Through the Deep Waters by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page B

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. Thepeople 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