He smiled, recalling another time he sat with a plate in his lap and ate with Dinah. “I don’t mind.” He trailed her to the counter and waited while she asked one of the luncheon workers for two lunch specials. Amos didn’t ask what the special was today—he would happily eat boot leather and sawdust if it meant dining with Miss Dinah Hubley.
She turned with two plates containing thick slabs of meat loaf, roasted potatoes, buttery carrots, and a perfectly browned biscuit. He licked his lips. That looked a lot better than boot leather and sawdust.
She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling, and for a moment he wondered if she’d read his secret thoughts. “This way,” she said, and he followed her up the hallway, behind the check-in counter, to a small room tucked off the lobby. A pair of wicker chairs similar to the ones on the porch sat side by side along one wall, the seats angled slightly toward each other. Dinah moved to the chair farthest from the door and nodded at the second chair. “Go ahead and sit down, and I’ll give you your plate.”
Both embarrassed and pleased by her serving him, Amos aimed his backside at the cushion on the second chair and let himself plop down. Two guests wandered through the lobby, sending a curious glance into the little room. Wouldn’t it be nice if they could close the door and enjoy complete privacy? But propriety demanded they leave it ajar. The moment the seat of his pants met the chair, Dinah handed him his plate. As she did so, she flashed a winsome smile that warmed him from the inside out.
Once she’d sat and settled her plate on her lap, he held out his hand to her. Without pause, she placed her small hand in his. Linked with her, Amos closed his eyes and offered a brief prayer of thanks for the food. Inwardly, he added, Lord, grant me the favor of acceptance from Dinah. “Amen.”
“Amen,” she echoed. She picked up the fork balanced on the edge of her plate, then paused. “Mr. Ackerman, would … would you like to exchange gifts before we eat?”
A hint of trepidation crept through her tone, matching the feelings he’d been battling. A lump seemed to sit in his stomach. He might not be able to swallow until he knew how his gift would be received. He nodded. “I think that’s a fine idea.”
With a nervous giggle, she ducked her head. She slipped her hand inside her pocket, withdrew a narrow, embossed leather box, and thrust it at him without ceremony. “I didn’t wrap it because I thought the box too nice to cover. I hope you’ll like it.”
“I’m sure I will.” Amos took the box. The leather was warm from its hiding spot. He placed the box on his knee, then reached into his pocket for the package he’d brought for her. The sharp edges of the box poked his flesh just as uncertainty stabbed his heart. His hand froze. Once again he wondered if he’d made a mistake. Then he looked into her face, and his apprehensions melted like snow in a hot skillet. This was no mistake. She was meant to be his.
He reached across the little table and took her hand. Turning it palm side up, he battled an urge to lift it to his lips and plant a kiss on the soft pad at the base of her thumb. Instead, he laid the box across the row of calluses that offered silent evidence of her labor. “Miss Hubley, this is a Christmas gift, but it’s also … more.” Her expression turned curious. He squeezed her fingers closed over the box. Her hand was so small the tips barely curved over the top edge. His heart set up a wild thrum. Settling back into his chair, he nodded at her. “Open it.”
Dinah
Although Mr. Ackerman sat watching, unmoving, clearly eager for her to open his gift, Dinah took her time. Gifts were few, and she wanted to savor this one. So she slowly slipped the ribbon from the box, leaving the bow intact, and laid it on the arm of the chair. With the ribbon’s release, the paper came loose. Careful not to tear it, she removed it, folded it, and tucked it in the space between her hip and the chair’s side. Now she held a plain brown box with a fitted lid similar to a hatbox but much smaller.
She allowed herself a few moments to speculate on the contents. Christmas and something more, he’d said. Chocolates? Hair adornments? Perhaps a pretty lace shawl? No, it was too heavy to be a shawl. Maybe the box held a bottle of sweet-smelling perfume … The curiosity built until she couldn’t bear it any longer. She popped the top from the box and peeked inside. A highly varnished wooden box with a painted image on its top greeted her eyes, and she released a little laugh of pure pleasure.
“Oh, Mr. Ackerman …” Where had he found such a perfect box? She touched her finger to the painting of a little girl perched on a fallen log with two bright-eyed puppies leaning their paws against the child’s leg. On a drooping branch above the girl’s head, a cardinal sat with its head tipped to the side as if carrying on a conversation with the child. She couldn’t stop smiling.
“T-take it out.” Mr. Ackerman’s voice quavered, as if his excitement matched hers. “It’s a music box.”
“It is? Oh my!” Forgetting her determination to extend the moment, she pulled the box from its container and located the brass key. She gave the key several twists, then held her breath. Within seconds, a tinkling melody spilled forth. Dinah beamed.
Mr. Ackerman offered a remorseful grimace. “It isn’t ‘Roses from the South,’ but I thought it sounded nice.”
“It sounds beautiful.” Dinah gazed in wonder at the music box. She’d never expected to receive anything so lovely. She waited until the music slowed and finally stopped with one echoing note. She sighed and pressed the box to her heart. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”
“Miss Hubley …” The hesitation in his tone pulled her attention away from the box. “The music box is only part of the gift. The other part is … inside.”
Dinah lowered her brows, puzzled. “Inside?”
“The box is also a trinket box. There’s a … trinket … inside.”
Looking again at the box, Dinah noticed a tiny drawer tucked on the opposite side of the turn key. She pinched the little rosebud-shaped brass knob serving as a drawer pull and slid the drawer open. She nearly dropped the box on the floor when she saw what rested in the velvet-lined bottom of the drawer.
Rueben had always given her a little something for Christmas, things he called trinkets, but they’d been childish whatnots—a tiny tin dog, a string of glass beads, a coin purse. But now she gazed at a gold ring bearing an amber-colored stone between four silver prongs. After examining the lockets with the clerk at Graham and Tucker, she recognized at once this ring was no cheap trinket. Her mouth went dry. Her hands seemed to forget how to function. She sat staring into the drawer but couldn’t find the ability to take out the ring.
Mr. Ackerman reached over and plucked it out, his big fingers barely fitting into the tiny space. He held the ring aloft, the circle of gold and the deep yellow stone reflecting light. “This is what is called a promise ring. It is meant to signify a commitment.”
Dinah shifted her gaze from the ring held between his thick, work-roughened fingertips to his face. His voice had emerged low and tight, as if something blocked his throat, but his face bore a deep tenderness. Dinah found herself mesmerized by the emotion in his eyes of darkest blue—the windows to his soul—as he went on quietly.
“I offer it to you as commitment to build my business to support you. I offer it as a promise to someday—when we are both ready—be a faithful husband to you.” He rotated the ring slightly back and forth, causing tiny sparkles to blink in offbeats. “I want you to keep it. It’s yours. But I …” The last two words growled out.
He ducked his head for a moment, his eyes slipping closed, and when he looked at her again, a soft, gentle, heart-melting smile curved his lips. “But I ask you to only wear it if you are willing to make a commitment to me. I know you’re very young. You might want something more in life than to be the wife of a chicken farmer. If so, you don’t need to wear the ring. But keep it as a token of my affection for you. Take it out from time to time and think kindly of me.”
He dropped the ring in the little drawer and pushed it closed with one finger. His smile wavered as the ring disappeared
from sight, but then it grew broader when he looked at her again. “And now, may I open my gift from you?”
Dinah hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. All at once it whooshed out, and a nervous laugh followed it. The mother-of-pearl knife seemed so paltry when compared with what he’d given her. But she had nothing else for him. Cradling the music box against her chest again, she nodded. “Yes. Please open yours.” She bit her lower lip, waiting for his reaction.
He lifted the box from his knee and popped the lid in one smooth motion. His eyes lit up. He pulled the knife free and snapped open the blade. The knife looked ridiculously small in his big hand, but the polished silver glinted almost as brightly as the gold ring had. “Well, would you look at that …” He turned the knife this way and that, examining it from every angle. He ran the tip of his thumb along the blade’s edge, whistled through his teeth, then did it again.
Dinah, beyond pleased by his eager examination, pointed to the stamp at the base of the blade. “The clerk at Graham and Tucker said an English company makes these knives. He said they’re pur—” She sought the fancy word the clerk had used. “Purported to be among the finest in the world.”
Mr. Ackerman continued admiring the knife. “I believe him. It’s grand, Dinah—the nicest pocketknife I’ve ever seen.”
Heat raced from Dinah’s chest to her face. He’d called her Dinah. Not Miss Hubley, but Dinah, with such ease and familiarity she was certain he hadn’t even realized his blunder. The utterance surprised her, thrilled her, and frightened her all at the same time. Unsure how to respond, she blurted, “Should we eat now? My break will be over soon.”
With seeming reluctance, he returned the knife to its box. Then he pulled it out again and slipped it into his right-hand coat pocket. He shoved the box in the left-hand pocket. He looked at Dinah. His gaze dropped to the music box, which she still clutched to her bodice, and a crooked smile creased his cheek. “It’ll be pretty hard to use your fork when you’ve got both hands busy.”
A self-conscious titter escaped her throat. She shifted her knees to make space on the chair seat for the music box. She placed it very gently on the cushion, then lifted her fork. Although the ring was well hidden in its little drawer, she could see it plainly in her mind’s eye. As she took her first bite of now-cold meat loaf and congealed gravy, she tried to imagine how it would look on her hand.
“Only wear it if you are willing to make a commitment to me.” Mr. Ackerman’s sweetly uttered words echoed through her memory. He was a good man. A better man than she’d known could even exist in the world. And he’d given her the ring as his commitment to her. Should she put it on? Doing so would secure her future. She’d never known security, and its pull was strong. Yet her dream of becoming a server—of being recognized as one of Mr. Harvey’s specially chosen girls—also tugged at her.
The respect and admiration she’d been denied all her life waited on one hand. Security and the affection of a good man waited on the other. Which should she choose? She risked a glance at Mr. Ackerman, who sat erect and ate his lunch with proper manners yet also with obvious enjoyment. A smile grew on her face without effort. He was a handsome man pleased by simple things. She found him attractive.
Her eyes drifted to his lips. When he’d touched them to her knuckles the night of the ball, she hadn’t shrunk away. The touch had been so tender, so kind. But she also remembered another man’s lips, and the recollection brought a roll of nausea. What would she do if Mr. Ackerman pressed his lips to her mouth rather than to her hand?
She set her plate aside, her appetite gone. She lowered her gaze to the music box where the painted girl lifted her face to the cardinal. How unburdened and innocent the artist’s rendition appeared. A lump filled Dinah’s throat. Had Mr. Ackerman chosen this box because the picture reminded him of Sam and Gid, or of her? The puppies’ pose and inquisitiveness certainly reflected his pair of pups, but the image held nothing of her. She wasn’t unsullied. She wasn’t carefree. Her dreams reminded her of that truth each night.
But … Her pulse stuttered as an idea crept through her melancholy thoughts. If Mr. Ackerman saw her as innocent, as someone to be desired, then perhaps the admiration she’d been seeking could be found by accepting his ring. Wouldn’t others look upon her differently if they knew Mr. Ackerman had chosen her as his own? Her mother’s poor reputation had impacted others’ views of Dinah. Didn’t it then stand to reason the community’s respect for Mr. Ackerman would trickle over on her? And if others viewed her as such, perhaps her view of herself could be altered, as well.
Excitement trembled through her belly. Respect—and healing from the scars inflicted by the man in Chicago—could be hers … now … by simply placing his ring on her finger. Her hand inched toward the little drawer on the music box, some inner voice prodding her. Put it on, put it on …
“There you are.”
Dinah jumped at the intrusion of Mr. Irwin’s stern voice. The man stood in the doorway with a dark scowl marring his brow. Dinah scrambled to grab her plate and rise without knocking the music box onto the floor.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. We’ve had a calamity, and Miss Mead informs me you might be willing to help bring a speedy resolution.”
Dinah shook her head in confusion. “I’ll do what I can, Mr. Irwin. What is the calamity?”
He folded his arms over his chest. Bold streaks of red colored his cheeks. “I’ve just had to dismiss one of our dining room servers for consorting with a traveling salesman, a clear violation of the rules of conduct. Consequently I need a dining staff server at once. I realize you are not yet eighteen, but given the circumstances and given your thus-far exemplary employment with the Clifton, I believe Mr. Harvey would be willing to make an exception and allow you to assume the position as server immediately.”
He took a deep breath, and the bold red faded to a rosy pink. “Of course, you would be required to sign to a year’s service and abide by the rules outlined in the contract.” The manager’s gaze flitted to Mr. Ackerman and then returned to Dinah. “Are you interested, Miss Hubley, or do I wire Mrs. Walters to request a new server?”
Amos
Amos listened with interest but carefully kept his head angled low so Dinah wouldn’t read any silent messages from his face. A year’s service was a big commitment, and he’d heard about the stringent rules for servers. If she accepted the position, she wouldn’t be able to write to him or spend time with him. Bringing their budding relationship to a halt would pain him. He’d come to treasure her letters and their twice-weekly luncheons. But the job was a good opportunity for Dinah. Better pay and less strenuous work. And Miss Mead had told him long ago it was what Dinah wanted. He wouldn’t blame her if she told the manager yes.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Dinah place her plate on the chair’s seat. Her hands, without hesitation, reached for the music box he’d given her. She opened the little trinket drawer, took out the ring, and slipped it on her finger.
Amos sucked in a sharp breath as his head came up. Had he seen correctly? Yes, the ring sparkled on her finger. He’d chosen one too large—she had to curl her fist to keep it on—but it was there, circling her finger as a symbol of his commitment to her. And hers to him.
He set his plate on the floor and rose. He forced himself to be unselfish. “Are you sure? We have to wait until you’re eighteen anyway. We have to wait until I’ve built my flock. You could work as a server for a year and then …”
Her pale-blue eyes glowed with certainty. She nodded. “I’m sure.” She stepped away from him to address Mr. Irwin. “I appreciate your confidence in me, sir, but I want to keep working as a chambermaid.” Shifting her head, she met Amos’s gaze. A smile of promise appeared on her face. “I don’t want to give up being courted by Mr. Ackerman.”
Amos swallowed. If Mr. Irwin hadn’t been in the room, he’d have swept Dinah into his arms. But he had to satisfy himself by offering her a brief nod of approval. Her
answering smile told him she understood.
Mr. Irwin released a disgruntled huff and threw out his hands in a gesture of frustration. “Very well, Miss Hubley, very well. The three remaining servers will simply have to cope with the extra work until a new server is hired.” He whirled and stormed from the room.
Amos touched Dinah’s shoulder, and she turned to fully face him. He sought words to tell her what her decision meant to him. But nothing seemed enough. So he said simply, “You’ve made me very happy, Miss Hubley.” He smiled, warmth flooding his chest. “Dinah.”
Tears swam in her eyes, brightening her irises. “Merry Christmas, Amos.”
Ruthie
“Merry Christmas, Mama. Merry Christmas, Papa.” Ruthie embraced her parents by turn, then held her arms to her younger brothers and sister. Little Dinah June dove against Ruthie, and Joseph, Timothy, and Cale pushed in for a hug. But she had to pursue Noah, Jonah, and Seth. They complained at her insistence on greeting them with a hug, making her laugh, but inwardly she ached. They were getting so grown up. Seth was already taller than her, and Jonah wasn’t far behind. As much as she relished helping her parents with her salary, she wished she could spend more time with her family. She would savor every minute of this lunch break on Christmas Day.
“We waited for you to open presents!” Dinah June bounced in place, her red ringlets dancing around her rosy cheeks. “Come on!”
Ruthie grabbed up the bag of presents she’d brought and allowed Dinah June to tug her toward the bedraggled tree in the corner of their small parlor. The boys followed in a jostling cluster, and everyone sat on the floor. Ruthie emptied her bag, and Joseph reared back in surprise.
“Lookit ’em all!” Her seven-year-old brother grabbed the closest two packages and showed them to Seth, who sat next to him. “Ruthie must be rich to buy so many presents!”
Mama leaned in, frowning a bit as she surveyed the pile. “My, Ruthie, this is extravagant. I hope you didn’t overextend yourself.”
Through the Deep Waters Page 25