Through the Deep Waters (40 page)

Too weary to rise, he remained there until the flames consumed the logs and turned them to chunks of glowing, red-eyed char. He remained there until the embers had died, and a chill fell around him. When the clock on the mantel announced the arrival of the new year, he was still sitting there, waiting for an answer. But it never came.

Ruthie

Ruthie crept into the sleeping room on her tiptoes, cringing when a floorboard creaked. Dinah snuffled and a bedspring twanged, letting Ruthie know her roommate had roused. She froze in place until no sound carried from the bed.
Then, without lighting the lamp, she made her way through the heavy shadows to the wardrobe and changed into her nightclothes.

What a wonderful party it had been! She’d danced with Papa three times, Dean Muller twice, and once each with more than a dozen townsmen. She’d sipped glasses of fruity punch, feasted on boiled shrimp and miniature artichoke and mushroom quiches, and sang “Auld Lang Syne” at midnight with her arms around Mama’s and Papa’s waists. The weight of worry she’d assumed on Christmas Day had slowly melted as the evening progressed, and she found herself wanting to hum for the first time in a week. But humming would have to wait until morning.

Her nightgown did little to protect her from the chill in the room, and she shivered as she turned from the wardrobe. Eagerness to climb beneath the heavy layer of quilts tempted her to scamper around the end of the bed and dive in. But she shouldn’t disturb Dinah. So, staying on her toes to make as little noise as possible, she placed her feet cautiously on the floor and prayed the boards wouldn’t announce her progress.

Hugging herself for warmth, she lengthened her stride as much as her nightgown would allow. And her foot descended on something sharp. Stifling a yelp, she jerked away from whatever had pierced her tender sole. The quick movement toppled her balance, and she plopped onto the edge of the mattress.

With a cry of alarm, Dinah bolted into a sitting position. Her pale face searched the dark room. “Who … who’s there?”

Holding her throbbing foot in her hands, Ruthie aimed an apologetic look in Dinah’s direction. She whispered, “It’s just me, Dinah. I’m sorry I woke you. But something …” She slipped to her knees and felt around on the carpet with her open palm. After only a few seconds of searching, she located the offending object. Pinching it between her fingers, she held it toward the faint band of moonlight filtering through the lace curtains. Dinah’s ring. It must have fallen off her finger while she slept. Ruthie frowned as a puzzling question entered her mind. How had the ring fallen clear on Ruthie’s side of the bed?

She straightened and held the ring to Dinah. “You must have dropped this.”

Dinah clutched the quilts to her chin and made no effort to retrieve the ring.

Ruthie bounced it, shivering. “Take it so I can get into bed. My toes are freezing!”

Dinah flopped onto her side, facing away from Ruthie. “I don’t want it.”

Ruthie drew back, so startled she forgot to shiver. “You don’t want it? But it’s your promise ring!” She grabbed Dinah’s shoulder and forced her onto her back. She stared into Dinah’s face. Although the room was shrouded in the darkest gray, she noted thin lines trailing down Dinah’s cheeks. Alarm bells rang in the back of her mind. “Why have you been crying?”

Dinah grunted and strained against Ruthie’s hand. “It doesn’t matter. I threw the ring across the room. I don’t w-want it anymore.” But the longing in her voice belied her words.

Ruthie eased onto the mattress and knelt beside Dinah. “But why not? You were so happy when Mr. Ackerman gave it to you.” Recalling how jealous she’d been, Ruthie experienced a sharp pang of remorse. Had her envious reaction influenced Dinah not to wear the ring?

“I said it doesn’t matter.”

At Dinah’s harsh tone, Ruthie withdrew her hand from her shoulder, but she had to know if she had inadvertently created a rift between Dinah and Mr. Ackerman. Holding her voice to a whisper, she said, “Dinah, did—”

Dinah came up from the mattress, her face drawing so close she nearly bumped noses with Ruthie. “Can’t you ever stop talking? Go to bed and leave me alone!”

Ruthie scrambled under the covers, too stunned to do otherwise. She curled in a ball and tugged the quilt to her ear, holding herself as still as possible while her heart pounded. What might Dinah do next? Her behavior was so irrational, so unexpected. Maybe she should sleep in Minnie’s vacated room.

For long seconds Dinah stayed sitting up, and Ruthie sensed her angry glare fixed on the back of her head. Finally the mattress bounced, the springs whanged, and the quilts jerked into place. Silence fell. An uncomfortable, tense silence that kept Ruthie from relaxing. Several minutes passed before she
realized she still held the topaz ring in her fist. The prongs poked the flesh of her palm, but she lay very still and didn’t release her grip.

Dinah

Strong fingers held her wrists in an iron grip. A heavy body pinned her to the mattress. Hot breath whisked over her face as lips—hard, insistent, punishing—pursued her mouth. Frantic, Dinah writhed against her pillow, shifting her head this way and that way while emitting little animalistic grunts of terror.
Help me, help me
, her thoughts begged.
Oh, please, someone save me!

The doorknob turned. Hinges squeaked. She fought to turn her gaze to the door where her rescuer was now entering. A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped into the room. Shadows hid his face from view, but she recognized him. Joy and relief exploded through her breast.
Amos! Amos, help me!
Dinah panted, her chest heaving, her body bucking in terror-filled jolts while she waited for him to storm to the bed and fling the defiler away.

But he came slowly. The heavy line of shadows eased downward as he advanced, revealing his face, inch by agonizing inch. Brow etched with lines of fury. Eyes glittering with indignation. Lips set in a grim line of condemnation. After what seemed an eternity, he finally reached the edge of the bed.

Dinah held one hand toward him, everything within her yearning for him to take hold, to pull her to safety. He leaned down, his fists rising. And he hissed through clenched teeth, “Dinah … what have you done?”

Sobs racked her body as Amos, his face set in a stony glare of disgust, turned and stalked away. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Oh, please forgive me. I’m so sorry!”

Someone shook her shoulder, and a voice filled with concern and worry carried over her cries. “Dinah, wake up! You’re dreaming, Dinah. You’re only dreaming.”

A dream?
A tiny spark of hope flickered in her heart. Maybe … maybe it wasn’t real. But then words swooped through the fog to attack her memory.

“Only one, Amos.”

“The number doesn’t matter.”

“Let me—”

“You are a harlot?”

“Only one, Amos.”

“The man who purchased you might be willing to use something that bears stains from another’s use, but I cannot.”

Ruthie, her voice kind, strong, and comforting, repeatedly murmured, “You’re all right, Dinah. It was only a dream.”

She shook her head, resisting Ruthie’s assurance. It wasn’t a dream. It was real. Amos knew her dark secret. He knew. He knew. Coiling on the sweat-damp sheet, she convulsed with throat-drying, gut-wrenching sobs of anguish. But not for herself. For Amos. For the pain she’d caused him.

That day on the porch, when he’d frightened her and then asked her forgiveness, she saw his tenderness. Over the months she’d witnessed his acts of kindness, benefited from his patient understanding, reveled in his sweet attention. He offered her all things good, and she repaid him by exposing the ugliest, dirtiest, most shameful piece of herself. She deserved his disdain and anger, but knowing she deserved it didn’t make it any easier to receive.

Behind her, Ruthie continued to rub her shoulder and offer soothing words. Dinah wanted to thank her, but if she spoke, Ruthie might ask questions. In her quivering, weakened state, she might accidentally answer. And then Ruthie would know, too. Having disappointed Amos was already too much. She couldn’t look into Ruthie’s face and see shock and revulsion.

With several shuddering breaths, she fought to bring her crying under control. “I …” Her raw throat resisted speech. Dinah swallowed and tried again. “I’m fine now. Go back to sleep.”

Ruthie’s hand closed over Dinah’s shoulder and squeezed. Gently. Encouragingly. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me about your nightmare? It might help.” Ruthie’s voice quavered, as if she, too, battled against tears.

Dinah crunched her sore eyes tight. Ruthie’s kindness, especially considering
how Dinah had treated her earlier, was like salt in a wound. “Please, Ruthie, just …” She couldn’t finish.

Ruthie’s hand slipped away. A heavy sigh whisked past Dinah’s ear. The bed bounced slightly. And then Ruthie began to speak. To pray.

“Dear God, please take away Dinah’s nightmares and let her sleep. Give her good dreams instead. Thank You. Amen.”

A few minutes later, Ruthie’s deep, even breathing spoke of peaceful rest. Although Dinah lay very still with her eyes closed, she didn’t allow herself to slip into sleep. She wouldn’t trust Ruthie’s prayer. She’d trusted Amos, and he turned from her. If God knew what caused her nightmares—and according to Ruthie’s father, God knew everything—He wouldn’t help her, either.

Dinah

When Dinah glanced in the mirror on the first morning of 1884, she gasped in horror. Purple smudges—dark as bruises—underlined her red-rimmed eyes. In contrast, her face was stark white. Colorless. Lifeless. She touched her pale cheek with her trembling fingertips just to ascertain it really was her reflection peering back from the looking glass. The touch confirmed the haunted image was no apparition. Such a change a night of tears and sorrow had wrought.

She turned from the dismal sight and hurriedly dressed in her uniform. Apparently she’d finally fallen asleep because Ruthie was gone, and she hadn’t even heard the girl leave. Part of Dinah wanted to crawl back under the covers and hide—was the businessman from Chicago still in the hotel?—but with Amos’s departure from her life, she needed to hold on to her job. She didn’t dare miss a day of work.

As she plodded downstairs on wooden legs, she wondered if Mr. Irwin had already hired a server to replace Minnie. Another girl hadn’t taken over Minnie’s room yet, but one might be en route. As soon as the manager arrived, she would ask if the server position was still available. And if so, she would ask to fill it. No anticipation stirred within her at the thought of becoming one of Mr. Harvey’s servers. After the blissful contemplation of a life with Amos Ackerman, Dinah realized nothing else appealed.

But if she won the position as server, as she’d originally intended, she would be financially secure. And she’d finally have the respect denied her for her entire life. That is, if the Chicago businessman hadn’t told anyone else about what she’d done before coming to Kansas.

Her pulse sped, and she hurried as quickly as her stiff limbs would allow to the check-in counter. Feigning a nonchalance she didn’t feel, she pasted a quavery smile on her face and addressed the morning clerk. “Is … is the guest in room fourteen planning a lengthy stay?”