Chapter Thirteen

A my stepped out into the hallway. It had been a long two weeks in bed, but now her strength was returning, and with it, a hunger for the life that bustled beyond her door.

"Amy, you're up!" Priscilla yelled.

"Are you feeling better?" Ruby asked.

"Is it safe for us to be close to you?" Beatrice asked.

Amy couldn't help but smile at the trio of worried faces before her. "Yes, I'm much better," she declared, her voice still weak.

In an instant, their collective relief manifested in a whirlwind hug. She laughed, wrapping her arms around the three girls.

"Let's go see what Brenda's whipped up for lunch," Amy suggested, her stomach reminding her of its neglected state.

"Look who's finally graced us with her presence," Brenda called over her shoulder, a teasing lilt to her words.

"Wouldn't miss your cooking for the world," Amy quipped, a playful jab at Brenda's well-known distaste for culinary duties.

"Ha! You'll eat anything after two weeks of invalid food," Brenda retorted, but her smile was warm as she plated a generous portion for Amy and smaller ones for the children. "Was going to bring this to your room, but I think sitting up will do you some good."

"Thank you, Brenda," Amy said, taking her seat at the table.

"Slow down now," Brenda chided gently, passing a basket of rolls. "No need to rush when you have all the time in the world to enjoy it."

"Can't help it," Amy replied, savoring a forkful of tender carrots. "It's just so nice to be here, with all of you."

"Where else would you be?" Brenda teased.

Amy looked around at the eager faces that filled the small kitchen. This was home, and she was right where she belonged.

The clatter of boots on the wooden floor announced Tim and George's arrival before they even crossed the threshold. Amy lifted her gaze from her plate, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the two as they strode into the kitchen.

"Amy!" George exclaimed with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. He rushed over to Amy, his hands held out as if he still couldn't believe she was there, sitting up and well.

Tim's face broke into a warm smile, his relief obvious as he followed behind his son. "Well, look at you, Amy," he said, his voice rich with affection. "Back at the heart of this house where you belong."

"Feels like forever since I've seen you here," George chimed in, pulling up a chair next to Amy. His eager eyes swept over the spread on the table, but he waited, his respect for Amy evident in his patient pause.

Amy chuckled softly, taking in the sight of them both. "It feels so good to be in the kitchen again," she assured, her voice still weak but full of resolve. She looked around the room. "Not a single speck of dirt anywhere. You've kept the place just perfect."

"Your sisters saved my sanity," Tim said, his voice tinged with humor. He reached for a roll, his movements easy and unhurried.

"Once I'm up to it," Amy continued, "I'll have all my sisters over for a big meal. It's been too long since we've all been together."

"Easy there," Tim cautioned gently. "You need to get your strength back first."

"Of course," Amy agreed with a nod. "But it's something to look forward to."

As Amy's gaze wandered from the warm faces around her, it landed on the wooden structure outside the window, perched in the boughs of an old oak. "Is that the treehouse?" she asked. She felt like she'd missed years of her family's lives and not just two weeks.

"Yes," Brenda said from across the table, "the girls have been dying to show you their dresses too."

"I can't wait to see," she said, though her body sagged slightly.

Brenda caught the subtle droop of Amy's shoulders and clucked her tongue. "You aren't strong enough yet! Give it time."

From the corner of her eye, Amy noticed George. The boy was watching her intently. His concern touched her deeply, but before she could offer words of reassurance, Tim's hearty laughter filled the room, drawing her attention.

"Your face, George!" Tim laughed, nudging his son gently. "You'd think Amy was a ghost the way you're staring."

George's cheeks flushed, but he smiled.

"Can't blame him," Amy joked. "It's been a spell since I've joined y'all like this."

"True enough," Tim said, still smiling.

The meal continued, and Amy was so happy to be able to be a part of it. But as the minutes ticked by, her energy waned, and soon, the simple act of keeping her eyes open became a battle. With gentle insistence from Brenda, Amy conceded, allowing herself to be helped back to bed.

The moment her head touched the pillow, fatigue threatened to pull her under, but Brenda's voice cut through the haze. "Now, don't you go falling asleep just yet," she warned, the door clicking shut behind her. "The girls and I have a surprise cooked up for you."

"Surprise?" Amy said, curiosity flickering. She propped herself against the pillows, determined to stay awake. The thought of what the girls had planned brought a fragile spark of anticipation to her chest, a soft glow in the quiet of her room.

Amy blinked back the heaviness in her eyelids as she sat upright, propped by a mound of pillows. She resisted the pull of sleep with every ounce of will she possessed. The murmurs and giggles from beyond the door piqued her curiosity.

"Stay awake, stay awake," she whispered to herself, a mantra to fend off the encroaching slumber.

The door creaked open, and a parade of excitement spilled into the room. One by one, the girls twirled in, each adorned in a new dress.

"Look, Amy!" Priscilla said, spinning so her skirts flared out like petals on a blooming flower. "It's pink!"

"And mine has lace! Hannah even taught me how to make lace myself!" Beatrice told her, her hands skimming over the delicate trim with reverence.

"Do you think it's as red as a ruby?" Ruby asked.

With each presentation, Amy clapped and praised, her fatigue all but forgotten amidst girls, gowns, and giggles. She saw how they basked in her attention—these girls who had become her daughters—and felt her heart swell with a love that was both fierce and tender.

"All of you look beautiful," Amy said.

"We love them," Priscilla said. "And we learned so much as Cassandra taught us to sew them."

"Missed you lots," Beatrice said warmly. Amy thought maybe, just maybe, she and Beatrice would be able to get along better now.

Amy eased herself back against the pillows. Life, with all its simple pleasures, felt whole again.

"Thank you all for showing me," she said.

A shadow fell across the quilt as Beatrice perched beside her. The girl, usually a tempest of bottled emotions, sat silent, watching Amy with an intensity that seemed to weigh her down.

"Beatrice?" Amy's brow creased with concern, catching a shimmer in the young girl's eye.

"I just..." Beatrice said, "I want to say something."

"Go on," Amy encouraged, curious about what stirred behind those troubled eyes.

Beatrice took a deep breath. "I'm really thankful for you, Amy," she confessed, "for coming to live with us." She fiddled with the edge of Amy's blanket, not meeting her gaze.

"You're...You're a wonderful Ma. Better than I ever thought we could have again."

Amy reached out, resting her hand over Beatrice's. Their fingers intertwined, bridging the gap of past misunderstandings.

"Thank you, Beatrice," Amy replied, her throat tightening with emotion.

"And I'm sorry," Beatrice continued, a lone tear slipping down her cheek, "for the way I've treated you. You've been nothing but kind."

"I have a feeling I'd have felt the same way you did if I'd lost my mother. Well, if I'd known my mother before losing her," Amy said.