Through the Deep Waters (34 page)

I would like to know more about your family. Will you tell me all about them? What is your favorite food? I know you like dogs and chickens. What other animals do you like?

She’d filled an entire page. Twice the length of her first letter. Satisfied, she folded the sheet into thirds and placed it on the bureau. A twist of the lamp’s key shrunk the wick, and the flame flickered and went out. Tiptoeing, Dinah made her way back to the bed and crawled in, taking care not to bounce the springs or rustle the blankets too much. She held her breath, waiting to see if Ruthie roused. But not even a mumble came from the opposite side of the bed.

Relieved, Dinah relaxed against her pillow and closed her eyes. She deliberately conjured images of Mr. Ackerman—of him sitting straight and attentive beside her on the church bench, of his finger underlining the words in his
Bible as the minister read, of his hand offering his missive to her. She played the pleasant remembrances over and over, hoping they would keep the nightmare at bay when she finally drifted off to sleep.

But they didn’t.

Ruthie

October eased into November. Although winds blew colder as Thanksgiving neared, no snow arrived in Florence. The servers wistfully spoke of the first snow of the season, but Ruthie was grateful for its delay. Last winter she’d spent much time on her hands and knees scrubbing up the muddy footprints left by guests on the hotel’s carpets. She’d rather beat out dust than scrub up mud. Besides, snow made it harder to get to church, her one and only outing each week. She looked forward to that hour of service and the chance to grab a few minutes with her family.

Ruthie had heard about winter doldrums—experiencing melancholy as skies turned gray and the temperatures dipped—but she’d never suffered them until this year. Perhaps, because the holidays were nearing, she missed her family even more and longed for hours of uninterrupted time with Mama, Papa, the boys, and little Dinah who was growing up so fast. Last year she’d at least had Phoebe, and the two of them managed to find reasons to be merry even though they worked on Christmas Day. Certainly some of her sadness came from being separated from the ones she loved. But some of it, she knew, was a continuing battle against envy.

Each time Dinah retrieved a letter from beneath the cushion on the porch chair, Ruthie felt as though someone pierced her soul. When Dinah kept the lamp burning past curfew to write to Mr. Ackerman, Ruthie pulled the covers over her head and plugged her ears against the
scritch-scritch
of pencil on paper while gritting her teeth so tightly her jaw ached. When she observed Dinah reading—or rereading—one of Mr. Ackerman’s messages, the urge to peek over the girl’s shoulder nearly overwhelmed her. She was older than Dinah.
She’d been waiting longer for a beau. Why couldn’t she be the one receiving the attention, the affection, the promise of a family to come?

Then with the arrival of December came a new routine—one which Ruthie found even harder to bear than the exchange of letters between her roommate and the man who continued to pique her interest. Mr. Ackerman began visiting the hotel on Mondays and Thursdays at noon—taking his lunch at the counter. And Dinah always sat with him, as bold as brass, right in front of everyone!

Ruthie knew she shouldn’t grumble. Their innocent lunch meetings didn’t break any rules. Dinah was a chambermaid, not a server, and the chambermaid contract didn’t forbid courtship. But the servers simmered at the blatant display, and Ruthie had to guard against siding with Minnie, Matilda, Lyla, and Amelia. Knowing the servers weren’t allowed the same freedom, shouldn’t Dinah be more considerate? Yet she also knew if Mr. Ackerman were taking the time to lunch with her, she’d seat herself on a stool next to him and engage in conversation as openly and unabashedly as Dinah did.

The Friday before Christmas the first snowflakes of winter fluttered from the sky. Ruthie paused in her cleaning to peer out the window and watch the fluffy bits drift downward to create a lacelike pattern on the brown landscape. So beautiful … A lump filled her throat. The entire hotel was decorated for the season with evergreen boughs and fat red candles and strings of gold and white beads. Everywhere she looked, her eyes met beauty. Yet inside, she was more empty and sad than she’d ever been. What was wrong with her?

“Ruthie?”

Dinah’s voice pulled her attention from the scene outside. She turned to find Dinah framed in the doorway, peeking in. A soft smile curved her lips and brightened her eyes. Ruthie sighed. “What do you want?”

“Would you like to walk into town with me during our lunch break? I need to do some shopping.”

Ruthie stifled a groan. Why hadn’t she stopped to remember Christmas was only days away? She hadn’t purchased any gifts for her family yet. She and Phoebe had exchanged gifts last year, so she should probably buy a little
something for Dinah, too. If she could manage it without Dinah seeing. And maybe letting a few of those fluffy flakes fall on her hair might cheer her a bit. “Yes, I’ll go.”

Joy lit Dinah’s face. “Good. And may I ask a favor of you?”

Ruthie shrugged.

“You have brothers. And a father. So you’d know better than I what a man might like.” The girl’s cheeks flushed as scarlet as if she stood in a frigid wind. She toyed with the shoulder strap of her apron and angled her head downward in a timid pose. “Will you help me choose something appropriate … for Mr. Ackerman?”

Her request bruised Ruthie’s heart. The groan she had held inside escaped. “Oh, Dinah …”

Dinah blinked several times, confusion pinching her brow into furrows. “What?”

Closing her eyes for a moment, Ruthie prayed for guidance. With a sigh she looked at her roommate. “Choosing a gift is a very personal thing. If I were to pick something, it wouldn’t really be from you, would it?”

Her frown remained intact. “But I’d be the one buying the gift. So of course it would be from me.”

Ruthie snatched up her feather duster and set to work, whisking the feathers over the dresser’s surface with a vengeance. “But it wouldn’t be your idea. It should be your idea, Dinah.”

She blew out a heavy breath. “That’s the problem. I don’t have any ideas. Not a single one!”

Ruthie rolled her eyes and aimed the duster at the bed’s ornate headboard. “With all the letters he’s sent, he’s never hinted at what he likes?” Only a fool would miss the sarcasm in her tone.

“No.” Dinah trailed Ruthie, wringing her hands. “Oh, please, Ruthie? I’m sure you’ve bought presents over the years for your father. I’m sure he’s been happy with what you chose. So can’t you help me find something? I don’t want to make a mistake.”

Ruthie paused, her conscience pricking her. Dinah sounded desperate and
near tears. She hung her head. Was she resisting helping because she was jealous that Dinah had reason to purchase a gift for Mr. Ackerman? She searched herself, but she couldn’t discover an honest answer.

Facing Dinah once more, she forced herself to speak kindly. “You’re right that my father has always been pleased with whatever I gave him.” She placed her palm against her bodice. “But he was pleased because he knew I gave from my heart. So the item didn’t matter to him as much as the thought behind it.” She cupped her hand over Dinah’s shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want to choose something without my help? So you’ll know, without doubt, the gift really did come from you?”

Dinah sucked in her lips and stared at Ruthie for several long seconds. Beneath Ruthie’s hand, the girl’s muscles were tense. For a moment, sympathy twined through Ruthie’s chest. She’d never witnessed such turmoil. Maybe she should just tell Dinah what to buy to put her at ease. She started to offer a few suggestions, but Dinah spoke first.

“All right. I’ll pick something. But will you give me your opinion on it? Just in case I … I make a foolish choice?”

She must be the biggest kind of ninny for agreeing to help another girl buy a gift for the man she’d hoped to snag for herself. “Yes, Dinah, I will.”

Dinah

Christmas Eve morning Dinah awakened before dawn, images of the nightmare still floating in the back of her mind like mist over a pond. Eager for sunshine to erase the haunting fog, she slipped from the bed, donned her robe and slippers, then made her way to the outhouse. The cold, crisp air stole her breath momentarily, but the first taste of morning was pleasant on her tongue. She sucked lungfuls of the frigid air, allowing its clean freshness to chase away the ugliness of her dreams.

When she stepped from the outhouse, she caught sight of a flash of red. It took a full second for her brain to recognize what her eyes had seen. But then she smiled at the cardinal darting between the scraggly boughs of a bare lilac bush. Shifting from foot to foot on the frosty ground, she basked in the beauty of the bird’s bright feathers against the plain background. In her Bible reading, she’d encountered the story of God providing quail to feed the children of Israel in the desert. Might God have sent this bird to her this morning to feed her soul? It was a ridiculous thought—why would the mighty God of the universe send something just for her?—but she clung to the idea anyway.

The patter of feet on the hard ground met Dinah’s ears, and the bird shot out of the bush and disappeared around the corner of the hotel. Disappointed, Dinah turned to see who had startled the beautiful red bird into flight. Minnie bustled up the path leading to the outhouse, holding her robe closed at the throat. Minnie was always the last girl to rise and had been late to breakfast more than a dozen times due to her unwillingness to roll out of bed in the
morning. Of all the people to encounter in this predawn hour, Minnie was the last one Dinah expected.

Apparently Minnie hadn’t expected to find anyone else up, either, because when she spotted Dinah, a sour look crossed her face. “You’re up early.” She spoke softly, yet her tone held a hard edge.

“So are you.”

Minnie flicked a glance right and left. “Are you going to stand out here all morning or go inside?”

Stung by the girl’s impatience, Dinah scuttled around her and went inside. Ruthie still slept, so rather than lighting the lamp and dressing, Dinah eased open the door to the wardrobe and took out the gift she’d purchased for Mr. Ackerman. After sinking down on the floor, she laid the slim, leather-covered box in her lap and lifted the lid. Although heavy shadows shrouded the room, the mother-of-pearl inlay on the pocketknife’s handle glowed like a full moon in a black sky.

Dinah ran her finger up and down the smooth mother-of-pearl. The knife came all the way from Sheffield, England, designed and crafted by a man named George Wostenholm. The clerk at Graham and Tucker claimed Wostenholm knives were of the finest quality and would last a lifetime. When Dinah had seen the pearl inlay, as creamy as the shell of an egg, she deemed it the perfect knife for Mr. Ackerman to carry in his pocket.

Ruthie had agreed it was a fine gift, something Mr. Ackerman would certainly enjoy, but she raised her eyebrows at the price. However, Dinah willingly handed over four dollars and twenty-five cents. How could one put a price on the kindness she’d been given from her very first time of meeting him? She owed him a much bigger debt than a four-dollar pocketknife. Now, smiling down at the knife nestled in its protective box, she tried to imagine his face as he opened it. Oh, she hoped he would be pleased with it.

The bedsprings creaked, and then the covers rustled. Moments later Ruthie peered over the edge of the bed, her face scrunched as she squinted through the murky light. “Why are you on the floor again?”

Dinah swallowed a giggle at Ruthie’s sleep-roughened voice. “I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Ruthie’s gaze dropped to the box in Dinah’s lap, and she flopped onto her belly with her head half on, half off the mattress as she continued to stare at the knife. “You should have asked to have that wrapped.”

Dinah replaced the lid and laid both of her palms over the box. She’d allowed the clerk to wrap her other purchases. She accumulated quite a pile by the time she chose something for the servers, Ruthie, each of the members of Ruthie’s family, and the kitchen dishwasher and her two children. But she deliberately left Mr. Ackerman’s gift unadorned by paper and ribbon. He was a no-nonsense man. Frippery seemed out of place for him. Besides, the stamped leather box was too fancy to hide beneath a layer of paper. “It’s fine as it is.”