Through the Deep Waters (24 page)

Amos liked the title the boy had chosen for him. He had nieces and nephews, but in less than a month, he’d gotten better acquainted with this boy than he was with his own family. Sadness tried to wiggle its way through him, but Cale’s sunny countenance chased the gray cloud away.

“This is Timothy Mead. He’s my best pal.”

Amos already knew Timothy, one of Preacher Mead’s passel of children. But he stuck out his hand as if they’d never met, and Timothy gave it a solid shake. Amos asked politely, as he’d been teaching Cale to do, “How are you, Timothy?”

“I’m fine, sir. Thank you.” Timothy proved he’d been taught manners, too.

Cale went on in his booming voice. “An’ guess what? His sister Ruthie works at the hotel—she’s the one I think you should marry.”

The three mothers broke into titters. Amos pushed himself to his feet, rocking the wagon. He caught the handle. “We’d better head back now, Cale. Good-bye, Timothy.”

“ ’Bye,” Timothy said, backtracking in short, quick steps and waving. “See ya Sunday, Cale.”

Halfway across town and well away from the others, Amos shot Cale a stern frown. “Listen, Cale, I’ll have no more talk about me getting married. Especially in front of other people.” The women’s laughter echoed in his memory, and such heat filled his face he wondered if smoke rose from his scalp.

Cale scowled in confusion. “But why? You’re old enough. Don’t ya wanna marry up with some nice girl? Timothy says his sister’s real nice. He thinks it’d be fine if you an’ her—”

“It isn’t up to Timothy.” Amos spoke firmly, hoping to quell the boy. “Getting married is a personal decision. I have to choose for myself.”

“So why not choose Ruthie?”

Amos tried to think of an answer that would satisfy the persistent boy, but none came. As Cale had said, Ruthie was a nice girl. A pretty one, too. Being a preacher’s daughter, she’d have been raised right, and she didn’t seem put off by his bum leg. There were several good reasons for him to choose Ruthie, but he had his heart set on someone else. However, he wasn’t going to tell Cale and have the boy blab it to everyone in the schoolyard. Amos bit his tongue and stayed silent. Maybe refusing to answer would convince Cale to give up on the topic of him marrying Ruthie.

They stepped off the Main Street boardwalk and headed for the railroad tracks. Cale skipped ahead a few feet and walked sideways so he could look Amos straight in the face. “Didn’t ya hear me? What’s wrong with Ruthie, Uncle Amos? Huh?”

Amos sighed. He should know by now Cale wasn’t easily quelled. He stopped and balled his hand on his hip. “I think you’re a little young for this, but since you won’t stop asking, I will tell you. I don’t love Ruthie. A man shouldn’t marry someone just because he’s old enough to get married or because the girl is nice. A man should get married because he loves the woman and wants to build a life with her. Not only should a man love a woman before he takes her as his wife, but he should have the means to provide for her. I still have work to do before I can provide for a wife and a family.” Longing nearly doubled him over.
Someday soon, Lord, please?
He finished in a quieter voice. “When I’m ready, I’ll decide who I should marry.”

Cale’s face pinched into a scowl. “How will you know?”

“How will I know what?”

“How will you know when you’re ready?”

Amos knew how to answer this question. “When the good Lord says so.” A picture of Dinah Hubley as she’d knelt beside the wagon, laughing at the puppies, flooded his memory. How sweet she looked, how gently she stroked their little heads. Wouldn’t she gaze down just as tenderly at a baby? He closed his eyes, imagining her cradling an infant in her arms.

Cale tugged at his sleeve. “Uncle Amos? Uncle Amos?”

With effort, Amos forced himself to focus on Cale. “What?”

Worry furrows formed across the boy’s forehead. “When will the good Lord tell you? Will it be soon?”

Amos swallowed as the image of Dinah faded. “I don’t know.”

Cale stomped his foot. “Well, He’s gotta hurry. ’Cause if you don’t get married soon, I’m not gonna be able to stay with you. An’ I don’t wanna go someplace else.”

Amos put his hand on Cale’s shoulder, the sheriff’s visit fresh in his memory, and spoke gently. “As I told you before, that isn’t up to us. We have to let the New York preacher decide where you’re to live.”

Cale knocked Amos’s hand aside and took a giant step away from him. “You don’t care if I go away.”

This surprise was greater than the first one. Hadn’t he already proved to Cale how much he cared about him? He’d been feeding him, sheltering him, helping him with his homework, and even bought a second pair of clothes for him to wear. “Of course I do.”

“No, you don’t, or you’d do what you have to so I can stay. Well … well …” Cale raised his fists and glared at Amos. “Then I don’t care, neither!” He took off running.

“Cale!” Amos grabbed the wagon handle and bolted after the boy in his hop-skip jog, but with two sturdy legs and no encumbrances, Cale outdistanced Amos within a few minutes. Grunting with irritation, he allowed himself to slow his pace. He’d reach home eventually and Cale would be waiting. Maybe by then the boy would have settled down enough for them to talk reasonably. Amos didn’t know being a father could be so difficult. As he walked,
he prayed for wisdom to know how to best handle Cale’s anger, which he suspected was based on fear and disappointment. He’d do his best to be patient with the boy.

When he was less than a half mile from his house and his aching hip was shortening his stride, he heard Cale’s frantic voice calling his name. Alarm sent chills across his frame. He released the wagon and broke into his clumsy trot. Cale came running, his face wet with tears and his eyes wide with horror. He fell into Amos’s arms, pulling him to his knees. The boy sobbed against Amos’s chest.

He tugged the boy loose and held him by the shoulders. “What is it, Cale? What’s wrong?”

Shaking with sobs, Cale choked out, “There was a big dog in the pen! I chased him off, but the chickens—they’re … they’re dead!”

Amos

The sun was setting, igniting streaks of bold pink and yellow in the pale sky by the time Amos buried the last of the dead birds near the row of hedge apple trees at the far edge of his property. Cale, his anger forgotten in the face of tragedy, sat off to the side with Samson and Gideon tucked beneath his arms, watching Amos pat the soil smooth. Although his sobs had faded, silent tears continued to roll down his cheeks.

Amos’s heart ached. For the boy, who was so distraught. For the poor chickens, who’d been helpless against the attack of the dog. And even for himself. Such a loss … Thirteen dead birds, including the feisty rooster. It could have been worse. A pack of dogs might have wiped out his entire flock. The dog could have turned on Cale instead of running away. But Amos found it difficult to be grateful in light of what had been taken from him. Why hadn’t he put the birds in the chicken house before leaving?

Propping the shovel on his shoulder, he turned to Cale. “That’s the last of them. Let’s go back to the house.”

With a heavy sigh, Cale rose and scuffed along beside Amos, his shoulders slumping. Samson and Gideon seemed to reflect the humans’ sadness, plodding rather than frisking, their ears drooping and their heads held low.

Cale followed Amos into the barn and watched him return the shovel to its hook on the wall. He trailed Amos to the roosts, his chin bumping Amos’s elbow as he checked to be sure the eggs were still beneath the softly clucking hens. Then, so close the toes of his boots nearly touched Amos’s heels, Cale followed him to the house. Inside, the boy got in the way while Amos prepared
a simple supper, but he didn’t scold. Cale needed comfort, and Amos needed it, too. So they took solace from each other’s company. Not until they’d finished eating and were washing their plates did Cale finally speak.

“Uncle Amos, Sam an’ Gid are dogs, an’ they don’t kill chickens. Why’d that dog do it?”

Amos’s chest grew tight. “I don’t know, Cale.” He wished he had a better answer. A fox or other wild animal would have taken one and would have eaten it, leaving only feathers behind. But not one of the birds had been eaten. Just killed. Out of sport? Or meanness? He didn’t understand why the animal had attacked his flock, but right after he deposited Cale at school tomorrow, he intended to hunt it down and keep it from attacking anyone else’s barnyard creatures. He said, more bitterly than he intended, “Why do animals or people choose to do hurtful things? I suppose only God knows the answer to questions like this.”

Cale hung his head. “I didn’t even like that big ol’ rooster. But it still makes me sad he’s dead.”

For the second time that day, Cale moved into Amos’s arms. He didn’t cry but just clung, his face pressed against Amos’s chest. He held him for as long as he wanted, and then when the boy finally pulled back, Amos gave his skinny shoulders a gentle pat. “Go to bed now. Things will look brighter in the morning.”

Cale tipped his head and gave Amos a pleading look. “Can Sam an’ Gid sleep in here with me tonight?”

Every night Cale had asked the same question, and every night Amos had refused. He didn’t want the pups thinking the house was their domain. But tonight he said, “Go get them.” And Cale dashed off.

While Cale slept, Amos sat at the table, sipped strong coffee, and contemplated the setback the wild dog had created with its rampage. Nine of the dead birds were hens of laying age. It would take months before the eggs in the brooding roosts hatched and the chickens grew large enough to produce eggs. If at least nine of the hatchlings were girls, he’d be able to replace the lost hens, but he wouldn’t gain more layers to meet the needs of the hotel kitchen.

And, his thoughts continued as a bitter ache settled in his chest, it meant postponing providing for a family.

“Why, God?” He whispered the question in the quiet room. He listened for a long time, but no answer came.

Dinah

No, no, please … Not again …
Dinah awakened with a soft moan, her body drenched in sweat. She blinked into the dark room, confused and frightened, her heart thumping at twice its normal rhythm. She was in Florence in her room at the Clifton Hotel, not in the room at the fancy hotel in Chicago. She was
safe
. Safe …

She worked so hard each day—deliberately worked herself to exhaustion. Worked hard to prove herself worthy, and worked hard so she wouldn’t have to
think
. During the daytime hours she mostly managed to keep the images at bay, but at night—oh, at night—they crept back to haunt her and rob her of the rest she needed.

Beside her, Ruthie slept soundly, unaware of Dinah’s turmoil. If only she possessed the ability to remain peacefully asleep all through the night. She’d sometimes been troubled by nightmares as a child, and she learned to roll into a tight ball and whisper comforting words in the darkness until she calmed herself. But here she didn’t dare tuck up her knees the way she had in her younger years—the bed was so narrow she’d surely bump Ruthie and waken her. She couldn’t whisper to herself, either, without Ruthie hearing. So Dinah forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. Eventually the wild thump in her chest calmed and her body ceased to tremble.

Tired but afraid she’d return to the same place she’d just left behind, she lay with her eyes wide open. Bits and snatches of the dream continued to play in her mind’s eye—disjointed images of a leering face, accompanied by feelings of helplessness, terror, and pain. Her heart begged for freedom from the ugly memories. When,
when
would they finally leave her for good?

Ruthie mumbled, a soft mutter ending with a sigh. Dinah blinked back tears. Obviously Ruthie’s dreams were pleasant ones. But why shouldn’t they be? Ruthie had grown up as part of a loving family in a small town where no brothels tempted men to squander their time and money. Everything Dinah had ever wanted—two parents, siblings, a happy home—Ruthie had always had. In that moment Dinah envied Ruthie with such ferocity she nearly forgot to breathe. Why did good come to some people and not to others? Why did she have to be one of the “others”?