Through the Deep Waters (10 page)

Dinah

Was she really doing this? Dinah climbed into the back of the two-bench buggy Mr. Irwin made available to businessmen who came to town. All night she’d wrestled with herself, bouncing back and forth between wanting to go to church with Ruthie and not wanting to go. She’d often walked past an ornate church building in Chicago. Its enormous stained-glass window of a man in a flowing robe with his arms outstretched had beckoned to her. But when she asked Tori about visiting the building, her mother laughed and said the holier-than-thou people would chase her out if she dared to darken their doorway. Dinah hadn’t known what “holier than thou” meant, but the way Tori spit the words let her know it wasn’t a good thing. So Dinah had stayed away.

But now here she was, planning to enter a church for the first time in her life. Because Ruthie said she would meet God there. Because Ruthie said God loved her very much. The very thought drew Dinah in with the same intensity as the image formed by pieces of colored glass. Would this Kansas church be filled with holier-than-thou people who would chase her away like the one in Chicago, or would they let her in so she could meet God?

One of the busboys, Dean, had been assigned the duty of transporting the girls to church. He sat proudly in the front holding the reins. Ruthie clambered up beside Dinah, followed by two of the servers, Lyla and Minnie. The remaining two servers, Matilda and Amelia, shared the front seat with the busboy.

Dean flicked a glance into the back, and a grin climbed his cheek. “You look as snug as cigars in a new box back there.”

Minnie slapped his shoulder. “You shouldn’t be talking about cigars, Dean Muller!”

“She’s right,” Ruthie added, her lips pursed up as if she’d tasted something sour. “Cigars don’t make for nice Sunday morning talk.”

He laughed, his dimples flashing. “I didn’t invite you to smoke one. No need to get yourself in a dither.”

Ruthie frowned, but Minnie hid her smile behind her fingers and giggled. She fluttered her lashes at Dean, the way the girls at Miss Flo’s used to do to entice the men to choose them. Dinah’s breakfast curdled in her stomach.

“Are you staying for service, Dean?” Lyla asked.

Dean shook his head, nearly dislodging his cap. He tugged it a little lower on his forehead. “Coming back here and sleeping during our break. Me an’ the other fellas stayed out too late last night. Missed our curfew.” He touched his finger to his lips, as if swearing the girls to secrecy, and waggled his brows. “But my, the party at the opera house was grand! I danced with at least a dozen girls.”

Amelia nudged Dean with her elbow. “Stop yapping. We’ll miss the service altogether if we don’t get going.”

“All right, all right.” Dean flicked the reins, and the horses strained against the rigging. In moments, they’d bumped across the railroad tracks and were heading through the center of town.

Dinah’s side, pressed against the iron frame of the seat, ached. Even though Minnie sat on the edge of the seat rather than against the back, Dinah was wedged so tightly between the seat and Ruthie’s hip they might not be able to free themselves when they reached church. Why had she agreed to go, anyway? Curiosity, partly. But mostly some strange inner longing to discover for herself if what Ruthie had said about God loving her was true. An image of the beautiful church in Chicago filled her mind, and a little chill spread across her limbs despite the summer sun shining down. If God lived in such a place, and He loved her, could that mean she wasn’t as worthless as she’d always believed?

Perspiration trickled from her temple down to her chin, but with her arm locked against Ruthie’s, she couldn’t reach up to wipe it away. So she turned her
face toward the breeze and allowed the hot wind to dry the dribble of sweat. She kept her face angled outward until Dean drew the horses to a halt.

Ruthie said in her cheery voice, “We’re here, Dinah. Let’s go!”

Dinah turned to look, and if she hadn’t been wedged into the seat, she might have fallen out of the buggy in shock. This tiny white clapboard building with clear-paned windows and a set of slanting wooden risers climbing to the single door was a church?
This
was where God lived? She’d expected so much more.

Dean had hopped out and was assisting the girls from the buggy. Other people, presumably coming to attend the service, walked across the sparse yard toward the porch. Ruthie waved to each of them, and as the girls alighted, they formed a little group and shook the road dust from their uniforms. But Dinah remained on the seat, staring at the sad-looking little building. Why had she allowed her hopes to grow so high? Of course any God who loved her wouldn’t reside in a fine, beautiful, towering building with bright-colored windows. He’d be in a ramshackle place. As ramshackle as her sorry life.

“You coming out, Dinah?” Dean stood with his hand out, ready to help her.

His reaching hand got tangled up with the remembrance of the outstretched hands on the beautiful window in Chicago, and even though she’d fully intended to return to the hotel, she found herself placing her palm in his.

He helped her down, then hopped back onto the driver’s seat. “I’ll pick you girls up at eleven.” He brought down the reins, and the horses carried the buggy away.

The four servers in their matching uniforms hurried to the church and went inside. Ruthie started to follow, but then she stopped and looked back at Dinah. She giggled, returned, and caught Dinah’s elbow. “Come on in. They won’t bite.”

With Ruthie tugging at her arm, Dinah found the ability to move forward, but although her feet headed toward the church, inwardly she strained away. She’d hoped—so hoped—to find something of beauty here. Something bigger and better and
purer
than what she carried inside. Her gaze drifted to
the building’s roofline. There wasn’t even a cross to signify this was a church. Tears stung. How could anything of worth be housed within such a plain shell?

They reached the stairs and Dinah dug in her heels, bringing Ruthie to a stop. “Wait.”

Ruthie shot her an impatient look. “What is it? Service is due to start. We need to go in.”

Music—not from a resonant organ like she’d heard in Chicago, but produced by disharmonious voices—drifted from the open door. Dinah cringed. “I … I don’t think I can.”

Ruthie was staring at her with her normally smiling lips set in a disapproving frown. “I don’t want to be rude, truly I don’t, and especially not on the Lord’s day, but if you’re refusing to go inside because my papa’s church doesn’t meet with your rich standards, then I’ll have to be very frank with you and say it hurts my feelings.”

Her
rich
standards? “It isn’t that. It’s …” But what could she say? If she confessed the building too closely resembled her own less-than-beautiful life, she would not only insult Ruthie, but she’d share a hint of the past she wanted to keep buried. Why did everything have to disappoint her? She lowered her head and caught a glimpse of the little black book Ruthie carried. She’d seen similar books held by others entering the church. She pointed weakly at the book. “I don’t have one of those.”

Ruthie’s eyes widened. Then her face pinched in regret. She squeezed Dinah’s elbow. “Is that all?” She guided Dinah up the first step. “You don’t need to worry. Not everyone has a Bible to bring to church, and Papa reads the Scripture out loud.” Another tug, and Dinah moved up another riser. “I’ll share mine with you, all right?” One more tug and they reached the door. “Hurry now—they’re almost finished with singing and Papa will begin to speak.”

Ruthie hurried Dinah through a narrow entry that extended in both directions. Nails pounded into the walls served as simple hooks. No wraps or jackets hung on any of the nails, but men’s hats hid a half dozen from view. The
people were standing as they sang, and Ruthie led Dinah straight up the center aisle between the groups. Dinah felt curious gazes aimed at her, and she kept her head low, watching the toes of her shoes cross the wide pine planks all the way to the front. At least she could hide behind her uniform, which gave her a small measure of comfort in these strange surroundings.

Ruthie pulled Dinah into the first row on the right side of the room. A man wearing a black suit, his mouth open wide in song, stood at the front on a slightly raised platform. Dinah was so close that if she reached out with her foot, her toes would tap the wooden edge of the platform. The man glanced in her direction, and even as he continued to sing, a smile lifted the corners of his lips. Dinah blinked in recognition. The man had Ruthie’s smile.

She focused on the words being sung with gusto. “Rapture, praise, and endless worship will be our sweet portion there.” The song ended with a series of wheezing breaths.

The man at the front, Ruthie’s father, aimed a beaming smile across the gathered people. “Wonderful singing this morning! Aren’t we all so grateful to have a friend in Jesus? To know He bears our burdens and hears us when we pray?”

A chorus of
amen
s rang behind Dinah, startling her.

“To have the assurance of eternity with Him?” Ruthie’s father boomed.

More, heartier
amen
s exploded.

“Amen, indeed!” Ruthie’s father waved his arms. “Bow your heads, folks, and let’s talk to Him now in prayer.”

With shuffling feet and soft murmurs, those gathered in the church followed Mr. Mead’s instruction. All except Dinah. While Ruthie’s father offered a lengthy, big-voiced prayer from the front and everyone else listened, she took advantage of the moment to give the room a thorough perusal.

Although the church’s interior was far from the opulent beauty she’d expected, it held a simple charm that smoothed the edges of her unease. White plastered walls gleamed in the sunshine pouring through the clear glass windows. A small, battered table on the corner of the front platform held a Mason jar filled with fragrant wildflowers. Against the plain backdrop, the flowers
seemed brighter than any Dinah had ever seen. A thick book lay open at the base of the jar. A few green leaves dipped low as if reading the exposed words. The breeze easing in from the doors open at both the front and the back of the church rustled the book’s pages, and Dinah experienced the strange sensation to step near and see what they had to say.

“Amen,” Mr. Mead said, and everyone raised their heads.

In one accord, the people seated themselves on the benches. Ruthie pulled Dinah down next to her, then kept hold of her arm. Dinah gently extracted it. As she did so, she caught sight of those lined up on Ruthie’s other side. Several children—a little girl with spirals of strawberry-colored hair and five boys of various ages, all with close-cropped hair of reddish-blond the same shade as Ruthie’s—tipped forward slightly to look directly at her. Apparently Ruthie had led her to the same bench where her family sat. She shouldn’t be here at the front with Ruthie’s family as if she belonged.

Ruthie’s father picked up the book from the little table and held it in his broad palm the way a mother might cradle the head of her newborn child. “If you have a Bible with you, turn with me to the book of Isaiah, the twenty-sixth chapter, beginning with verse two.” He began reading aloud, his voice so full and rich it bounced from the ceiling beams and downward again. The little row of faces turned forward, gazing at their father attentively.

Although the words Mr. Mead read were beautifully crafted and delivered with intensity, Dinah wished he’d have the people stand up and sing another off-key hymn. If they were standing, she might be able to sneak her way to the back bench. Sitting here in the front, she felt like an interloper. Was everyone behind her looking at her, wondering why she sat with the preacher’s family? She fidgeted, her body itching with discomfort. Surely they’d sing again, wouldn’t they? As soon as they did, she’d move. Or could she? She hadn’t looked to see if there was an open space in the back.

As surreptitiously as possible, she shifted to send a glance toward the benches farthest from the platform. And her gaze landed on a familiar face. The egg man, who’d frightened her and then asked her forgiveness for having done so, sat next to the center aisle on the very back bench. For the first time
that morning, for reasons she couldn’t begin to explain, her stiff muscles began to relax.

The man’s face turned slightly, and he caught her looking at him. For a moment his brows descended, as if he was confused, but then a smile bloomed on his square, honest face. With a movement so slight she might have imagined it, he bobbed his head in a simple hello.

Beside her, Ruthie cleared her throat softly. Dinah’s face flamed. She jerked her gaze forward and kept it there the remainder of the service. She tried to listen to Ruthie’s father—his full-throated voice and enthusiastic delivery commanded attention—but her thoughts drifted repeatedly to the very back bench where the egg man sat. It was ridiculous, but knowing he was there made her feel less like an intruder.

“That concludes our service for today.” Mr. Mead closed the Bible with a gentle snap and set it aside. He turned a smile on Ruthie and then Dinah. “It seems my daughter has brought a guest. Ruthie, would you like to introduce your friend so we can all get to know her?”