Through the Deep Waters (9 page)

Dinah

After only three days of working at the Clifton Hotel, Dinah settled into an easy routine. Rise early, wash, twist her hair into a coil, don her black dress and full-length white pinafore apron, then join others in the staff dining room off the kitchen to eat a delicious breakfast. Mr. Gindough, the hotel chef, cooked as well as Rueben, but she wouldn’t tell her friend so in the letter she planned to send as soon as she had time to sit down and write.

After eating, she collected fresh linens from the laundry room, retrieved her basket of cleaning items from the closet, and went to work. Even cleaning the rooms followed a pattern. First strip and remake the bed, then wash the pitcher and bowl, dust or scrub every surface depending on what it needed, sweep the floor, and dispose of rubbish.

When every room was clean and ready for the next guest, she remained in the chambermaids’ small sitting room near the front desk and listened for what Ruthie called the “beckon-me bell,” which meant one of the guests had need of something—a cup of tea, an extra pillow, a newspaper … She never knew what might be requested, but she was expected to respond quickly and adequately. She did her best not to disappoint the guests or Mr. Irwin.

And she did her best to hold herself aloof from the other staff members, which proved to be the most difficult of the tasks. After a lifetime of people turning up their noses at her, she now lived among a group who seemed too willing to accept her unquestioningly. Their friendliness ignited a deep desire to be part of them, but oddly it also frightened her. She wanted to join in the chatter at the lunch counter, to tease with the busboys and blush at the flirtatious
comments the railroad men threw at the girls the way the others did. They were all so relaxed and unfettered and carefree.

But the years of living in the Yellow Parrot had stolen the carefree from her. When the busboys teased or the railroad men flirted, Dinah’s insides rolled. When the girls formed a talkative circle, whether laughing or serious, Dinah tensed. She didn’t know how to lightheartedly chat or tease or flirt. As much as she wanted to belong, she knew she didn’t. Because she wasn’t like them. So she kept her distance, fearful she’d accidentally share the secrets of her past and let everyone know just how different she really was.

On Saturday, rather than eating her turkey sandwich at the counter with the others, she took her plate to the chambermaids’ sitting room. The pale blue-and-green-striped wallpaper, white wicker chairs, and clusters of potted plants filling the corners gave the little windowless room an airy, porch-like feel. Dinah appreciated the Harveys for making every part of the hotel and restaurant—even the parts only occupied by staff—cheery and comfortable. She sat in one of the chairs, draped a napkin across the skirt of her pinafore, and then placed the plate in her lap.

As she lifted the thick sandwich to her mouth, Ruthie entered the room. Ruthie held a plate in one hand and a glass of frothy milk in the other. As usual, she was humming a merry tune. When she spotted Dinah, she smiled and plopped into the second chair.

“I wondered where you’d gone. I hope I’m not intruding, but the counter was too noisy for me today. A host of men from the town came in, all excited about a cow auction, and their loud voices gave me a headache.”

How could Ruthie look so happy if she had a headache? Although curious, Dinah didn’t ask. Ruthie set the glass of milk on the ridiculously tiny table between the chairs and lowered her plate to her lap. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, just as she did at bedtime. Dinah watched out of the corner of her eye, wondering about Ruthie’s strange habit of praying. She’d noticed several others following the same practice in the breakfast room. She considered pretending to pray just so she wouldn’t be left out, but closing her eyes while
others had their eyes open made her feel as though they were all staring at her. So she didn’t do it.

Ruthie picked up her sandwich and took a bite. “Mmm. I’m glad there was enough turkey left from yesterday’s dinner to have sandwiches today. Mr. Gindough makes the best turkey. So moist, and with just the right seasonings. I hate to say it’s better than my mama’s turkey, but it really is.” She took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. After a sip of milk, she aimed a grin at Dinah. “Did your mother bake turkey as good as this?”

Dinah flicked a crumb from her lips with her finger, nearly laughing as she tried to imagine Tori wrestling a turkey into a roasting pan. “Um … no.”

Ruthie giggled as if Dinah had said something clever. “Even if this turkey is better, I bet Mr. Gindough can’t bake gingerbread as good as Mama’s. Her gingerbread is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Last month she baked a whole gingerbread cake just for me, and I was completely selfish and didn’t share one bit with anybody.” She paused to take another bite of her sandwich, then followed it with another dainty sip of milk. “What’s your favorite food your ma makes?”

Dinah’s stomach trembled. She didn’t want to answer. She didn’t want to answer with the truth. She opened her mouth, fully intending to tell a lie, but something else spilled out. “My mother didn’t cook. Rueben did.”

“Who is Rueben?” Ruthie seemed genuinely interested.

Rueben was her only friend. But she couldn’t say so. “Our cook.”

“Oh my.” Ruthie lowered her sandwich and stared at Dinah. “You had a cook in your house? Your family must be wealthy.”

Dinah released a little snort. If only Ruthie knew how wrong she was. She set the remaining half of her sandwich aside and rose. “I’m going to go get myself a glass of milk. I think I’ll get a piece of pie, too. Do you want one?”

Ruthie sat, silent and staring, as if dazed.

What had stricken the always-jabbering girl silent? Dinah frowned. “Ruthie, do you want a piece of pie?”

Ruthie gave a little jolt. “Pie? Oh. Yes. If there’s a piece of cherry remaining, I would like one. Thank you.”

Dinah hurried out, relieved to have left the conversation behind. Odd how the simplest topic, such as favorite foods, led to divulging parts of her past. She’d have to try even harder to discourage Ruthie from asking so many questions. It wouldn’t be easy—Ruthie was so talkative she even muttered in her sleep. But somehow Dinah would find a way to discourage the girl. She couldn’t let anyone know where she’d lived before coming to Florence. Not if she intended to be a waitress when she turned eighteen.

Ruthie

Ruthie gazed after Dinah, marveling. A cook in her house! She’d never known anyone who’d employed their own cook. She would never have guessed Dinah came from such extravagant means. Her clothes, although obviously new, didn’t hint at money. Her speech—what little she said!—didn’t reflect a cultured upbringing. Her willingness to work as a chambermaid also seemed in opposition to the expected attitude of someone who’d been raised with servants to see to her needs. If she’d thought Dinah a puzzle before, her befuddlement increased a hundredfold with this new bit of information.

She finished her sandwich, playing back over every minute since she’d discovered Dinah asleep in the corner behind the wardrobe. Despite her best efforts, Ruthie hadn’t been able to draw Dinah into a meaningful conversation. Dinah had also snubbed the others’ attempts at friendliness. She’d reasoned with herself that Dinah was bashful, was tired, was striving to adjust to her new surroundings. Could it be she was—Ruthie cringed even contemplating such a thing—snobbish? After all, even Papa preached it was harder for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God than for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle. Ruthie had seen a camel once—a big, lumbering beast—in a circus. The sight had brought the reality of the scripture to life. Dinah’s seeming disdain of speaking to God in prayer could very well represent the biblical reference.

Ruthie nibbled her thumbnail, suddenly worried. Could she live with someone who was snobbish? Bashfulness could be overcome. Tiredness would
fade. Time would bring familiarity. But she knew no cure for snobbishness. The thought of being treated with indifference every day for weeks on end did not sit well. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine enjoying leisurely activities while someone else performed the rudimentary tasks in her home. Despite her active imagination, the pictures refused to form.

On the tail of worry came another unpleasant emotion: jealousy. Papa worked so hard, but his small monthly stipend, lovingly offered by their congregation, didn’t allow for extravagance of any kind. Now that Ruthie lived in the Clifton Hotel, Mama had no help with cleaning or cooking or sewing. Somehow it didn’t seem fair that her kind, loving parents had to labor while Dinah’s parents apparently paid others to labor for them. Jealousy was wrong. A verse in Proverbs said envy was the rottenness of one’s bones. Ruthie didn’t want her bones to rot, but at that moment she would have given almost anything to trade places with Dinah’s family for one day and let her family enjoy a little luxury and leisure.

Approaching footsteps pulled Ruthie from her reverie. She looked up as Dinah entered the room with two saucers of oozing cherry pie slices balanced on one arm, the way the servers carried several plates at once, and a glass of milk in her other hand. Dinah dipped her knees to set her milk on the little table without upsetting the saucers. Ruthie got a glimpse of the slices of pie. One was significantly larger than the other. Someone must have taken a sliver from one of the pieces rather than eating an entire slice. Dinah lifted the saucer bearing the larger slice first, and Ruthie expected her to place it next to her glass of milk. But instead she held it out to Ruthie. Ruthie blinked twice, startled. Wouldn’t a wealthy person keep the best for herself?

The jealous feeling whisked away as guilt swept in. She’d been thinking ill of Dinah, and she was wrong to do so. Papa and Mama would be mortified if they knew.
Forgive me, Lord, for my uncharitable thoughts
. She shook her head. “No, you take that one.”

Dinah’s brow crinkled. The same strange combination of desire and defeat danced across her expression. She opened her mouth to speak, but then without a word she plopped the saucer containing the larger slice on top of the
crumb-laden plate in Ruthie’s lap. She returned to her chair, lifted her fork, and began to eat the pie. But no enjoyment showed on her face.

Ruthie took up a bite as well, but she couldn’t find pleasure in the juicy cherries or flaky crust. Somehow she had to make amends for the ugly thoughts she’d entertained. Even if she was right—even if Dinah was snobbish—it didn’t give Ruthie the right to disparage her whether inwardly or openly. What could she do to ease her conscience? She gasped.

Dinah gasped, too, nearly dropping her fork.

Ruthie reached across the little table to touch Dinah’s elbow. “Tomorrow is Sunday. Mr. Irwin allows us an hour’s break midmorning. Papa changed the time of worship at the chapel where he serves as minister to accommodate the employees here at the Clifton. Would you go to worship with me? I want to introduce you to Mama and Papa, little Dinah, and the boys.” She almost forgot to breathe she was so eager for Dinah’s acceptance.

A scowl tensed Dinah’s face. “Why?”

Ruthie drew back. “Why … what?”

“Why do you want me to meet your family?”

Ruthie tittered. She couldn’t confess she was trying to make up for thinking derogatory thoughts about her roommate. “Because we’re friends.” But were they? She’d been so certain she and Dinah would grow as close as she and Phoebe had been. But if Dinah came from an affluent background, she’d always be different from Phoebe. And different from Ruthie. Maybe they’d never be friends.

Dinah stared at her. Her stunned expression showed her disbelief.

Ruthie hung her head as another tentacle of guilt wrapped itself around her. Had she really invited Dinah to church to appease her own conscience? What of Dinah’s soul? The girl obviously had no relationship with God. If Jesus’s statement about rich men entering heaven was true—and of course Jesus didn’t lie!—then Dinah needed to hear Papa’s preaching. She needed to hear how much God loved her.

Ruthie reached for Dinah again, but the girl drew back, avoiding Ruthie’s fingers. She sighed. “Dinah, may I be honest with you?”

She offered a hesitant nod even though her eyes flashed denial.

Ruthie gathered her courage, then spoke in a rush before she lost her nerve. “I want you to come to church with me to meet my family because I want them to know who my new roommate is, but mostly I want you to come because I love God very much and God loves you very much and I think the two of you need to become acquainted. The best place to get to know Him is in church. So will you come?”

Dinah set her lips in a firm line. Her body seemed to tremble. With rage? disdain? discomfort? Ruthie didn’t know, but her heart ached as she witnessed the turmoil shuddering its way through Dinah’s slight frame.

A bell rang.

Both girls looked toward the doorway. Then they looked at each other. Ruthie started to set her plate aside to see to the guest’s need, but Dinah leaped up first.

“I’ll get it. Enjoy your pie.” Dinah dashed out the door as if demons chased her.