at all. But he supposed the message was more important than the message holder.

Placing the tip of the pencil on the page, he willed his trembling hand to calm so the letters would be legible. Very carefully he wrote, “Dear Miss Hubley.” He stared at the salutation. He’d thought of her as “Dinah” for so long, the heading seemed too formal. Anything less would be inappropriate. Still, the title longed for something friendlier. With a smile he added the word “My” in front of “Dear.” Satisfied, he set to work on the body of the letter. An hour later he tipped it to the light and read the missive in its entirety.