Through the Deep Waters (38 page)

Feeling as though she walked through waist-deep water, Dinah moved slowly, painstakingly, toward the chair and picked up the Bible. No longer hungry, she set the sandwich aside, curled in the seat, and opened the Book again. She read the chapter in its entirety. And when she finished, the words swam on the page as tears filled her eyes. Perhaps some would say the story ended well, with the defiler and his entire clan punished by death, but the ending gave Dinah no satisfaction.

Where was the happily ever after? All that remained at the close of the tale was a woman defiled, her reputation permanently ruined. Brothers with blood on their hands. A father now fearing revenge against his entire family. Knowing what had happened to the Bible-Dinah, even though her brothers defended her, made her heart ache. Why had Amos mentioned the woman in the Bible named Dinah?

When she saw him Thursday, she would ask him if he thought the brothers had been right to kill an entire clan because of one man’s vile act. She would ask if he thought Dinah, who had been defiled, ever recovered from the harm inflicted upon her. She would ask—

She sat upright, shaking her head. No, she wouldn’t ask about the Bible-Dinah. Because if she talked about the woman in the Bible who’d been defiled, she would surely cry, and Amos would wonder why she’d been moved so deeply. He might guess she really asked about herself. He might react the way Bible-Dinah’s brothers had—seeking revenge. And she couldn’t bear to see her gentle, loving beau stirred to such anger and hatred.

So she wouldn’t ask. She would bury the knowledge of the Bible-Dinah the way she tried to bury the memories of her time in the hotel in Chicago. She hugged the Bible and closed her eyes against a fierce sting of tears. She would
remember Dinah’s defilement—she would remember her own defilement—no more.

In the nights following Christmas, Dinah’s dreams changed. No longer only reliving terrifying moments from her own experience, she became a helpless witness to Bible-Dinah’s attack. She would awaken crying, riddled with guilt at her inability to save the poor woman from pain and suffering.

Ruthie had begged Dinah to share her dreams—“Mama always told me, once you say out loud what’s frightening you, it will lose its power over you.”

Dinah was tempted. She longed to be free of the horrible nightmares. But she didn’t want to put the pictures into Ruthie’s head. So she suffered in silence.

On Thursday heavy snows fell, carried on a strong wind that kept everyone holed up inside. Amos didn’t come for their lunch meeting, and although Dinah hadn’t expected him to make his way into town in such frigid conditions, she missed her hour with him. By Sunday the snow had cleared, but a guest rented the buggy the girls used for transportation to church and the ground was too mucky for them to walk. Ruthie moped all day over missing the service and the minutes of time with her family, adding to Dinah’s doldrums.

Monday, New Year’s Eve, Dinah hurried to the lunch counter at noon, almost desperate to see Amos, only to receive a message from one of the luncheon-counter workers that he couldn’t meet with her. He’d had to hurry back to the farm with a little coal-oil stove he hoped would keep the newest batch of chicks from freezing. When she found a letter anchored beneath one leg of the chair on the porch—they’d stored the cushions during the winter months—she was cheered. Until she unfolded it and realized the damp porch boards had caused the ink to run. She couldn’t read most of the message, and she spent the remainder of the day mourning not only her lost hour with Amos, but also the lost words from him.

The hotel hosted a New Year’s Eve dance for the townspeople of Florence
to welcome the year 1884, and both Ruthie and Dinah were released to attend. Dinah had no desire to go to a party—she wasn’t in a festive mood—but Ruthie’s parents would be there, so Ruthie eagerly donned the dress she’d worn to the Calico Ball and asked Dinah to fashion her hair.

As Dinah pinned Ruthie’s wavy red-gold locks into a mass of curls on top of her head, Ruthie said, “Why don’t you come, too, Dinah? It would do you good, I think, to have a little fun.”

Dinah shook her head.

Ruthie’s green-eyed gaze begged Dinah from the mirror’s reflection. “Not even for an hour or so? You wouldn’t have to dance. Except maybe with my papa.”

She’d promised herself to Amos, and she wouldn’t dance with anyone else, not even Ruthie’s father. “No, thank you.”

Ruthie caught Dinah’s hand. “But if you dance with Papa, you can talk to him. About your night terrors.”

Dinah tried to withdraw her hand, but Ruthie held tight.

“Papa is a minister. He’s a very good listener. And he gives wonderful advice. He could help you stop having the bad dreams.”

“Ruthie …” Dinah nearly groaned her roommate’s name. How could she convince Ruthie to let her be? Ruthie thought her father could solve any problem, but the only person who could help Dinah was Amos. He was her beau—her rescuer. Surely the severity of her dreams these past few days were because she hadn’t seen him for a week. She needed to stockpile good memories with him so the ugly memories would be forced out of her mind. Talking to Preacher Mead would be a useless frittering of time. She needed only Amos.

Ruthie tugged on Dinah’s hand. “I really think you should—”

Dinah slipped free of Ruthie’s grasp and picked up another hairpin. “You go. Enjoy your time with your folks. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Ruthie set her lips in a grim line and sat quiet and still while Dinah finished her hair. When Dinah secured the last pin and turned away from the dressing table, Ruthie said, “What will you do this evening if you don’t go to the party?”

Dinah shrugged. “I’ll probably spend the evening in our parlor in case someone rings the beckon-me bell. We do have guests in the hotel, you know.”

Ruthie heaved a mighty sigh. “Well, I don’t mind telling you I feel guilty going to a party when you plan to work.” An impish smile crept up her cheek. “But I don’t feel guilty enough to skip the celebration.” She opened a little drawer on the dressing table and took out the locket Dinah had given her for Christmas. She slipped the chain over her head, then gave the mirror a peek. “Perfect.”

She fingered the oval locket, her expression turning pensive. “Who knows? Maybe tonight I’ll meet the man whose photograph will go inside this locket someday.” She spun and captured Dinah in an impulsive embrace. Taken by surprise, Dinah didn’t have time to stiffen before Ruthie released her and crossed to the door. She flashed a quick smile over her shoulder. “By the time I get in, you’ll probably be asleep, so I’ll say happy New Year now.”

Dinah echoed, “Happy New Year.” But her voice held little gaiety.

Ruthie clicked the door closed behind her, and her pattering footsteps receded. Dinah waited until she was certain Ruthie had made it down the stairs before collecting her writing paper and pencil and scuffing to the door. For a moment, she considered putting on her Calico Ball dress and going to the party after all. Just to watch. Then she shook her head. If Amos couldn’t be there, she didn’t want to be there. She’d only be lonely without him. She’d do as she’d told Ruthie.

As she headed downstairs and through the hallway to the chambermaids’ parlor, she reasoned she’d likely have a quiet evening. The desk clerk indicated only two people had checked into the hotel that day. With the holidays upon them, most people were staying home rather than traveling. She’d write a bit to Amos and maybe turn in early. Her body gave an involuntary jerk as she remembered that going to sleep meant the possibility of another nightmare. She shuddered. No, she’d keep herself awake as long as possible. Maybe even until the chimes announced midnight. Then, if she were very lucky, she’d be too tired to dream.

She sat in the chair in the corner, laid the paper across her knee, and began to write.

My dear Amos
,

It is New Year’s Eve, and the town is celebrating with a party. If you were in attendance, I would be at the party, too, like Ruthie and many of the townspeople. But you aren’t here, and I don’t want to go without you. So instead I will write you a letter. Writing to you is almost as good as talking to you. It makes me less lonely
.

With a start she realized she didn’t feel quite as alone with thoughts of him filling her mind. Smiling, she bent over the page again.

I hope the stove you bought is keeping the chicks warm. It must not be a very large stove if you carted it home in your wagon. But chicks are so tiny they probably don’t need a large stove for warmth. Have you trained Samson and Gideon to cuddle with the chicks and help keep them warm? I think smart dogs like Sam and Gid could learn just about anything. Even being kind to baby chickens
.

Since you haven’t been able to get into town easily, are the eggs—

A light “ahem” intruded. Startled, Dinah jerked, and the pencil lead left a thick mark on the page. Sucking in a breath of aggravation, she set the paper and pencil aside and turned to see who had disturbed her. But the person framed in the doorway wasn’t Mr. Irwin, one of the hotel employees, or even a guest. Her heart gave a happy leap, and she dashed toward the door.

“Amos!”

Amos

Dinah stopped just short of reaching him. Amos would have welcomed her leaping into his arms, but the expression of delight on her face was reward enough for making the long, chilly trek to town. How could he end this year without one more glimpse of her sweet face? The ache in his hip, the pain in his ears, toes, and fingers from the biting wind were a small price to pay to have pleased her so much.

He smiled and stretched out one hand, which she gripped between both of her palms. The warmth of her flesh felt good against his wind-chilled fingers. “Happy New Year, Dinah.”

“Oh, happy New Year to you, Amos.” Her voice trickled out, carried on a soft sigh. “I didn’t know you were coming. This is a wonderful surprise.”

The way she clung to his hand was a wonderful surprise for him. Although he often reached for her, to cup her hand or graze her arm with his fingertips, she usually scurried away from his touch. He admired her restraint, while at the same time he longed for signs of affection. But she held to him now, and his ring sparkled on her finger. Both promised him that one day, when they had become man and wife—and such a day it would be!—she would respond differently to his affectionate advances.

“I came to take you to the New Year’s Eve party.” He glanced across her uniform, and his spirits sank. “But you must be working.”

She released him and took a dainty backward step. “Mr. Irwin told both Ruthie and me we could go to the party, but I didn’t want to go without you.”

Her statement made his heart sing.

“So I decided to stay in my uniform. If you’re willing to wait, I’ll run upstairs and change into my ball dress.”

“I’ll wait.”

She inched toward the door. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

Amos would wait hours if need be. “Take whatever time you need. I’ll be here when you come down.”

She flashed a grateful smile and grabbed the doorframe as if to propel herself into the hallway. “Good! I’ll—” The clatter of a bell sounded from somewhere up the hall. Dinah gave a little stomp and pursed her lips into a scowl. “Oh, pooh, there’s a beckon-me bell. I need to see to a guest.”

Her reaction tickled him, and he stifled a chuckle. “Well, go ahead and take care of it.” Consternation marred her brow. He added, “We’ll have the whole evening together.” He intended to stay until midnight so he could start the new year with Dinah at his side.

With a sigh she rounded the corner. Curious to see her at work and unwilling to let her out of his sight after their long week apart, Amos followed, keeping a few yards’ distance between them. The bell jangled again, more loudly, and Dinah sped into a little trot. When she halted outside a door, he stopped, shifting to lean against the opposite wall where he had a good view, and watched her flick her apron smooth, tuck a wayward curl behind her ear, and finally give a few taps with the brass door knock.