Amos disagreed with Miss Mead’s opinion, but he had no proof to offer as an argument. So he clenched his teeth and remained silent.
“Dinah is nothing like the other girls who work at the hotel. I’ve never associated with anyone from a big city before.” Miss Mead’s pace sped as words poured out in a crisp torrent. “Perhaps her behavior is due to being raised in a larger place. I imagine our little town of Florence is quite a change from Chicago. Big-city people are different, Papa says—less likely to know their neighbors. So she might remain aloof because she’s always been aloof from those who lived around her. Or perhaps it’s the result of being raised in affluence.”
“Affluence?” Amos couldn’t hold back the startled exclamation. “Miss Hubley is rich?”
Miss Mead nodded rapidly, the ruffle of her little white cap bouncing against her smoothed-back hair. “Oh, yes. Dinah comes from a wealthy family. She even had a cook in her house! Her own cook—can you fancy that?”
Amos shook his head, astounded. “If she’s from a wealthy family, why is she working as a chambermaid in the Clifton?”
Miss Mead turned the corner leading to the railroad station, her hands held outward in a gesture of helplessness. “I don’t know. But I wonder …”
Amos resorted to a double hop on his good leg as he struggled to keep up with Miss Mead. She seemed to be trying to escape. “You wonder what?”
She flicked a hesitant glance at him and then ducked her head. “I don’t know if I should say.”
Amos caught her arm and drew her to a stop. His hip ached and his breath huffed out. Sweat trickled down his temples. He removed his hat and swiped the moisture away before giving Miss Mead a firm look. “Please tell me.”
Miss Mead released a little sigh. “Very well. I wonder if she came here knowing how many businessmen pass through Florence on the Santa Fe. One of the servers, Minnie, openly proclaimed she hopes to snag a rich husband. I wonder if Dinah has the same intention. After all, she told me she wants to become a server when she turns eighteen. The servers have a better chance of meeting a man than she and I do as chambermaids.”
Amos considered everything Miss Mead had said. Some of her statements surprised him. Dinah came from Chicago? Her family had money? He wouldn’t have guessed such things about her, given her timid behavior and simple attire. If these things were true, she would certainly want more than anything he could offer. His chest constricted. But he shouldn’t think of himself. He still didn’t understand Dinah’s reason for saying she wasn’t welcome in church.
Miss Mead looked toward the hotel, which towered high and proud across the street from the train station. “I need to return to duty, Mr. Ackerman.” Regret colored her tone, and her lips turned down in a pout. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t as helpful as you’d hoped.”
She hadn’t been helpful. Not at all. But he’d never be so unkind as to tell her so. He forced a smile. “Please don’t concern yourself, Miss Mead. It’s apparent you also care about Di—Miss Hubley.”
Miss Mead lowered her head and fiddled with the pocket on her apron.
“If you’d be kind enough to tell her that I missed her in service this morning and continue to encourage her to attend, I would be grateful.”
“Of course, Mr. Ackerman. I’ll … gladly deliver your message.” She turned to leave, then spun to face him again. “Oh! Mr. Ackerman?”
Amos paused, waiting.
“It’s dinnertime. And the dining room is open to townsfolk. Many of them partake of the scrumptious menus Mr. Gindough prepares.” A hopeful smile lit her face. “You’ve got your own jacket today, so you won’t have to borrow one from the cashier. Mr. Irwin strictly enforces Mr. Harvey’s ‘jackets in the dining room’ rule. Why not come in and have a good meal before returning to your home? I would think a bachelor like yourself would appreciate eating someone else’s cooking now and then.”
Amos rubbed the underside of his chin. The chickens and his pups were safe—he could leave them for a little longer. Good smells wafted across the street from the hotel, making his mouth water. He was hungry, and he’d never treated himself at the hotel, even though he’d heard the townspeople talk about the good cook.
“Roast beef today with whipped potatoes and beef gravy, asparagus in garlic butter, fresh-baked rolls and raspberry preserves, and all the relishes you could want.” Miss Mead cocked her head. Her grin turned impish. “And for dessert Charlotte di Pesche.”
Amos reared back. “What is Charlotte dee peshuh?”
She laughed lightly, but he sensed no rancor. “A delectable concoction of spiced peaches and light cake with a custard-like sauce, all topped with sweet whipped cream.”
Amos licked his lips.
Miss Mead giggled behind her fingers. “Have you decided to come in, then?”
He nodded and followed Miss Mead to the hotel. Inside, she bade him farewell and dashed off, hopefully to deliver his message to Dinah. He gave his seventy-five cents—nearly the equivalent of four days’ work for a dozen hens—to the cashier, who laid the coins in the cash register drawer so gently they didn’t even clink. Then a young man guided him through the crowded dining room to a table where he joined a family with three children of various ages and two couples, one middle-aged and one older. They must have come on the train because he didn’t recognize any of them, but they smiled a mild hello as he slid into the one remaining seat. He nodded in reply, and they went back to their conversations as if he wasn’t there.
One of the servers—he thought he’d heard Miss Mead call her Amelia—bustled over with a china cup in her hand. “Do you prefer coffee or tea today?”
“Um …” He drank coffee at home. “Tea, please.”
She flipped the cup upside down on the table in front of him, then scurried off. Moments later a second server approached and turned the cup right-side up before filling it with steaming, pale-brown liquid. Amos sniffed it. Although not as stout as coffee, it held a pleasant scent. He took a sip. He set it down. He wouldn’t waste it, but next time he’d get coffee instead.
The dining room buzzed with the voices of guests, the soft clump of plates meeting the cloth tabletops, and the patter of servers’ feet. The girls dashed around the room delivering plates of steaming food with such speed, Amos wondered how they managed to avoid running into one another.
And Dinah wanted to be among their ranks …
While he ate his meal—the fanciest food he’d ever had—he watched the servers from the corner of his eye. Especially the short, yellow-haired one named Minnie. Although perspiration dotted her nose, giving evidence of discomfort, she smiled brightly at the men unaccompanied by wives. Miss Mead had said Minnie wanted to snag a husband, and her behavior seemed to prove it. She was friendlier than the other three servers put together, and the others were very pleasant to the guests.
Did Dinah behave this way with the men, too? Maybe she only shied away from him because, as Miss Mead had said, she was wealthy and didn’t want to be friendly to someone who wasn’t of her class. An unsettled feeling filled his stomach, and he pushed away the last of his peach dessert.
The other men at the table each slipped a nickel or dime under their plates when they finished, so Amos stacked up five pennies beside his—the only coins remaining in his pocket. Then he downed the remainder of his tea, which had grown tepid in the cup, and rose as the train whistle blasted.
Since he had no need to board the train, he stepped out of the way of those who did, allowing them to scurry out ahead of him. Then he waited for the other townspeople to leave, knowing his clumsy gait would slow them, too. When everyone else had made their way to the doorway, Amos followed onto the porch. He paused, his gaze unwittingly turning to the place where he’d seen Dinah three days ago with the broom in her hands.
In his mind’s eye he saw her smile. Not aimed at him, but at Samson and Gideon. He tried to recall if she’d ever smiled at him. No. Not once. Most of the time she looked at him with a wariness that saddened
him. The uncomfortable feeling in his stomach increased. He made his way off the porch slowly, then headed for home. As he walked beneath the blistering sun, he spoke to the One who always walked with him.
“Lord, have I set my sights on something that isn’t meant to be? I don’t know why Dinah—Miss Hubley—keeps coming to mind if I’m not supposed to think about her that way.” He knew the Lord would understand. “Maybe my imagination got the best of me, but it sure seemed like she was lonely. Just like me. And maybe she is lonely. But if she’s rich and looking for a husband, she sure isn’t going to look at me.”
He swallowed, his throat so dry the action pained him. He wished he’d asked for a second cup of tea. He squinted skyward at the clear blue expanse. “Maybe it’s best. I don’t have time to court a girl right now, what with trying to get my farm going good and taking care of puppies. And if she’s not yet eighteen, she’s awfully young. But I sure wish I could understand why …”
He stopped. His pulse stuttered, and it had nothing to do with tiredness. “She’s on my heart, God. She has been since the day I found her sleeping on the porch. I’ve never met another girl who stayed in my thoughts the way she has. But if she isn’t churched, I shouldn’t be thinking about her. You warn Your children about being unequally yoked, and I won’t go against Your Word.”
He pushed himself into motion again. “I’ll keep praying for her to come to church. And You keep reminding me to do it. But while You’re reminding me of things, remind me not to think of Miss Hubley in ways I shouldn’t.” He aimed a grimace heavenward and sighed. “It won’t be easy. I’m mighty glad with You everything’s possible.”
Ruthie
Ruthie slipped under the covers first, leaving Dinah to extinguish the lamp. She lay quietly while her roommate made her way around the bed, her feet scuffing on the floor and her hand trailing along the edge of the mattress until she reached her side. When she climbed in, the mattress shifted and the springs squeaked, and Ruthie held tight to the sheet to keep it from slipping from her frame as Dinah settled herself against her pillow. A soft sigh carried from the opposite side of the bed, somehow sad sounding in the darkness.
She’d waited all day for the right time to deliver Mr. Ackerman’s message, but even though her path had crossed with Dinah’s many times, she held the words inside. Now, lying there in the dark with the scented night breeze drifting in from the open window to kiss her cheeks and Dinah silent and still, perhaps even asleep already, she was tempted to forget the message altogether.
Guilt pricked, and she stifled a huff of frustration. Papa had taught her well—her conscience wouldn’t allow her to ignore what she’d promised to do, even though it seemed Mr. Ackerman was perfectly capable of seeking Dinah out himself. He’d done it once already. The familiar envy boiled in her middle. Another reason to feel guilty. She couldn’t carry two wrongs and get any sleep tonight, and the envy didn’t seem to want to leave her. Oh, all right, then.
She cleared her throat. “Dinah, I have another message for you. From Mr. Ackerman.”
A sharp little gasp, as if she encountered something frightening—or had been given a delightful surprise—escaped Dinah’s lips.
Ruthie hurried on before she changed her mind. “He said he missed you in service today. And he hopes you’ll come next week.” He hadn’t come right out and said so, but Ruthie knew he wanted Dinah there. She gave a little jolt, awareness dawning. Shouldn’t she want Dinah there, too? Papa—and Mama—would be disappointed to know how their daughter had given up on reaching out to Dinah. Granted, Dinah did little to encourage a friendship, but her parents would tell her that wasn’t an excuse.
Even more guilt pressed down on Ruthie, and she blinked back tears. But encouraging Dinah to attend service would put her in contact with Mr. Ackerman. Ruthie’s whole life, instructed to put others first, she’d let younger siblings and schoolmates crowd her out. She willingly worked to help her family, but if Papa hadn’t been so adamantly opposed, she’d be a server rather than a chambermaid cleaning up behind rich people. People like Dinah. Couldn’t Ruthie, just once, put herself first? She and Mama had agreed to pray concerning her attraction to the chicken farmer. Couldn’t she wait to see how God answered before throwing Dinah at the man’s feet?
“I … I want …” Ruthie gulped, a mighty battle waging in her heart. She conceded defeat. Even for herself, she couldn’t betray her father’s instruction. “I want you to come, too.”
Dinah lay in silence so long Ruthie wondered if she’d drifted off to sleep. But then her quiet voice whispered, “No, thank you.”
Ruthie collapsed against her pillow, not even aware she’d been holding herself stiffly. Her relief was so immense she let out a little laugh, then bit down on her lip to still the sound. Bits and pieces from a hymn Papa had recently sung sneaked through her thoughts. “ ‘Rescue the perishing … Tell them of Jesus, the mighty to save …’ ” If Dinah died without Jesus, she’d be lost for all eternity. She couldn’t simply accept Dinah’s refusal. She had to try. For Papa’s sake.
After turning onto her side, Ruthie examined Dinah’s profile in the gray shadows. “Are … are you sure?” She held her breath.
Dinah swallowed and blinked rapidly several times. Then she lay unmoving for several seconds before giving an emphatic nod that made the springs beneath their heads twang. “I’m sure.”
Ruthie’s breath eased out in a long, slow exhale. “Well, you know you can change your mind. Yes? You know the church doors are open to anyone?”
Dinah’s lips quirked in an odd wry grin. “Go to sleep, Ruthie.” She rolled over with her back to Ruthie.
Ruthie sighed and turned over, too, facing the opposite wall. She closed her eyes, ready for sleep to claim her now that she’d performed her duties for both Mr. Ackerman and Papa. But the slight vibration of the mattress—Dinah crying?—kept her awake far into the night, even well past the time the shuddering movements stopped and all was still.
Amos
Monday morning, even before the rooster crowed, Samson and Gideon burst into a mighty ruckus. Amos sat straight up in bed, his heart pounding. The fox was back! He scrambled out of bed so quickly his bad hip nearly sent him face first on the floor. By hopping on his good leg, he caught his balance, and then he pounded across the floor. Dressed only in his long johns, he snatched his rifle from the pegs above the fireplace and barreled out the door on tender bare feet as quickly as his bum leg would allow.
In the predawn light, he saw both pups leaping at the ends of their ropes. Their shrill barks pierced his ears. He whistled but neither reacted a whit. And all their barking had the chickens in an uproar. An entire chorus of frantic clucks carried from inside the chicken house.
“Sam! Gid!” He tried once more to bring the pups under control, but even though they glanced at him, they still didn’t settle down. Whatever they’d spotted, it had them in a mighty dither. He aimed his hop-twice-and-shuffle way of trotting in the direction of the dogs, careful to keep the nose of the rifle barrel aimed skyward. But he changed direction when he noticed his rooster—the brave, cocky bird—in the yard near the spot where the barn wall met the chicken coop.
Wings outstretched and head bobbing, the rooster had cornered something and prepared to charge. Amos’s heart leaped into his throat. How had the rooster escaped the barn? He always locked it up at night. The obnoxious bird would be no match for a fox or a bobcat. He jerked the gate to the chicken yard open and made straight for the rooster, waving his arms and adding a shout to the cacophony. “Yee-ah! Get outta there! Git! Git!”
The rooster, crowing in indignation, darted between Amos’s feet. He lurched to a stop, expecting a small furry beast to follow, but to his shock a shadowy figure—too tall to be a fox or bobcat or even a coyote—cowered against the barn wall. He thought he heard a voice. A human voice. But with the dogs continuing to whine and yip, he couldn’t be sure.
Daring to take his squinted gaze away from the intruder, he whirled o
n the pups and commanded, “Sam! Gid! Hush!” With a series of whimpers and weak growls, the pair finally hunkered against the ground, their eyes round and luminous in the waning moonlight. With the dogs’ calming, the ruckus inside the coop also decreased in volume. “Good dogs. Stay.” Then he turned and faced the barn. “You there. Come on out.”
“Please, mister, don’t let your rooster eat me. An’ don’t shoot me, neither.”
Now Amos knew the voice belonged to a human. A scared child, based on the high pitch and quaver. Even so, the kid was a trespasser. Amos kept a stern tone. “I won’t shoot you as long as you come out of there.”
“You sure?”
Amos came close to chuckling. “I’m sure. But don’t try any shenanigans, or I’ll set the rooster on you.”
“I won’t try nothin’. Honest.” Very slowly the figure shifted, and a boy no higher than Amos’s lowest rib stepped from the deepest shadows. Even in the dim light, the boy’s cheeks looked hollow, his clothes filthy. He dug a bare toe in the dirt and hunched his shoulders, peering at Amos with round, apprehensive eyes beneath a shock of thick, matted hair. “Y-you gonna whip me? Farmer up the road whipped me good a couple days ago.”
“Is there some reason I ought to give you a whipping?”
“Reckon so. I been stealin’ your eggs.”
As much as he hated to admit it, Amos admired the boy’s honesty. But maybe he didn’t think he had any other choice with Amos at the ready with a rifle in his hand. Amos set his feet wide and glared down at the boy. “Stealing’s a sin.”
“I know.”
“Then why’d you do it?”
“’Cause I was hungry.”
Amos chewed the inside of his cheek for a few seconds. The kid’s confession cleared up the mystery of his disappearing eggs. At least he now knew his chickens hadn’t stopped laying. He found the realization assuring. Even though he didn’t appreciate this little scalawag helping himself to eggs that weren’t his, he experienced a pang of sympathy. The boy would have to be powerfully hungry to eat raw eggs.
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