Dinah
Dinah left Mr. Irwin’s office with his warnings ringing in her head. Someone must surely be very jealous to have run to him with the news of her invitation to the Calico Ball. But she would do everything Mr. Irwin said was necessary. She would finish her work before changing into her ball gown. At the ball she would conduct herself with the decorum expected of an employee of the hotel. And until the day of the ball, she would keep her attention on the tasks required of her rather than escaping into flights of whimsy.
Her face flamed with humiliation as she hurried back upstairs. How silly she must have looked, waving the feather duster and twirling like a child! If Ruthie had caught her instead of Mr. Irwin, she wouldn’t have been quite so embarrassed. Ruthie seemed to understand Dinah’s excitement. At least partially. No one understood the deepest reasons why the invitation meant so much. And no one ever would, because she wouldn’t tell.
Would she have ever imagined a man like Amos Ackerman asking her to attend a ball? No. Never. Yet he had. A niggle of guilt pricked. Would he have asked her if he knew who she was … and what she’d done? She shook her head hard. She wasn’t that girl anymore. What mattered was now. No longer Untamable Tori’s unfortunate mistake, she was one of Mr. Fred Harvey’s employees. Perhaps only a chambermaid in the Clifton Hotel now, but in nine more months when she turned eighteen, she would become—
She came to a stop right outside the door of the room she’d vacated at Mr. Irwin’s interruption. She hadn’t come to Kansas to be courted. When had she lost sight of her reason for accepting the position as chambermaid? She hovered in the doorway, as if it were a portal between two choices. Stay with her original intention to secure a position that would grant her the respect she’d never previously received, or move forward into the new opportunity that seemed to be presenting itself?
Ruthie had scolded the servers with the statement that any girl should be pleased to be courted by Mr. Ackerman. He’d asked her to the ball. Which meant—oh, how her heart pounded—he could very well be interested in courting her. A man didn’t invite a girl to something as important as the Calico Ball unless he truly liked her. But if she went, if she allowed herself to be courted, she wouldn’t be able to become a server after all. Servers weren’t allowed to court or marry during the year of their contract.
Which did she want more—to become a well-respected server or to have a beau?
As the golden days of September slipped away and October arrived with chilly nights and naked tree branches tapping their tips together in the wind, Dinah struggled with the question. During the weekdays when she performed her cleaning duties and observed the servers in their crisp telltale uniforms signifying them as Mr. Harvey’s specially chosen workers, she convinced herself she must set aside thoughts of all else except donning one of those uniforms for herself. But on Sundays when she sat on the back bench with a respectable space between herself and Mr. Ackerman and peeked at the Bible he held in his broad hand for her to share, she longed for something entirely different.
The confusion wore at her, stealing what little sleep she caught between the persistent nightmares. Ruthie expressed concern about the dark circles beneath Dinah’s eyes and questioned whether she needed a tonic, but Dinah knew of no tonic that would cure uncertainty. So as the days moved steadily toward October 19—the night of the Calico Ball—Dinah accepted she wouldn’t find her answer until she’d experienced her evening of enchantment with Mr. Ackerman.
Amos
Amos moved as fast as his bad leg would allow up the road toward town. Cooler, damp weather had descended, giving the landscape a gloomy appearance. The cool always made his hip ache worse, and he grimaced against the discomfort. He missed having Cale walk with him. But if the boy was still with the Meads, as he’d been for the past two weeks, he’d see him in church. He looked forward to a little time with Cale, as well as with his fellow believers. Sundays were his favorite days, because for the hour of the service, he wasn’t alone.
And today he would stay after church and enjoy a meal with the Mead family. They’d invited him last week, but he had declined since a new batch of chicks was breaking free of the shells, and he liked to be close by during the process. Sadly, two of the new ones had drowned in their watering dish, and another had apparently suffocated beneath the straw. The losses, added to the dismal gray weather, had combined to create a difficult week for him. But surely time at the Meads’ table with the preacher’s lively family would give his heart a lift.
And then on Friday, there was the ball …
He’d never anticipated anything as much as he looked forward to the night of music, eating, and visiting. So what if he’d only eat and visit rather than dance? He didn’t mind because Dinah had said she didn’t mind. And he would have three hours to visit with her. Three hours! His pulse stuttered in happiness. The few minutes he’d grabbed after church services these past Sundays had only heightened his desire to get to know her better.
Such a delicate, pretty girl she was, with a gentle and humble spirit. Ma would like her—Amos felt sure. And once they’d spent their evening together—when they’d finally become well acquainted—he would write to Ma and tell her all about Dinah. In Ma’s last letter she’d asked, “Aren’t there any girls of marriageable age in that church of yours? It’s high time you settled in with a family.” He agreed, and he hoped to do just that. But first, he needed those hours of the ball with Dinah. To be sure the little seed of affection planted in his heart was meant to bloom.
Dinah was already at the back bench, as he’d come to expect, when he limped into the church. The singing had already commenced, too, so he stepped into his familiar spot, swept off his hat, and joined his voice to the others joyfully singing of the holy God. Dinah was singing today, too, and he gave her a smile of approval. In her shyness, she rarely participated in hymn singing. Her doing so now told him she was feeling more at home here, just as he’d prayed she would. Some of the gloominess of the past days melted away as he listened to her soft, reedy voice blend with his.
He shared his Bible with her, finding it difficult to concentrate with the sweet scent of her floral soap filling his nostrils. But the sermon was a good one about the shepherd seeking the lost lamb of his large flock and expressing the determination of Jesus, the Good Shepherd, to bring every soul into His flock—none were so lost that the loving Savior would abandon His search for them. Hearing of Jesus’s love for him always brought joy to his heart, and the minister’s words seemed to impact Dinah, as well, for she listened more intently than he’d seen before.
When the service ended, he enjoyed a few short words with Dinah, telling her he would meet her in the hotel’s lobby at eight thirty on Friday night. She blushed prettily when he gave the reminder. He found the sight so appealing he gripped the brim of his hat to keep from cupping her cheeks and lifting her face to him. Wouldn’t she make a beautiful bride? Impatience smote him. He wished he had the means to provide for her now. When she scurried out to meet the buggy and return to the hotel, he gazed after her, battling loneliness. But then Cale bounded over and caught Amos’s hand, and he turned his attention to the boy.
Amos walked with Cale and Timothy to the Meads’ house. Mrs. Mead seated Amos next to Cale at the long table in the warm kitchen that held the wonderful aromas of the food she prepared to feed the family’s growing brood. As everyone settled into chairs and Mrs. Mead carried full bowls and platters to the table, Amos noted the difference between the smell of the Meads’ kitchen and his own. His smelled of beans and salt pork—not unpleasant but of a bachelor’s dwelling. This one, though … He inhaled deeply, savoring the unique fragrance. It smelled like home. He hoped his kitchen would smell just this way someday.
Preacher Mead offered a prayer of gratitude for the food and the hands that had prepared it. Amos echoed the prayer in his heart. How had the woman managed to prepare such a feast and have it all ready, hot and aromatic, the moment they returned from the church? His moth
er had possessed the same ability. Women were sometimes magical creatures.
Amos enjoyed every bite of the crusty bread, roasted meat swimming in rich gravy, oven-browned potatoes, and buttery green peas. He also enjoyed the conversation flowing around the table as they ate. But as much as he enjoyed himself, he also fought against melancholy. Sitting here surrounded by happy chatter and pleasant scents, his little house seemed to grow more empty, his solitary existence more dismal by the moment. The upcoming Friday, when he could talk with Dinah, express his deep desire for family, and discover whether she desired the same, seemed so far away.
Mrs. Mead brought out apple pies for dessert. As she placed a large slice before Amos, he said, “This is the best meal I’ve had since I left my ma’s cooking, Mrs. Mead. Thank you for sharing it with me.”
Mrs. Mead released a light laugh and moved on to serve Cale. “Now, Mr. Ackerman, you know you shouldn’t fib. Especially on Sunday in a preacher’s house.”
Amos blinked at her in surprise. “I’m not fibbing, ma’am.”
She smiled as she rounded the table, dishing up juicy slices of pie to her waiting children. “Now, now, I’m only teasing. Our Ruthie told us you’d had a meal at the Clifton’s dining room. Everyone says Mr. Harvey stole the hotel’s manager away from Chicago because he is the best chef in America. I’m sure the meal he set the cook to making there was better than this simple dinner.”
Amos lifted the first bite of pie. The cinnamon-laced apples melted on his tongue. He shook his head. “Ma’am, if Mr. Harvey had tasted your cooking, he would have asked you to cook for the hotel instead.”
Both the preacher and Mrs. Mead laughed, but Amos could tell he’d pleased her with his comments. When his wife cooked for him, he would remember to praise her often for the meals she put on their table.
After the children finished their pie, they dashed off to play, leaving the three adults at the table. Amos started to rise and head home, but Mrs. Mead put her hand on his wrist. “Stay, Mr. Ackerman. Have a cup of coffee with Jacob and me and visit a bit. That is, if you have time.”
Return to his lonely house or stay here and talk for a while? The choice was easy to make. Amos settled back into his chair. “Thank you, ma’am.”
While Mrs. Mead cleared the dishes, Preacher Mead rested his elbows on the table edge and fixed his attention on Amos. “Many of my parishioners speak well of your egg business and appreciate having eggs delivered to their houses. Will you be able to continue the deliveries when winter sets in?”
Amos took a sip of the coffee—strong and black, just the way he liked it—before answering. “I’d hoped to have enough money set aside for a horse and wagon before the snows fell, but I think I will probably have to wait for another year at least.” He considered sharing the troubles that had befallen him lately, but a preacher probably had to listen to everyone’s calamities. He would let the man enjoy his Sunday in peace. “Until then, I will deliver eggs on the days when the wind isn’t too strong or the snow too deep for me to come into town.”
“You have a good work ethic.”
Mrs. Mead’s compliment made Amos blush in pleased embarrassment. “Well, the chickens do most of the work.”
Both the minister and his wife laughed. Then Mrs. Mead’s face pinched in sympathy. “It must be difficult for you, though, with your leg. Or is it your foot that gives you pain?”
Amos didn’t mind talking about his injury when people asked kindly. “My hip. I broke it when I was a boy, and it didn’t heal correctly.” Lest he sound like a complainer, he added, “But I manage. The Lord has given me the strength to endure.”
Mrs. Mead gave him another warm, approving look before continuing her cleanup.
Preacher Mead said, “Cale tells us often how he helped you at the chicken farm. Are you managing well without him?”
The chores weren’t too much. It took longer on his own, but he could get them done. He mostly missed the company. He wasn’t sure how to reply, so he chose a question instead. “Have you found a family to take in the boy yet?”
Preacher Mead and his wife exchanged a look, as if seeking permission. The woman gave a slight nod, and the minister cleared his throat. “Yes, I think we have.”
Amos’s heart fell. As much as he knew Cale needed to get settled with a family quickly, he’d still clung to hope he might be able to take the boy himself. He took another sip of his coffee to drown the sadness rising in his chest. “Who will be his new family?”
“Us.”
Startled, Amos looked from Mrs. Mead to Preacher Mead. Had he heard correctly? “You are keeping him?”
Mrs. Mead placed the last of the dirty dishes on the dry sink and returned to the table. “Yes.” Preacher Mead took her hand and squeezed it. The two smiled at each other, leaving Amos feeling like an interloper.
Amos’s thought spilled from his lips. “But you already have so many children.”
The pair laughed, and Preacher Mead looked at Amos. “I suppose with five boys already in the house, it would seem we have no need for another one. But our oldest and youngest have always been very close, with Joseph looking at Seth almost like another father. Noah and Jonah, being so close in age, are best buddies. So Timothy was left out until Cale came along. It’s as if our family was waiting for another boy so Timothy would feel as if he belongs.”
Mrs. Mead added, “Cale and Timothy have become such good friends. To separate them now would be cruel. So Jacob and I decided, what’s one more boy? An even eight children gives us a full quiver.”
Amos recalled his father speaking of his full quiver of sons, quoting the verse from Psalm 127, but Pa had considered three enough. Amos wouldn’t mind having as many as eight children in his quiver if the Lord chose to bless him. But discovering Cale wouldn’t be one of them pierced him. “Well … well …” He didn’t know what to say.
Mrs. Mead slid into the chair next to her husband. “Cale speaks so highly of you, Mr. Ackerman. I can tell you’d be a good father.”
Amos lowered his head. Her words pleased him. “Thank you, ma’am.”
She went on in the same pert tone. “There are several young women in our congregation who would make fine wives. Have you considered courting?”
Preacher Mead cleared his throat. “Leah …”
Mrs. Mead crinkled her nose at her husband. She looked very girlish despite the threads of white in her red hair and the fine lines around her eyes. “Oh, now, Jacob, I’m not pressuring him.” She looked at Amos again. “Forgive me if I seem nosy. But a young man as yourself, with his own prospering business, is probably eager to begin his family. Am I right?”
Amos shrugged, chuckled softly, then nodded.
Her smile grew. “And have you found a young woman who interests you?”
Again, a soft chuckle escaped before he managed a quick nod. “Yes. She attends your church. Her name is Dinah Hubley.”
Mrs. Mead jerked slightly, and a look of disappointment flittered across her face before she formed a smile again. “Dinah … a very sweet girl. She works at the Clifton with our daughter Ruthie.”
Amos nodded. “I am taking Miss Hubley to the Calico Ball on Friday. I don’t know for sure that I will court her, but …” Why was he telling the preacher’s wife all this? Apparently he spent too much time with only chickens and two speckled dogs for company. Embarrassed, he fell silent.
Preacher Mead lifted his coffee cup, a silent invitation for his wife to refill it. She rose, and he turned to Amos. “Ruthie asked her mother and me to pray for Miss Hubley. Ruthie is concerned for Miss Hubley’s lack of faith.”
Amos frowned. “But she attends the church. Your daughter invited her.” He was grateful Dinah had set aside whatever misgivings she’d held about the simple church and accepted the invitation. He couldn’t court an unchurched woman, but her attendance had reassured him. Preacher Mead’s odd statement raised prickles of unease across his scalp.
“Yes, she’s attending, which is a good first
step,” the minister said, “and we’re praying she discovers her need for a Savior.”
“You’re sure she’s … faithless?” Amos nearly held his breath, waiting for the answer.
Preacher Mead sighed. “I wouldn’t presume to judge someone else’s heart. But she hasn’t made a profession of faith, so we will pray until she does.”
Mrs. Mead held the coffeepot near Amos’s cup, but he put his hand over the opening. He wouldn’t be able to swallow anything else. He’d prayed for Dinah, too, but only for her to form a relationship with him. He shouldn’t even entertain such thoughts until he knew if she had faith in the one true, living God.
He pushed clumsily to his feet, his hip stiff from his time of sitting in the hard chair. “I should get back to my place. I’ve left the chickens unattended long enough.”
Preacher Mead also stood. “I’ll drive you. The children and I often go for a drive on Sunday afternoons. They enjoy the outings. It will only take me a few minutes to hitch the team.”
Amos needed time alone. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I’ll walk.” He patted his bad hip, forcing a smile. “Walking loosens the joint.”
“Very well.”
Amos thanked the minister’s wife for the good dinner. Then Preacher Mead walked him to the door. So eager to get off by himself and consider the revelations the preacher had shared, he even forgot to say good-bye to Cale. On the walk home, he prayed. As he performed his afternoon and evening chores, he prayed. Before dropping into his bed that night, he knelt awkwardly and asked God to give him peace concerning his upcoming evening with Dinah. But the heaviness in his chest was still there the next morning. And the morning after that.
Rather than anticipating the evening at the Calico Ball, he now dreaded it. What would he do if he asked Dinah “Are you a believer?” and she said “No”?
Ruthie
Ruthie gritted her teeth and reached for another cluster of flowers. She should be the one preparing to meet Mr. Ackerman in the fancy parlor in the turret. Instead, she was inserting tiny sprigs of dried field pennycress into the thick braid circling Dinah’s head. Some people called the wildflower stinkweed because it grew in the most unlikely places, and its white fingernail-sized blossoms had never been one of Ruthie’s favorites. But when nestled in Dinah’s dark honey–colored tresses, the unremarkable bloom took on a beauty.
Through the Deep Waters Page 19