Through the Deep Waters (50 page)

Dinah

Dinah hummed “Bringing in the Sheaves” as she ran a soapy rag over the washbasin in one of the hotel rooms. She’d taken up Ruthie’s habit in the hopes it might make her miss her friend less, and she discovered humming cheery tunes gave her heart an unexpected lift. Perhaps, she reflected as she shifted her attention to the painted water pitcher, Ruthie’s sunny disposition was due in part to her penchant for humming hymns.

“Bringing in the Sheaves” kept her company until she’d finished dusting, sweeping, and scrubbing. She moved to the next room, switching her song to “How Firm a Foundation” as she worked. Midway through cleaning, instead of merely humming the tune, she began singing, softly at first and then with increased volume, nearly unmindful of the change. By the time she reached the fourth verse, she was singing at full lung and brandishing the feather duster with gusto.

“ ‘When through the deep waters I call thee to go, the rivers of woe shall not thee overflow; for I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless, and sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.’ ”

“Amen.”

The softly uttered word, spoken with deep emotion, startled Dinah so badly she dropped the duster. She spun toward the voice, then gave another jolt when she realized who stood framed within the doorway. Pressing both hands to her hammering heart, she stammered out, “A-Amos?”

A hesitant smile grew on his cold-reddened face, lighting his eyes with both apprehension and tenderness. “Hello, Dinah. Mr. Irwin told me where to find you. He said I could steal a few minutes of your time … if you don’t see me as an intrusion.”

She almost laughed. Amos—an intrusion? Such a ridiculous concern. She
shook her head, the intense beat of her pulse changing to a flutter of delight. “I don’t.”

The apprehension in his eyes faded, and his chest expanded as he drew in a full breath. He held it for a moment, then let out his air in a mighty whoosh. At the same time, his stiff bearing relaxed. He seemed to release a great burden. Witnessing the action, Dinah experienced the prick of empathetic tears.

She tucked the duster, handle side down, into her apron pocket and made her way toward him. Halfway across the floor, however, she stopped as snippets from their exchange on New Year’s Eve crept through her memory. His words that night had stung like a whip’s lash. The names he’d flung at her—harlot, trollop, one bearing stains—returned to pierce her soul. Then other names, titles she’d encountered in her nightly Bible reading, whispered through her aching heart—daughter, beloved, redeemed. The ugly references swept away as if whisked by God’s duster. Her feet began moving again, carrying her within a few inches of Amos’s waiting form.

She peered into his handsome, familiar, gentle face. She didn’t know what had brought him here, but she thanked God for the opportunity to talk to him once more. And she prayed their conversation would be pleasant. She could accept a dissolution of their relationship if only they could end things with kind words rather than angry ones.

“Since Mr. Irwin approved my taking a break, let’s step outside for a moment. The sun is shining through the window panes, and I don’t hear wind rattling the shutters, so it’s calm outside, yes?” She waited until he nodded, then added, “Good. Let’s go to the porch, then. After last night’s storm, I’d like to enjoy a moment of bright stillness.” And outdoors, there’d be no curious gazes or listening ears tuned to their discussion.

He shifted aside in one clumsy half step to allow her passage. The thick carpet muffled their footsteps, but she sensed him close on her heels as she led him to the lobby. The entire distance she sent up silent prayers for God to prepare her heart for whatever Amos might say.
Your strength, my dear Father, endow me with Your strength …
She reached for the doorknob, but his hand shot out and closed over the crystal knob.

“Wait.” He shrugged out of his jacket, and then slowly, carefully, with a touch so light he might have been bestowing a mantle of gossamer, he placed his jacket over her shoulders. His cheeks, already ruddy from the chill air, blazed even brighter. “It’s cold outside.”

She smiled her thanks, then allowed him to open the door for her. She moved to the edge of the porch and tasted the crisp, chill air. Sunlight shimmered through broken tree limbs, seeming even brighter and bolder than ever after yesterday’s intense storm. A whine captured her attention, and she shifted her gaze to a swaybacked mule and two spotted dogs, all tied to a hitching ring by various reins.

A little gasp of surprise left her lips. She swung on Amos. “Did you bring Samson and Gideon to town?”

“Yes.” He stood with his arms crossed over his chest. “And Jehoshaphat Isaac.”

Dinah blinked, confused. Understanding bloomed, and she lifted one hand toward the old mule. “You named him Jehoshaphat?”

Amos offered a sheepish shrug. “I didn’t. Someone else did. I just kept the name. But I mostly call him Ike.”

Laughter bubbled in her chest. She’d thought Shadrach and Meshach odd names, but they couldn’t possibly compare to Jehoshaphat. However, after having read the biblical stories about Shadrach, Meshach, and their friend Abednego, as well as ones about the man named Jehoshaphat who ruled over Judah in a godly manner, she decided the names weren’t bad after all.

Swallowing a chortle, she gave the mule an approving nod. “I like it. Jehoshaphat had strong determination. That’s a good trait for a mule, I would say.”

“It’s a good trait for anyone, I would say.”

Amos spoke in a serious, subdued tone that dampened every vestige of Dinah’s humor. Turning to face him, she tipped her head and braved a question. “Why did you come to see me today, Amos?”

Instead of answering, he limped toward her. She instinctively tensed at his
approach, but she managed to stand still while he pushed his hand into one of the jacket pockets. He withdrew a rock, which he extended on his open palm.

She frowned. “What is it?”

“A rock.”

She bounced her frown from the rock to his face. His answer was far from satisfactory. She’d recognized the object. She wanted to know why he brought it to her. Before she could formulate the question, he began to speak in a thready voice deep with emotion.

“I found it last summer, shortly after I met you right here on the porch of the Clifton.” His gaze dropped to the multicolored stone, and he rotated his hand slightly from side to side, allowing the stone’s imbedded minerals to capture the sunlight and send it back in glistening shards of white. “Its color reminded me of you. Of your brown hair with its threads of gold.”

He raised his head sharply, his eyes seeming to examine the sides of her upswept hair. Dinah tugged his jacket more tightly closed at her throat, recalling how Mr. Sanger had focused on the waves of thick hair falling across her shoulders. But Mr. Sanger was gone, banished from town by the sheriff who warned him to stay away. This was Amos standing before her, a man who’d certainly inflicted pain with his angry words but who had never ogled her or touched her in a disrespectful way. She needn’t worry.

“I kept it in my house. As a reminder of you.”

Warmth spiraled through her. “Y-you did?”

“Yes. Until two Sundays after New Year’s Eve.”

Memories of New Year’s Eve returned in a rush. Dinah hung her head as Amos continued, his fingers closing around the rock and clenching so tightly his knuckles glowed.

“On that day I picked it up, and I stepped out on my porch, and I threw the rock as far as I could.” He drew his arm back as if preparing to throw it again. “I threw it in anger. In bitterness. In condemnation.” He seemed to freeze for a moment, his arm poised, and then he sagged, his arm falling weakly to his side. “And I was wrong.”

Startled, Dinah shifted her attention from his loosely held fist lying limp against his trouser leg to his face. Twin tears glistened in his eyes, brightening the deep-blue irises. She read contrition, sorrow, and—she stifled a gasp, hardly daring to believe it—even love shining from his eyes as he pinned her with his fervent gaze.

“I let my stubborn pride intrude. I acted just like the men who were ready to stone the woman caught in adultery, completely forgetting ‘all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.’ ” Still holding the rock, he lifted his hand, the movement so slow she didn’t feel the need to flinch away. “We both made mistakes, Dinah, but God is faithful to forgive. He’s forgiven me for my rash response and judgmental reaction.” He offered her the rock, his callused fingertips providing a cradle for the glistening stone. “And now I ask you to forgive me for hurting you.”

Dinah cupped his hand between hers and clung. Such sweet words—a request for forgiveness. Her reply poured out effortlessly. “I forgive you. And I beg the same of you. I intentionally hid pieces of my past from you. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest. Will you forgive me?”

Even before he answered, she already knew what he’d say by the tenderness in his expression. Still, she gloried in his softly stated, “Yes.”

For several minutes they stood smiling into each other’s faces, his hand with the rock gripped between her palms. Cold hovered around them, dry snowflakes danced in little swirls on the painted porch boards, and from far in the distance, a train released a shrill whistle that echoed across the prairie. But as far as Dinah was concerned, nothing existed except Amos and her finding their peace again. She memorized the moment so she could thank God for every detail when she knelt for prayer that evening.

Then an odd noise intruded—a swoop of sound starting high and ending with a smack. Dinah gave a start and Amos laughed. One short, humor-filled snort of laughter. He tipped his head toward the hitching post. “That was Gid. He yawned.”

She stared at Amos in amazement. “That was a yawn? It sounded like someone trying to learn to play the violin.”

This time when Amos laughed, he threw back his head and let it roll with abandon. Dinah couldn’t help but laugh, too. She skipped from the porch and crouched next to Gideon, smiling at the dog’s mismatched eyes that blinked up at her with friendliness. “Are you bored, Gid, or merely sleepy?”

The dog responded by snatching the feather duster from her pocket and shaking it. Feathers flew and Dinah laughed again.

Amos hitched over, giving double hops on his good leg as he came. “Gideon, no!”

Gideon settled back on his haunches and looked in innocence at his master, the duster still clamped between his teeth. He made such a ridiculous sight that Dinah laughed even harder. And Amos joined her. She rose as he took a forward step, and when she turned, she found herself nose to chest with him. She lifted her face to look into his eyes, and something glimmering in the blue depths stilled her laughter. His chuckles ended, as well.

The train’s whistle came again, closer this time, raising a whine from each of the dogs and causing Jehoshaphat Isaac to paw the ground in protest. But Dinah and Amos remained as still as a pair of porch posts, their eyes locked and their lips slightly parted, little wisps of their breath mingling between them. The ground beneath their feet began to tremble with the approach of the locomotive. The hotel door flew open and Mr. Irwin’s voice bellowed, “Train’s coming! Dining workers, get ready!” And still Amos and Dinah didn’t move.

Not until the train screeched into the station and passengers began to cross the road to the hotel did Amos finally take one backward step away from Dinah. Although he hadn’t been touching her, although she’d been standing on her own strength, his slight departure seemed to steal her ability to remain upright. Her knees went weak, and she placed her hand on Jehoshaphat’s back to steady herself.

She was glad for the mule’s presence when Amos spoke over the din of the invading crowd. If she hadn’t had something to hold on to, she would have surely collapsed in a puddle on the hard ground in joyous surprise. Because he opened his mouth and said without an ounce of ceremony, “Dinah Hubley, will you wear my ring, and come summer will you be my bride?”

June, 1884

Dinah

Dinah, attired in her Calico Ball dress and clutching a fragrant bouquet of wildflowers, stood in the center of the attached gazebo on the Clifton Hotel’s porch. Beside her, Amos stood tall and dapper in his familiar black suit. Before her, Preacher Mead held his Bible open on his hand and read from the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians. All across the sunny lawn behind her, townspeople gathered with Amos’s parents, brothers, and their families at the front of the small crowd.

A warm breeze, scented by the profusion of roses already blooming in the gardens, tossed the tendrils of hair escaping from her flower-adorned coronet of braids. A sideways glance confirmed Amos watched the dancing locks, and she was glad her hands were too occupied to tuck the strands behind her ears. Would she ever tire of Amos’s adoring gaze?

In all her childhood imaginings, Dinah had never conjured a wedding day like this one, held on the porch of a Kansas hotel. She never envisioned a groom in a black wool suit, who suffered a fresh haircut that reached too high on the back of his neck and exposed a line of white where the sun hadn’t kissed his skin with bronze. Her fanciful dreams had been filled with castles and gilt carriages, a prince in a snow-white uniform with gold epaulets on his shoulders and she in a billowing gown covered in layer upon layer of intricate lace. Her wedding day might lack the whimsical elements of a little girl’s hopeful imagination, but it contained the most important feature—love.