Through the Deep Waters

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Her feet automatically slowed as questions filled her mind about the child and why he was with Mr. Ackerman. Clearly he was fond of the boy—his tender touch and the kind way he’d addressed Cale in the store indicated such. He’d just bought Cale a set of new clothes, so he must have a relationship with the child. A younger brother? A cousin, perhaps? Or even his son?

  The last speculation jolted her feet into motion. She nearly raced the remaining blocks to the hotel, then clattered up to her room and changed into a fresh apron, washed her face, and slicked back the loosened strands of hair from her bun before returning to duty. But while she helped the guest—a Mrs. McClaren from St. Louis, Missouri, who was traveling home from California after visiting her sister—first with her hair and then her luggage, Dinah couldn’t clear the images of the little boy from her mind.

  What if the child was a stranger, a newcomer to town like her, and the man had simply befriended him? Much the way he’d tried to befriend her. She’d dared to believe Mr. Ackerman’s kindness to her meant he saw her as someone special, worthy of attention. But if he reached out to every new person who arrived in town, then she’d have to accept she wasn’t really special at all. And the thought hurt more than she would have expected.

  Amos

  Amos handed Cale the last clean dish and watched the boy dry every drop with the wadded toweling. With the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth and his brow puckered in concentration, he seemed to be performing a more important task than drying a speckled plate. Amos had learned over the past few days Cale did everything with great care, as if fearful of making a mistake.

  When the plate was dry, Cale placed it on the stack on the shelf and then grinned at Amos. “All done. I’ll go put Sam an’ Gid on their ropes now.”

  Amos held out his hand, stopping the boy from darting for the door. “I already tied them up in the barn.”

  Cale scowled. “In the barn? How they gonna keep watch over the chicken house if you got ’em closed up in there?”

  “I reckon we need to talk about that.” Amos didn’t relish the conversation. Cale was crazy about the pups, spending every spare minute playing with them, and the news the sheriff delivered earlier in the day would probably worry him. But he’d need the boy’s help keeping Samson and Gideon locked up. Pointing to the chairs, Amos silently invited Cale to join him at the clean table. They settled themselves on opposite sides, and Amos said, “Remember how the sheriff rode out this afternoon?”

  Cale nodded. His expression turned apprehensive.

  “It seems a pack of wild dogs has been roaming the area farms, killing calves and lambs and even a horse at one place. The sheriff’s put together a group of men who’ve been instructed to shoot any dog they see out wandering. So we can’t let Samson and Gideon go roaming until the men have destroyed the pack. The sheriff said he knows my two pups haven’t been up to any mischief so he didn’t shoot them, and he said he’d let me know when it was safe to let them out again.”

  Cale’s tense frown eased. He coughed out a short laugh. “Is that all?”

  To Amos the situation was dire. He’d been praying off and on since the sheriff left, and he continued to pray that no other animals or people were put in harm’s way by the pack. He spoke firmly, hoping to make clear the seriousness to the boy. “This is nothing to laugh about. Those dogs are a real danger. Not only will we keep Samson and Gideon locked up, but I’ll have my rifle ready in case the wild dogs come here. And you stay close to the house, too—no venturing out in the afternoons like you’ve been doing.”

  The boy’s eyes flew wide, his jaw dropping. “I wasn’t laughin’ about the dogs, honest! It’s just when I seen the sheriff ride in, I thought—” He shrunk down, folding his arms over his chest.

  Amos frowned. “You thought what?”

  “It don’t matter.” Cale shot out of his chair. “Gonna get ready for bed.”

  Amos caught the boy’s arm as he charged past. “Hold up, Cale.” Cale stood stiffly in Amos’s light grasp. And suddenly he understood. “Did you think the sheriff was coming for you?”

  Cale’s chin quivered. He nodded.

  Amos sighed. Although he’d intended to keep quiet about the other reason for the sheriff’s visit, he changed his mind. Cale should know. He gave the boy a little nudge toward the chair. “Sit down there. Let me tell you what the sheriff said about you.”

  Cale slunk back into his chair. Resignation sagged his features, making him seem much older than his not-quite-nine years. “Them Hollisters over in McPherson want me back, do they?”

  “He hasn’t gotten a response to the telegram he sent.” Amos sucked in a breath, praying for strength. He’d grown fond of the boy, and he wanted what was best for Cale. He just wasn’t sure yet what “best” might be. “But even if they don’t take you back, the sheriff said you’ll have to go … somewhere. The church in New York that sent you to Kansas is responsible for you. They’ll find a new place for you.” Amos angled his head, pinning the boy with a firm look. “Are you sure you don’t remember the name of the minister who sent you to Kansas?”

  Shaking his head wildly, Cale looked directly into Amos’s eyes. “Just know it was a preacher an’ a lady. Back in May—maybe June—they hauled a whole bunch of us boys into the church, fed us a good meal, cleaned us up, an’ gave us a new set of clothes. Then they put us on a train an’ said we’d be goin’ to Christian families for a decent upbringin’.” He shrugged. “That’s all I remember.”

  Although Amos suspected Cale was wily enough to withhold anything he didn’t want to divulge, he hoped the boy wouldn’t lie to him. “The sheriff’s asked the police in New York for help in finding the preacher. He said there’s more than one organization sending city orphans to the West, but he’ll find the right one eventually, even without a name.”

  Cale hung his head and sighed. “Sure don’t wanna go back to the Hollisters.” He fingered the bone buttons of his new shirt. “They’ll probably take the shirt and pants you bought me. They took the new clothes the preacher gave me an’ made me wear their boy’s worn-out hand-me-downs. I didn’t like them Hollisters at all.”

  Amos didn’t like them, either, based on the little bit he’d learned from Cale. Lord, forgive my un-Christian thoughts, but people like that don’t deserve to raise this boy. “Well, don’t fret about it now. You can stay with me until the sheriff works things out with the New York preacher. If you’re still here next week when school starts up again, we’ll get you enrolled. No sense in a smart boy like you missing out on book learning.”

  Cale’s head bounced upward so fast Amos was surprised the boy didn’t jar his neck. “School? Honest?”

  Amos anticipated a struggle. He had to wrestle Cale into the washtub for a bath. “You want to go?”

  “I sure do!” Cale wriggled in his chair, reminding Amos of the puppies’ excitement at breakfast time. “That’s the only reason I didn’t run off from the preacher. He said we’d get to go to school at our new homes. But the Hollisters said they’d keep me home to work instead. I can really go to school?”

  Amos hoped he hadn’t mentioned school too soon. What if the sheriff came and took the boy before school started? “If you’re still here, yes.”

  Cale seemed to ignore Amos’s cautious warning. He leaped from the chair and punched both fists in the air. “Woo-hoo!”

  Amos couldn’t stifle a laugh. Had he ever been so enthusiastic about sitting behind a school desk? He didn’t think so. He shook his head. “Enough hollering. You’ll get the chickens all riled up. It’s bedtime. Off with you now.”

  Grinning, Cale headed for the corner where Amos had laid out a pallet for him. Midway across the floor he stopped and sent a pensive look in Amos’s direction. “If the Hollisters don’t want me an’ the preacher says it’s all right, could I just stay here? With you?”

  A yearning to agree welled up within Amos’s chest. But he wouldn’t give the boy false hope. His heart aching, he slowly s
hook his head.

  Cale’s shoulders drooped. “Oh. Well.”

  “It isn’t that I don’t want you. But—”

  “It don’t matter.” Cale scuffed to the corner and dropped onto the pallet. Rolling onto his side, he faced the wall.

  Amos pushed up from his chair and limped across the floor. He bent over and touched Cale’s shoulder. He waited until the boy angled his head to peek at him. He cleared his throat, forcing aside a lump of emotion. “If I could, I’d keep you. You’re a fine boy. But it isn’t up to me. It’s up to the preacher, and if the Hollisters don’t work out for you, the preacher’ll want you to be with a real family. I’m just a bachelor chicken farmer. Do you understand?”

  For long moments Cale lay gazing up at Amos with his lips set in a firm line. Then he sighed. “I understand. An’ I don’t hold it against you.”

  Amos gave a wobbly smile.

  “But,” Cale went on, his forehead crunching into furrows of deep thought, “maybe I’ll get to stay here after all. Maybe the Hollisters will say they don’t want me back—they said I was a peck of trouble. Maybe you’ll get married before the sheriff finds the preacher. Maybe—”

  Amos lurched upright. Fire flamed his face. “Married?”

  Cale flopped onto his back, then propped himself up with his elbows. He blinked innocently at Amos. “Well, sure. You’re plenty old. You oughtta get married. What about that lady from the dry goods store? You seemed to like her well enough.”

  Amos spun on his heel and headed for the stove where the remaining coffee waited in a tall pot. He hoped a splash of strong brew would wash away the feelings the boy’s statement had brought to life.

  Cale’s musing voice carried from the corner. “What was her name? Oh, I remember—Miss Hubley.”

  Amos filled a cup to its brim. “Go to sleep, Cale.”

  Dinah

  “Oh, there they go …”

  The longing in Ruthie’s voice pulled Dinah’s attention from window washing. She glanced sideways and found her roommate gazing up the road. Curious, she moved to the edge of the porch to see what Ruthie was watching. A few children trudged toward town with lunch pails swinging from their hands. Apparently, with harvest complete, school had started again.

  Finding the realization uninteresting, Dinah returned to the bucket of soapy water and plunged her rag into it.

  Ruthie heaved a mighty sigh and joined Dinah at the big window that looked into the guests’ dining room. “I miss going to school.”

  Over the past few days, although the servers continued to hold their distance from Dinah, Ruthie had begun talking to her again. Dinah would never admit it aloud, but she appreciated the other girl’s willingness to jabber even though Dinah rarely contributed to the conversation. Listening to Ruthie kept other thoughts at bay. If only Ruthie’s jabber could make her night terrors flee. She rubbed the soapy cloth over the dusty window and waited for Ruthie to continue. The girl didn’t disappoint her.

  “Some of my best memories are from my years in the Arnold Grade School.”

  Some of Dinah’s most dismal memories were from her school years.

  “And did you know I’m one of the first three twelfth-grade graduates from Florence High School? Mama says I should be very proud of that fact.”

  Twelve grades … Dinah wondered what the children learned in the upper grades.

  “Mama puts a great deal of store in education. She and Papa both, actually.” Ruthie finally put her rag to work. “When Seth began talking last year about ending his schooling at grade eight and going to work at the quarry, Papa nearly had apoplexy!” She grinned and bumped Dinah with her elbow.

  And Tori had ridiculed Dinah for insisting on earning her eighth-grade certificate. Such differences between Ruthie’s family and her own. Dinah moved to the next window.

  Ruthie giggled as she drizzled clear water over the sudsy pane. “I’m sure Seth will go all the way through to grade twelve, as will Jonah, Noah, Timothy, Joseph, and little Dinah June. I can’t believe she starts school this year already.” Ruthie’s tone turned musing. “I hope she enjoys it as much as I did.” She picked up her bucket and moved beside Dinah again. “Did you attend a private school for your education?”

  Dinah thought she detected a hint of envy in Ruthie’s voice. If she knew how infrequently Dinah was allowed to leave the Yellow Parrot and attend class at the local school, she’d quickly lose her jealousy. Wouldn’t Ruthie be shocked if Dinah came right out and said, “I graduated eighth grade when I was sixteen”? But Ruthie would never know, because Dinah would never tell her.

  Dinah said, “No, I did not.”

  Ruthie wandered to the edge of the porch again and peered up the road. “Hmm. I suppose I assumed you—Oh!”

  Dinah jumped, splashing her apron with suds. She drew in a sharp breath and whirled to scold Ruthie for startling her. But the words withered on her tongue when she realized what had caused Ruthie’s shrill outburst.

  Mr. Ackerman and the little boy named Cale were passing along the street. Ruthie rose on her tiptoes and waved her hand over her head. “Good morning, Mr. Ackerman!”

  The man slowed his steps and turned in their direction, his gaze seeking. Dinah quickly ducked her head, her heart hammering and her face flooding with warmth. Would he acknowledge her? She peeked through her fringe of lashes, both hopeful and fearful.

  He waved with the hand not pulling his familiar little wooden wagon and smiled. “Good morning, Miss Mead. And Miss Hubley.” He chuckled, the sound pleasant. “I think that is Miss Hubley standing there in the shadows.”

  He’d noticed her! She lifted her face, biting the insides of her cheeks to hold back a smile.

  “I see you’re shining up the hotel windows this morning.” He took a step closer, drawing the boy with him. “A worthwhile pastime. My mother always said clean windows were a sign of a confident soul who didn’t mind the world seeing what he was up to because he had nothing to hide.”

  Ruthie giggled. “Papa says the eyes are the windows to a man’s soul. So I suppose looking someone directly in the eyes means the same thing—he has nothing to hide.”

  “Wise words.” Mr. Ackerman’s gaze bounced back and forth between Ruthie and Dinah, as if waiting for her to contribute to their conversation.

  Dinah had nothing to say, but she had a lot to hide. She faced the window again. Mr. Ackerman’s and Cale’s reflections peered at her from the clean pane. Their images held her attention as firmly as a miser held a penny.

  “I’m taking Cale to school.” Mr. Ackerman smiled down at the boy, who beamed upward. “Then I’ll deliver eggs to my customers.” The school bell’s ring intruded, echoing across the distance. Mr. Ackerman gave a little jolt. “We’d better hurry on. It isn’t good for him to be late his first day. Good day, Miss Mead. Good day, Miss Hubley.”

  Ruthie called out cheerfully, “Good day, Mr. Ackerman! Have fun at school, Cale!”

  The boy lifted his hand in a wave, and he and Mr. Ackerman set off. But then Cale’s voice carried to Dinah’s ears. “I changed my mind. I think you should marry Miss Mead instead.”

  Ruthie

  Ruthie slapped her hands to her cheeks. A giggle of pure delight left her lips. She whirled and clattered to Dinah. “Did you hear what that little boy said?” She waited a moment, but Dinah went on washing the window and didn’t reply. So she said, loudly, “That little boy said Mr. Ackerman should marry me!”

  Dinah’s lips pressed into a firm line. She leaned over, picked up her bucket, and moved to the next window. After placing the bucket on the floor—with a hard enough bump to slosh suds over the rim—she shot a quick look at Ruthie. “Better start rinsing before the soap dries and leaves a smear.”

  Accustomed to Dinah’s taciturn behavior, Ruthie snatched up her rag and set to work automatically, her thoughts rolling haphazardly off her tongue. “I wonder who the boy is. I’ve never seen him before. Maybe a new family moved to town near Mr. Ackerman’s place and he offe
red to show Cale to school. He’d do something like that—be helpful. But then it’s odd that Cale told Mr. Ackerman”—her face burned with contained excitement—“he should marry me.”

  She paused, recalling the exact wording Cale used. “He said Mr. Ackerman should marry me instead. Which means Cale and Mr. Ackerman must have discussed possibilities, which means the two of them must know each other fairly well, which means …” She ran out of ideas. Flicking a glance at Dinah’s stern profile, she asked a question even though she was certain it would be unanswered. “What do you think it means, Dinah?”

  Dinah’s hand stilled for a few brief seconds, then began working back and forth with fervor. As Ruthie had suspected, the girl remained silent.

  Ruthie sighed and returned to rinsing. “Do you suppose Mr. Ackerman will come to the Calico Ball at the end of the month? He didn’t come last year, but then last year he might not have been contemplating matrimony the way he is now.” Another giggle formed, tickling her stomach. Could it be her and Mama’s prayers were already bearing fruit?

  She watched clear water chase the remnants of soap from the pane and kept her musings to herself. If Mr. Ackerman asked her, she’d go. An evening together would help much in determining whether they were, as Mama had said, compatible. Mama’s concerns hadn’t been over Mr. Ackerman’s bad leg but more about their age difference and his occupation. Having been raised in town, Ruthie wasn’t familiar with the day-to-day operations of a chicken farm. Mama worried the work might be overwhelming but declared if she and Mr. Ackerman were compatible, then Ruthie would probably settle into the new duties without resentment.

  Her gaze fixed on her own reflection in the glass, she whispered, “Are we compatible?” They both attended church faithfully. They were both hard workers. They both liked children. A flush of pink tinged her reflected face and she smiled at herself. Oh yes, they were compatible. She just needed Mr. Ackerman to realize it.