She slipped from the bed and tiptoed to the dressing table. By pawing around, she located the paper and pencil. She tucked the items underneath her arm. Then she lifted the globed lamp in one hand and cradled the little tin of matches in the other. Holding her breath, she crept out to the hallway where the light wouldn’t disturb Ruthie.
After quietly closing the door behind her, she removed a match and flicked it on the doorframe. It flared to life, making her squint. She touched the tiny flame to the lamp’s wick, and then she blew out the match and waved away the pungent smoke. For several seconds she stood as still as a mouse beneath a cat’s scrutiny, listening for any signs her nighttime activities had awakened any of the other girls. But only silence greeted her ears.
Relieved, she set the lamp on the floor and sat beside it, taking care not to bump it. Using her bent knee as a desk, she flattened the paper and gripped the pencil between her fingers. Although she’d struggled to write school assignments and had only written letters to Rueben—hardly the same as writing to a potential beau!—she found words flowing easily onto the page.
Dear Mr. Ackerman,
Thank you so much for inviting me to the Calico Ball. I have never had as much fun as I did this evening. You were a perfect gentleman—
Her heart caught as the meaning behind the simple statement rose up to torment her.
—and I couldn’t imagine a better escort. I especially enjoyed our dance at the end of the night. From now on “Roses from the South” will always be my favorite song.
She paused. Was the statement too personal? The admission came from the center of her heart, a place she tried to shield. But in the end, she chose to leave it. It was the truth, and there were so many things she had to keep secret. She would be transparent whenever she could.
Your idea to write letters is a good one, and I look forward to getting to know you better as time goes by. Thank you for your kindness to me, Mr. Ackerman.
Sincerely yours,
Miss Dinah Hubley
She held the page at arm’s length. The content was short but heartfelt. Would he expect more for a first correspondence? She wanted this letter to be perfect in every way. She found nothing to fault in her penmanship, at least. Over time, as she grew more comfortable in her relationship with Mr. Ackerman, the length of her letters would increase. She could be satisfied with a short one for now.
Her eyes felt scratchy, and she set the letter aside and rubbed her eyes with her fists. Her mouth stretched in a yawn, and she rested her head against the wall, allowing her eyes to drift shut for a moment. Behind her closed lids she envisioned the ballroom with its swags of fabric and scattered rose petals. She saw Mr. Ackerman hold his arms open to her, tenderness shining in his eyes. The sweet melody of “Roses from the South” sang through her memory.
A smile formed on her lips without conscious thought. With the pleasant sights and sounds filling her head, she eased into sleep.
Ruthie
The alarm clock’s clang roused Ruthie. She clumsily swatted at the clock until she managed to silence the discordant sound. Balling her hands into fists, she enjoyed a leisurely stretch and then reached over to tap Dinah awake. To her surprise, her arm descended on an empty slice of mattress.
Sitting up, she searched the room. Her confusion mounted when she realized the lamp from their bureau was missing. Where could Dinah have gone during the night that required a lamp’s guiding glow? If Dinah had sneaked off to meet Mr. Ackerman somewhere and Mr. Irwin found out, she’d be in terrible trouble. Torn between aggravation and worry, Ruthie flung herself out of bed and scrambled into her robe. Then she charged for the hallway.
As she tugged the door open, she heard a muffled giggle. She looked across the hall to Lyla, who stood in her open doorway. One door down, Matilda hissed to capture Ruthie’s attention and then pointed. Ruthie peered out and then reared back in shock. There sat Dinah, sleeping on the floor with her head lolling to the side and her nightgown bunched up around her knees. The lamp, still flickering, stood sentinel over a rumpled piece of paper and a stubby pencil.
While Lyla and Matilda continued to giggle behind their hands, Ruthie exclaimed, “Dinah! What on earth are you doing out here?”
Dinah came awake with a start that lifted both of her bare feet off the floor and brought her head up with snap. She released a little yelp, and then her face contorted into a horrible grimace. Clutching her neck, she glared at Ruthie. “Did you have to scare me that way? I think my bones cracked.”
Ruthie snorted. “Your bones are fine.” She yanked up the lamp, scowling at the small amount of oil left in the bottom. “But our oil supply isn’t. You nearly used it all up!”
Lyla and Matilda exchanged smirks. Matilda said, “Does Ruthie snore, Dinah? Is that why you slept in the hallway?”
Lyla teased, “Or did you get locked out of the room last night?”
Dinah jolted to her feet, pressing her palms on the wall to help herself rise. She said nothing to either of the servers as she bent over and snatched up the paper and pencil still lying next to her bare toes. She pushed past Ruthie into their room, and Ruthie slammed the door on Matilda’s and Lyla’s laughter.
Ruthie set the lamp on the bureau and turned to Dinah, placing her fists on her hips. “What were you doing out there? I thought you’d given up sleeping in odd places.” She’d not forgotten finding Dinah asleep behind the wardrobe on her first day in Florence.
Dinah, red faced, crushed the paper to her chest. “I wanted to write a note, but I couldn’t see in the dark, and I didn’t want to wake you by lighting the lamp, so I went into the hallway. And I must have fallen asleep out there.”
Ruthie couldn’t stifle a laugh. Dinah was prattling worse than Ruthie usually did. Maybe she was rubbing off on the girl. “It must have been an important note.”
A soft expression crossed Dinah’s face. “Yes. It was.”
They needed to dress and go down to breakfast, but curiosity held Ruthie in place. “To whom did you write?”
Dinah ducked her head, her cheeks filling with such color she looked as though a fever raged. Her hands convulsed on the paper, which was becoming irreparably wrinkled. Then she whispered, “Mr. Ackerman. A … a thank-you note.”
“So you enjoyed your evening?” Ruthie would never admit how much time she’d spent gazing at the pair of them snug on the settee, lost in conversation while the ball went on around them.
“It was a lovely evening.” Dinah’s tone turned wistful. “But …”
Ruthie’s pulse tripped into hopeful double beats. Might the note be a means of letting Mr. Ackerman know Dinah was no longer interested in spending time with him? She braved a quavering question. “But you needed a gentle way to tell him … farewell?”
Dinah’s wide-eyed gaze collided with Ruthie’s. “What do you mean?”
“Well …” Ruthie floundered. She wished Dinah were easier to read. She never knew what was going on behind the girl’s pale eyes. “It’s nice that you went with him, since he’s merely a chicken farmer and you hail from a wealthy background. Generally, those of such different social classes don’t mix well. So the two of you wouldn’t be”—she drew on Mama’s word—“compatible.”
Dinah gazed at her for long minutes, her brow all puckered. Finally she sighed. “Ruthie, I am not from a wealthy family.”
Ruthie raised one brow. “But you had a cook.”
Shaking her head, Dinah offered a sad smile. “The owner of the house where my mother and I lived had a cook. So we didn’t do any cooking on our own. We were … employed … there, as well.”
Realization dawned. All this time she’d envisioned Dinah with servants and a lifestyle of leisure, but instead she’d worked as a servant for someone else. The jealous thoughts she’d harbored now made her feel petty and mean. Embarrassment washed over her. Ruthie marched to the wardrobe and reached for her uniform. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
Dinah followed, still pressing the no
te to her heart as if she needed the message to keep her blood pumping. “I should have.” She touched Ruthie’s arm. “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to stay silent.”
“It surely was.” Ruthie didn’t mean to speak so sharply. She stepped aside, uniform in hand, so Dinah could get to the wardrobe. “So you’ve decided to …” Her tight throat didn’t want to release words. She pushed her question past a lump of resignation. “To be courted?”
Dinah paused with her hand on the uniform apron. “I don’t know.”
A flicker of hope rose to life within Ruthie’s breast. “You don’t know?”
Dinah took down the apron and turned toward Ruthie. “Not yet. Mr. Ackerman and I are going to”—another blush rose in her cheeks, so girlish and happy a new wave of jealousy captured Ruthie—“get to know each other a little better first. By writing letters.” She waved the paper she clutched between her fingers. “We’ll leave them beneath the cushion on one of the wicker chairs. So if you find a letter out there, it’s meant for me.”
But he was meant for me. Ruthie managed to hold the dismayed comment inside. She forced a trembling smile. “I won’t read them. I promise.”
A genuine smile grew on Dinah’s face, transforming her. “I know you won’t. I told Mr. Ackerman we could trust you.”
Dinah couldn’t have hurt her more if she’d poked her with the point of a freshly sharpened pencil. Ruthie turned her back on Dinah and tossed her nightgown over her head. “We’re late for breakfast. Hurry now.”
The scrambling noises behind her let her know Dinah was taking her advice. As Ruthie brushed her hair and twisted it into a bun, she gave herself a stern talking-to. Mr. Ackerman and Dinah trusted her. So no matter how temptation clawed at her, she would not peek at their love notes. She wouldn’t!
Dinah
Saturday passed so slowly Dinah wondered if it would ever draw to a close. She yearned for her bed—between the ball and staying up to write her letter to Mr. Ackerman, she’d gotten very little sleep the night before. She also yearned for Sunday, when she would see Mr. Ackerman again, would sit beside him in church service, and would exchange a missive with him.
As she worked, forcing her tired limbs to perform her given tasks efficiently, she pondered what he would say in his letter. Would it be very short, like hers, or longer? Would he speak of the ball or of chickens or of other things—more personal things? Or would it hold apologies for his impulsive idea and a request to forget the whole thing? The wondering and worry had tangled her insides into knots, and she wanted to crawl in a hole and hide.
The clock chimed twelve, alerting her to lunchtime. She set aside her cleaning supplies and made her way toward the lunch counter for her noon meal, but halfway down the hall the intrusive clang of a beckon-me bell brought her steps to a halt. Dinah sighed and changed direction. She located a gentleman guest peeking out his door with a look of consternation on his face. She hurried the last few steps.
“Yes, sir? What can I do for you?”
He scowled and flapped a newspaper at her. “This is missing the center pages. Which means part of an article—one which I found particularly interesting—is absent. Kindly retrieve a complete paper for me.” He thrust the crumpled sheets of newsprint at her, then closed the door in her face.
Dinah hurried to the front desk where a supply of daily papers usually sat on the counter. But the spot was empty. She summoned the desk clerk. “Are there more newspapers somewhere?”
“They’ve all been claimed, Dinah. Lots of people are interested in that story about the Supreme Court calling the Civil Rights Act of 1875 unconstitutional. Some are downright riled over it.”
She sighed. “The guest in room 112 requested a newspaper. I suppose I’ll have to tell him none are available.” Considering his brusque demand, she didn’t look forward to disappointing him.
“Wait.” The clerk rummaged beneath the counter and then pressed a fifty-cent piece into her hand. “Take this and purchase a handful more at the newspaper office. I’ll go up to the room and let the guest know you’ll have a fresh paper for him soon.”
Although she’d lose her lunch break running the errand, Dinah didn’t dare fail to meet a guest’s specific request. “All right. Thank you.”
As she headed for the porch, an idea struck. If she had to go to town anyway and she was using her own lunch break, why not perform an errand or two for herself while she was out? The morning’s doldrums faded momentarily as she dashed upstairs to retrieve her little money pouch. The cloth bag with its drawstring closure was weighty, filled with all her earnings for the past months as well as the small amount of money left over from Chicago. Uncertain how much her purchases would cost, she looped the pouch’s string over her wrist and took off for town at an eager pace.
Amos
Amos arrived at church early. The earliest he’d ever arrived. Even before any other parishioners arrived. He settled onto his bench in the quiet sanctuary and released a sigh of relief to be off of his feet. His hip ached from the rapid pace he’d forced upon himself, but he didn’t regret hurrying. By arriving early, he might be able to steal a moment or two of time with Dinah before the service started. What was a little pain compared to the pleasure of gazing into her pretty face and hearing her soft, timid voice greet him?
Inside the cover of his Bible, he carried the letter he’d written after the ball. He still regretted the plain paper on which it was written, but her next letter would be more appealing. Saturday morning he’d gone into town and bought a packet of fine stationery decorated with a cluster of violets tied with yellow ribbon. Although the clerk raised his eyebrows in silent surprise at Amos’s choice, causing him to fidget in embarrassment, he bought the pretty paper anyway, not because it suited him, but because it suited her. And it pleased him to think of pleasing her.
Now he wriggled on the bench, waiting for her to arrive. His hands trembled, and he clutched them tightly around the leather cover of his Bible. Without conscious thought he closed his eyes and lapsed into prayer. Dear Lord, I’m as nervous as a chicken in a den of foxes. Calm my spirit. I believe You gave me this idea to get to know Dinah better, and I trust You to guide our friendship. You know my heart’s desire concerning Dinah, my Father, but most of all my heart’s desire is to follow Your will. So let me only go where You would have me go.
Even as he prayed, he recognized how much he wanted God to bless him with a wife. How much he wanted to be blessed with Dinah as his wife. Surely God wouldn’t allow this deep affection for her to sprout if Amos wasn’t meant to act upon it. He bent forward over his Bible, finishing his prayer. Your will, Father. Let me seek Your will above all …
Footsteps on the stairs alerted him to others arriving. He sat upright and aimed his gaze at the double doors, which opened and closed dozens of times, each time bringing in a cool breeze along with clusters of worshipers. But not until it was nearly time for the service to begin did the young women wearing uniforms from the Clifton Hotel finally enter. When he spotted the familiar black-and-white uniforms, his heart leaped. And when Dinah stepped into the room with her sweet face aimed in the direction of their bench, his heart seemed to lodge in his throat. He read in her eyes the same eagerness thrumming through his veins.
He scooted over, allowing her to sit on the end rather than having to climb over his knees. Not until she’d seated herself in a graceful motion that made his pulse trip did he notice she cradled a book in her arms. Its black leather binding and gold-tipped pages identified it even before he saw the scrolling, stamped words Holy Bible on its cover. If he’d thought her lovely before, her beauty increased tenfold in that moment. Her possession of God’s Word seemed to grant approval of him pursuing her as a life’s mate.
Thank You, Lord.
She placed her Bible on the bench between them as the congregation rose to sing. He laid his Bible next to hers. Although his cover looked even more battered and worn next to the crisp newness of hers, it pleased him to see the two Bibles
side by side. He lifted his attention to the front of the church as Preacher Mead announced their opening hymn. As one, the worshipers burst forth in song. “ ‘How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord, is laid for your faith in His excellent Word!’ ”
Amos shook his head, marveling at how the hymn’s first line seemed to point toward the Bibles butted against each other on the bench. In his mind, they presented a picture of oneness, and his chest went so tight he could hardly draw enough breath to sing along with his favorite hymn.
As usual, Preacher Mead delivered a biblically based sermon that spoke truth. But Amos had trouble staying focused, aware of Dinah painstakingly turning the crisp pages of her Bible in search of the references on which the minister drew. Having been raised in church and participating in Bible reading at home with his parents from the time he was old enough to read the words for himself, he was as familiar with the contents of his Bible as he was with his own reflection. He battled a strong urge to help her locate the books and verses mentioned, but knowing she’d learn faster if she sought them out herself, he kept his hands to himself.
After the closing prayer, in unison he and Dinah sat back on the bench. As parishioners filed down the aisle and out the door, they opened the covers of their Bibles and withdrew folded sheets of paper. His hand trembled as he held his letter to her, and the pages pinched between her fingers fluttered, too. Lifting his gaze from the letters to her face, he caught her biting on the corner of her lower lip.
He formed a quavery smile and bobbed his letter. “This is for you. Is that for me?”
She nodded and pushed the letter toward him.
He took hers, and she reached for his. Not until her fingers closed on it did she finally look at him. Her cheeks bore rosy circles and apprehension widened her eyes. She swallowed, her shoulders lifting into a pose of protectiveness. “I-I’m not much of a writer. I hope you won’t be disappointed.”
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