Free Through the Deep Waters by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page A

wouldn’t be left out, but closing her eyes whileothers had their eyes open made her feel as though they were all staring at her. So she didn’t do it.
    Ruthie picked up her sandwich and took a bite. “Mmm. I’m glad there was enough turkey left from yesterday’s dinner to have sandwiches today. Mr. Gindough makes the best turkey. So moist, and with just the right seasonings. I hate to say it’s better than my mama’s turkey, but it really is.” She took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. After a sip of milk, she aimed a grin at Dinah. “Did your mother bake turkey as good as this?”
    Dinah flicked a crumb from her lips with her finger, nearly laughing as she tried to imagine Tori wrestling a turkey into a roasting pan. “Um … no.”
    Ruthie giggled as if Dinah had said something clever. “Even if this turkey is better, I bet Mr. Gindough can’t bake gingerbread as good as Mama’s. Her gingerbread is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Last month she baked a whole gingerbread cake just for me, and I was completely selfish and didn’t share one bit with anybody.” She paused to take another bite of her sandwich, then followed it with another dainty sip of milk. “What’s your favorite food your ma makes?”
    Dinah’s stomach trembled. She didn’t want to answer. She didn’t want to answer with the truth. She opened her mouth, fully intending to tell a lie, but something else spilled out. “My mother didn’t cook. Rueben did.”
    “Who is Rueben?” Ruthie seemed genuinely interested.
    Rueben was her only friend. But she couldn’t say so. “Our cook.”
    “Oh my.” Ruthie lowered her sandwich and stared at Dinah. “You had a cook in your house? Your family must be wealthy.”
    Dinah released a little snort. If only Ruthie knew how wrong she was. She set the remaining half of her sandwich aside and rose. “I’m going to go get myself a glass of milk. I think I’ll get a piece of pie, too. Do you want one?”
    Ruthie sat, silent and staring, as if dazed.
    What had stricken the always-jabbering girl silent? Dinah frowned. “Ruthie, do you want a piece of pie?”
    Ruthie gave a little jolt. “Pie? Oh. Yes. If there’s a piece of cherry remaining, I would like one. Thank you.”
    Dinah hurried out, relieved to have left the conversation behind. Odd how the simplest topic, such as favorite foods, led to divulging parts of her past. She’d have to try even harder to discourage Ruthie from asking so many questions. It wouldn’t be easy—Ruthie was so talkative she even muttered in her sleep. But somehow Dinah would find a way to discourage the girl. She couldn’t let anyone know where she’d lived before coming to Florence. Not if she intended to be a waitress when she turned eighteen.

    Ruthie
    Ruthie gazed after Dinah, marveling. A cook in her house! She’d never known anyone who’d employed their own cook. She would never have guessed Dinah came from such extravagant means. Her clothes, although obviously new, didn’t hint at money. Her speech—what little she said!—didn’t reflect a cultured upbringing. Her willingness to work as a chambermaid also seemed in opposition to the expected attitude of someone who’d been raised with servants to see to her needs. If she’d thought Dinah a puzzle before, her befuddlement increased a hundredfold with this new bit of information.
    She finished her sandwich, playing back over every minute since she’d discovered Dinah asleep in the corner behind the wardrobe. Despite her best efforts, Ruthie hadn’t been able to draw Dinah into a meaningful conversation. Dinah had also snubbed the others’ attempts at friendliness. She’d reasoned with herself that Dinah was bashful, was tired, was striving to adjust to her new surroundings. Could it be she was—Ruthie cringed even contemplating such a thing—snobbish? After all, even Papa preached it was harder for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God than for a camel to pass through the eye