“No.” Amos jammed the wadded note into his pocket and took two clumsy steps toward the stairs.
She moved into his pathway, as stealthy as a panther. “She would welcome you.”
The memory of Dinah dashing across the floor toward him, her face bright with happiness, stabbed him with fresh pain. Amos set his jaw.
“She never smiles. She hardly eats. And every night she cries.”
Amos closed his eyes. He wanted to close his ears, too, his heart aching at the image Miss Mead’s words painted. But was Dinah’s anguish over losing his affections, or was it only because she’d been found out?
Miss Mead went on in a quiet voice. “She’s so … broken, Mr. Ackerman. I don’t know what happened between you, but I know she’s sorry. Every night I listen to her proclaim apologies in her dreams. And her dreams … She’s had night terrors before, but now they must be especially awful, the way she moans and thrashes about.” She released the broom with one hand and reached toward Amos. Her fingers descended on his sleeve, the touch gentle. “At the end of the month, Mr. Irwin is sending her to train as a server. If she goes, you won’t see her again. Are you sure you—”
He sidestepped past her, ignoring the sorrowful look in her eyes that reminded him too much of the pleading look Dinah had turned on him New Year’s Eve. “It’s better this way. It’s what she’d wanted all along. Tell her I … wish her well.”
Miss Mead sighed, her breath forming a little cloud of condensation that billowed, then dissolved. A bitter thought entered his mind—If only feelings could dissipate so easily. She trailed him to the stairs, dragging the broom behind her like a deflated balloon on the end of a string. As he grabbed the handle on his wagon, she spoke again.
“If you need to talk to someone, you can call on me.” A hint of a smile tipped up the corners of her full lips. “Even though I’m often berated for talking too much, I’m also a good listener. So if you need a friend …”
Amos nodded a thank-you. “I’ll think about it, Miss Mead. Good-bye now.” He took off in his hitching hop-skip, eager to escape. His breath came in puffs, his ears stinging from pushing himself into the wind. A half mile up the road, he finally slowed his pace. He paused and looked back at the cluster of rooftops and the recognizable turret of the Clifton Hotel standing tall and proud. The farther he got from town, the deeper his loneliness grew. All he had waiting at home were two dogs and a henhouse full of clucking chickens.
“If you need a friend,” Miss Mead had said. He needed a friend. Even more than a friend, he needed a helpmeet and a family. Cale had come and then gone. He’d sent Dinah away. In their stead they’d left gaping holes that begged to be filled. He chewed the inside of his lip and pondered whether someone else—perhaps Miss Mead—could fill the emptiness inside.
Amos
Broken … As Amos went about his work during the weeks of January, the word Miss Mead had used to describe Dinah continually rolled through the back of his mind. His limp was more pronounced with the descent of cold, damp weather. Perhaps his lurching gait contributed to him not being able to set aside the ugly word. Whatever the reason, just as the ache in his hip was always with him, the reference clung to him and refused to let go.
He knew too well how it felt to be broken—unfixable. Compassion tried to stir to life in his heart for Dinah’s brokenness, but he stubbornly refused to let it flare. His brokenness and hers were different. He had done nothing to deserve his broken state—he’d only been a young boy, daydreaming a bit as he’d followed his father’s instruction to walk alongside the hay wagon and fork straw into its bed. Brokenness had been thrust upon him, but she had chosen to sell her body and then pretend to be chaste. Whatever sorrow she now experienced was a consequence of her choices. If she were broken, it was the result of her own doing, not his. So why did he feel sorry for her? The constant pondering left him unsettled and edgy.
He entered the barn early the Sunday after his birthday to grind dried corn to feed the chickens before leaving for service. Samson and Gideon roused from their sleeping spot beneath the egg wagon and dashed at him, releasing yips of happiness. Gideon danced around Amos’s feet, his stubby tail wagging so quickly it became a blur. Samson, the more reckless of the pair, leaped against Amos’s legs.
Amos grabbed the top rail of a stall to keep from falling, then aimed a swat at the dog’s speckled hindquarters. “Samson, bad dog! Down!”
With a whine Samson crept away, head low and little tail tucked downward. Gideon backed away, too, looking at his master in confusion. Amos watched the pair huddle together at a safe distance, both keeping watchful eyes pinned on him. Unbidden, two pictures formed in his mind—one of Dinah’s delighted expression when he’d entered the chambermaids’ parlor on New Year’s Eve followed by her stricken face when he’d confronted her about her indecency.
He shook his head, and the images of Dinah fled as he focused again on Sam and Gid. He groaned. What was he doing, getting angry with the dogs when they were only happy to see him? Propping one hand on his knee, he bent down and offered his palm to the cowering dogs.
“C’mere, boys. I’m sorry. I’m glad to see you, too.”
After a moment Gideon’s tail gave a hesitant wag, and then the dog rushed to Amos. He swiped Amos’s hand with his tongue, his multicolored eyes losing their apprehension. Samson required a little more coaxing, but finally he, too, offered forgiveness by licking Amos’s hand and placing his paw on Amos’s knee.
Although he needed to see to the chickens’ feed, Amos spent several minutes scratching the dogs’ ears, rubbing their bellies, and speaking kindly to them until he felt sure he’d made up for his shortness. Finally he pushed to his feet, stumbling a bit as he rose, and limped to the corn grinder. While he fed ears of dried corn into the spout of the grinder and turned the crank, his thoughts moved ahead to the church service.
He’d skipped last week, unwilling to risk seeing Dinah, but he couldn’t stay away forever. In the tenth chapter of Hebrews, believers were cautioned not to avoid gathering together for worship. He should go. But would Dinah be in attendance? If so, would she sit on their bench? His chest tightened, slowing his hand on the crank, as he contemplated what he would do if he found her waiting there.
The dogs’ growls caught his attention, and he shifted his gaze from the stream of ground meal filling the bucket to their playful wrestling match. He wanted to smile at their antics, but only sadness filled him. They’d forgiven him and forgotten his harsh treatment already and returned to joyful romping.
As he watched the dogs, a memory rose from long ago. He’d come home, upset at being deliberately left behind when other youngsters trotted off to the swimming hole. Ma let him spout his anger, and then she put her arms around him and advised, “Forgive them. They were thoughtless, but harboring anger won’t hurt them. It will only hurt you. So forgive them and free yourself from the chains of resentment.” At the time, Amos hadn’t wanted to do anything more than feed his anger, but at his mother’s kind counsel, he agreed to forgive.
He put his hand to work again. As he finished grinding the corn, he pondered what Ma would say about Dinah. Would she advise him to forgive, or would she think he was justified in holding a grudge? He knew Ma well enough to know she’d quote Scripture, just as she’d always done when admonishing her children. In this situation she’d probably recite Luke 17:3 or Ephesians 4:32. He knew the verses by heart, and thinking of them now raised a prickle of guilt.
No, he wouldn’t tell Ma. But could he talk to Preacher Mead? This burden of sorrow and hurt weighed him down. He wanted freedom. And the preacher would probably tell him the only way to be free was to choose to forgive. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t! How could anyone forgive such a grievous slight as had been perpetrated on him?
With a grunt of aggravation, he grabbed up the bucket of meal and hurried to the chicken house as fast as his bad leg would allow. He scattered the meal for the chickens, then headed for the house. Inside, he dress
ed for service. His Bible waited on the fireplace mantel, and as he reached for it, his fingers brushed the brown-and-amber rock. He froze for a moment, his unblinking gaze refusing to move from the reminder of Dinah’s thick, wavy hair.
Gritting his teeth, he curled his fist around the rock, tromped clumsily across the floor, and flung the door wide. He drew back his arm and prepared to throw the rock as far as his strength would allow. But as his muscles tensed, another scripture winged through his mind. “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her”—Jesus’s words to the men preparing to stone the woman caught in adultery. One by one, in recognition of their own trespasses, the men had dropped their rocks and walked away.
Amos’s hand clenched and unclenched on the rock. Should he let it fly … or let it fall? One action denoted condemnation, the other compassion. Which was an appropriate response? For long seconds he stood poised on the threshold, his arm in position. Every muscle in his body ached with tension. Cold air lifted strands of his hair and sent chills through his frame. Behind him, the logs in the fire popped and crackled. Beneath the buttons of his shirt, his heart pounded with ferocity.
Condemnation … or compassion?
His fingers tightened on the rock until it cut his palm. A trickle of warm blood dripped from his clenched fist and formed two dark blotches on the floorboards. Amos stared at the blots. Jesus had possessed the grace to forgive even those who pierced His hands with nails and mocked Him as He hung on the cross.
An anguished growl built in Amos’s chest. He clutched the rock to his pounding heart and stepped onto the porch. Looking skyward, he railed, “I loved her! You let me love her. You let me imagine bringing her here. You let me dream of working together, forming a family, becoming as one. She betrayed me, but …” A sob wrenched from his throat, and he shook the fist holding the rock at the heavens. “But You betrayed me, too.”
His face set in a snarl, he brought back his arm and threw the rock with such force he lost his balance and fell to his hands and knees on the rough porch boards. Splinters needled into his palms. He hissed at the throbbing pain, but at the same time he welcomed it. Because for a few minutes he could focus on physical discomfort rather than the deep bruises on his heart. For a few minutes he could forget his resentment toward the One he’d always trusted and the one he’d grown to love. For a while—albeit a short while—he might experience a breath of peace.
Ruthie
At the end of her father’s closing prayer, Ruthie separated herself from her siblings and darted onto the raised dais where Papa was gathering his Bible and sermon notes. She caught hold of his hand. “Would you hitch the team and give me a ride back to the hotel today?”
Papa offered a mild scowl—his thoughtful look. “Will your employer mind if you don’t ride back with the others? The Clifton’s manager has been very kind allowing you to take off time each Sunday for service. I don’t want to take advantage of his kindness by delaying your return.”
“If I send a message with the others so Mr. Irwin knows and I get my work done on time, he won’t mind. I’ve done it before.”
Papa’s scowl deepened, indicating disapproval. “You have?”
Ruthie held up both hands in a gesture of innocence. “Only one time, Papa.” Recalling her walk through town with Mr. Ackerman, she felt her lips twitch into a smile despite the worries she carried. “But I need to talk to you. Please?”
His expression softened. He cupped her cheek and gave a nod. “I’ll tell your mother to go ahead and serve the children their dinner. Let the others know I’m taking you back, and then wait for me out front. I’ll be there shortly.”
Ruthie watched the hotel carriage roll away, then paced in front of the church while waiting for her father. How would Papa respond to the question that had plagued her since last week when Mr. Ackerman had rejected reconciling with Dinah? So often she’d heard Papa and Mama say “God works in mysterious ways” when situations seemed dismal from one viewpoint yet proved to be a blessing from another. Would Dinah’s heartache be Ruthie’s opportunity for happiness? She needed to know, and she trusted Papa would have an agreeable answer.
The rattle of a wagon’s wheels alerted her to her father’s approach, and she darted to the edge of the street to meet him. As she settled herself on the high seat, she said, “I hope Mama doesn’t feel slighted that I didn’t ask to talk to her. But I don’t need a parent right now. I need my minister.”
Papa shifted the lap robe to cover her, as well, and then he flicked the reins. As the wagon rolled forward, he made a little harrumph sound in his throat, then spoke in a stiff, formal tone. “Well, then, Miss Mead, with what may I assist you today?”
Ruthie sighed. “Please don’t tease. This is serious.”
Papa squeezed her knee through the thick layers of the lap robe. “I’m sorry. I suppose I feel a little awkward treating you as one of my parishioners rather than one of my children. But I’ll do my best. Now, what is on your mind?”
Hunkering into her coat, Ruthie turned slightly to face her father. “Do you recall what you told me at Christmastime when I was upset because Mr. Ackerman gave Dinah a ring?”
“I told you to consider their pledge God’s way of sending you in a different direction.”
Grateful she didn’t need to waste precious time reminding him of their conversation, she gave an eager nod. “That’s right. But something happened at New Year’s—Dinah and Mr. Ackerman broke their pledge. She isn’t wearing his ring anymore, and he isn’t interested in trying to reconcile with her. So I began to wonder …” She bit her lip. She’d been taught from her earliest memories it was more blessed to give than to receive. Being selfish was not acceptable in her family. Her question might very well be perceived as selfish, but she had to know. She looked into her father’s face. “Did they break their pledge because God wants Mr. Ackerman to pursue me instead?”
Ruthie held her breath in anticipation of his response, but Papa didn’t reply. The wagon rolled on toward the hotel, the horses’ hoofbeats and the wheels’ crunch against the hard dirt road filling Ruthie’s ears. In moments they’d be at the Clifton and she’d get down and go to work. If Papa didn’t answer quickly, she’d face another week of worry and wondering. She wriggled, nervousness and eagerness combining to make her want to climb out of her skin as she waited.
Papa guided the horses in front of the hotel, then pulled back on the reins. He set the brake, wrapped the reins around the handle, and finally turned to face Ruthie. Her heart pattered in hopeful double beats. Papa said, “I don’t know.”
Ruthie’s breath whooshed out. Disappointment sagged her shoulders. “But, Papa, you’re a preacher. You should know!”
“Now, Ruthie …” Mild reproach flickered in Papa’s eyes. “I’m only a man, not God. I teach His Word, yes, but I can’t presume to know His inner workings and reasons.”
Ruthie fought tears. She’d been so certain Papa would offer direction. She was as aimless now as she’d been for the past two weeks. Her thoughts poured out in a bitter torrent. “I’m happy to help you and Mama, but I don’t want to be a chambermaid forever. I want a family, like you and Mama have. I want to be a wife and a mother. I want a godly man to love me. If you, as a preacher, don’t know if Mr. Ackerman is the man God has chosen for me, then how can I know what I’m supposed to do?”
Papa slipped his arm around Ruthie. “I can’t tell you whether this conflict between Mr. Ackerman and Miss Hubley is meant to bring you and Mr. Ackerman together, but Matthew 6:33 tells us, ‘Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.’ ” Papa’s fingers closed over Ruthie’s shoulder, his touch comforting and encouraging. “You want a husband and a family. Those are normal desires for a young woman. But could it be you are so intent on gaining what you want that you’ve lost sight of what your soul needs most?”
She blinked rapidly, determined not to break down and cry like a little girl. “Wh
at does my soul need, Papa?”
“What every soul needs. Right relationship with God.” Papa smiled gently, and the tears Ruthie had tried so hard to squelch rolled down her cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumb as he went on. “Seek Him and His righteousness, my darling daughter, instead of pursuing your own wants. He will fulfill you in ways no human relationship could. When you put Him first in your life, before beaus and jobs and motherhood, then all else can fall into place. And only then will you be at peace with yourself and with others. Do you understand?”
“I think so.” She affected a frustrated pout. “But it’s so hard, Papa …”
He chuckled. “Those things that are most beneficial to us generally are. But they are also worth the effort.”
She sniffled and rubbed her gloved finger under her nose. “I have to go to work.”
“Then you’d better climb down.”
Ruthie propped her hands on the edge of the seat in readiness to descend, but then she whirled and impulsively threw herself into her father’s arms.
He squeezed her hard before setting her aside. “Go on now. Your mother and I will continue to pray for your pathway. God will lead you when the time is right, Ruthie. Turn your heart to Him and have faith.”
“Yes, Papa.” She hesitated, uncertain whether she should share her other concern with her father. She might be breaking a confidence. But if she thought of him as Preacher Mead instead of Papa, then it should be all right. “Papa, Dinah has horrible nightmares—nearly every night. I’ve asked her to talk to you, but she won’t do it. I think she’s afraid of saying it all out loud. Lately they’ve been even worse.” Ruthie gave a little start as she realized Dinah’s night terrors had become more severe at the same time she’d stopped wearing Mr. Ackerman’s ring. Confusion smote Ruthie. She finished lamely, “Will you pray for her, too?”
Through the Deep Waters Page 29