Chapter Four

I t was dark as Amy and Tim made their way to the ranch. The house was still with all the children in bed. Amy's heart fluttered, her hand finding Tim's in the dark. They shared a look, one brimming with promises and secret smiles.

"Seems the little ones are all dreaming," Tim whispered, his voice low and warm against her ear.

Amy nodded, her cheeks flushed with anticipation. In the quiet privacy of his bedroom, they came together with urgency. Tim's hands were gentle, his touch reverent, as if he understood the significance of the moment. For Amy, it was a whirlwind of sensation, a connection that rooted deep within her soul. She clung to Tim as if he were her anchor in the storm of emotions that swept through her.

And when it was over, when the tremors of new intimacy had subsided, there lay a serene excitement for what the next day would bring. Amy couldn't wait to meet his children.

AMY WOKE BEFORE ANYONE else and after dressing in the dark, she went to the kitchen to start breakfast. She hoped to meet his children that morning, and she wanted the first meal she cooked for the family to be perfect. Beatrice sat at the table, her expression sour as Amy hummed a tune and moved around with ease.

"You must be Beatrice," Amy said, casting a warm smile toward the girl. "How about we bake some cookies later? It's something I've always loved doing."

"Cookies?" Beatrice mumbled, eyeing the flour-dusted counter with skepticism.

"Yep! We could make a whole batch, just for us and your sisters." Amy's eyes sparkled with thought. "I think it would be a fun way for us to get to know each other."

"Fun..." Beatrice repeated, her voice trailing off. Finally, she shrugged. "I guess I like cookies."

Amy laughed. "Of course you like cookies!"

Tim's son walked into the room then, and Amy searched her mind for his name. George. He'd said the boy was George. "Good morning, George. I hope you're hungry!" Amy flipped some pancakes onto a plate, added bacon, and told him to sit, putting the plate on the table in front of him. Amy paused. "I didn't think to ask. Do you usually have breakfast in the kitchen or the dining room?"

George quickly swallowed a bite of bacon so he could respond. "Kitchen."

"Oh, good. I guessed right!"

Two small heads popped around the corner, staring at her. "I'm your new stepmother, Amy."

Priscilla stared at Amy for a moment. "Are you evil like Cinderella's stepmother?"

Amy laughed. "I am not. I'm happy to have the four of you in my life. I always wanted at least a dozen children."

Beatrice frowned, pushing the plate away. "You're not our mother."

Amy nodded. "No, I'm not. But I will try my best to treat you like you are my children."

"Try all you want, but Ma will always be our mother!" Beatrice said, running from the room.

Amy stared after her for a moment. She thought about going after her, but that didn't seem like it would be helpful. Instead, she put pancakes and bacon on plates for Ruby and Priscilla.

"Have you seen your pa this morning?" Amy asked.

George shook his head. "He gets the milking done before he eats breakfast." He stuck another piece of bacon into his mouth. "Probably getting the eggs too."

"Perfect, then I can bake a cake and make cookies today. I thought we'd have to choose one or the other."

"Cake?" Ruby asked. "You're going to bake a cake?"

"I sure am. And I'll make some frosting for it. We'll call it a celebration." Amy could see there was a lot of work to be done around the house that didn't involve baking, but that was fine with her. She felt useful and needed, and it was good to feel that way. "If you have dirty clothes or something that needs to be mended, please bring it into the kitchen for me. I'll need to tackle laundry when I finish with the breakfast dishes."

Priscilla smiled. "Can I help with the dishes? Ma always told me I wasn't quite old enough."

Amy smiled, nodding. "I'd love to have you as my dish apprentice."

Ruby frowned. "I could help too."

"Yes, of course. We'll all do it together. Many hands make for light work!"

The kitchen door opened and closed, and Amy looked up at her new husband. It felt strange seeing him in daylight after what they'd done in the dark the night before, but she refused to look away. "Hungry?" she asked.

He sniffed the air and washed his hands quickly. "I am as hungry as any man who hasn't had a decent meal in a year."

Amy shook her head. "From now on, we'll shoot for decent meals three times per day." As he sat, she put his breakfast in front of him and served her own. "Does anyone else need anything before I start my own meal?"

When no one responded, Amy took her plate to the table and ate. Nothing tasted better than bacon and coffee in the mornings.

"What do you have planned for the day?" Tim asked.

"I'm going to get laundry on the line, bake cookies with Beatrice, bake a cake for dessert tonight, and I'll figure out a meal I can make. Do some mending and cleaning as I have time."

"That sounds like a lot right there. George and I are usually home for lunch around noon, and supper around five. I prefer to milk at five in the morning and five in the evening."

"Sounds good to me," she said. "I'll make sure I have meals ready at those times."

Within minutes, both Tim and George had finished eating and were out the door. Amy took the laundry that had been brought down, quickly realizing that Beatrice hadn't brought hers down, but she wasn't sure if the girl had been in the kitchen when she'd asked for laundry.

Amy hurried up the stairs to the door that was closed. It had to be Beatrice's room. She knocked and waited. Beatrice came to the door, the same sullen look on her face that had been there at breakfast, but it was obvious she'd been crying. "What?"

"I need your laundry. Anything dirty or that needs mending."

Beatrice turned around, walked into her room, and came back with a huge mound of clothing. "There. Happy now?"

"I'm always happy," Amy said with a smile, taking the laundry.

Doing the laundry took a lot longer than Amy had anticipated. She'd expected it to take a fraction of time it took at the foundling home, but this family had a lot more clothes per person than the orphans did, and it seemed everything they owned was dirty.

As soon as it was all on the line, she fixed a simple lunch. She served it at the table in the dining room, hoping that was where they ate their lunches. School was out for the summer, and she was grateful for time with the children.

When the lunch dishes were done, and her two small helpers were off to play, Amy told them to ask Beatrice to come to the kitchen.

Beatrice scrunched her nose as Amy laid out the ingredients on the kitchen table. "I don't see what's so great about cookies," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "And I doubt you can bake them as well as Mama did."

Amy brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. "Well, every batch is unique, just like the person who bakes them," she replied with an unwavering smile. "Why don't we give it a try together? You might find you have a knack for it."

"Me? Help?" Beatrice scoffed, eyeing the sugar and flour sacks. "I'd probably just mess it up."

"Everyone starts somewhere," Amy said, picking up a measuring cup and offering it to Beatrice. "How about you measure the flour while I get the eggs? We'll take it one step at a time."

Reluctantly, Beatrice uncrossed her arms and took the cup, her fingers brushing against Amy's. "Fine, but only because you look like you need all the help you can get," she muttered.

"Thank you, Beatrice. I'm sure you'll be a tremendous help." Amy's voice was earnest, her eyes kind. She guided Beatrice's hand to the flour sack. "We need two cups, leveled off just right."

Beatrice dipped the cup into the flour. She squinted, trying to level the top as Amy had instructed.

"See? You're a natural," Amy encouraged, her tone light and cheery. "Now, could you pass me the butter? We'll need to cream it with the sugar next."

With a hesitant nod, Beatrice slid the block of butter across the table. The kitchen was warm, the air filled with the scent of potential sweets. She watched Amy work the mixture and found herself leaning in, curiosity edging out her reluctance.

"All right, your turn again," Amy said, handing Beatrice a wooden spoon. "Do you want to stir for a bit?"

"Sure," Beatrice replied, a half-smile tugging at her lips. "But if this turns out bad, it's not my fault."

"I'll take any blame needed," Amy said. "But I have a feeling these cookies are going to be something special, just like us."

Beatrice's arm moved in steady circles, stirring the butter and sugar mixture while Amy greased the cookie sheets. The clinking of the spoon against the bowl set a rhythm in the cozy kitchen.

"Does it always take this long to cream together?" Beatrice asked, glancing over her shoulder at Amy with an impatience that was beginning to give way to intrigue.

"Patience is key in baking," Amy replied, wiping her hands on her apron. "Just like when I was at the foundling home. We'd all gather ‘round, each taking turns, telling stories while we waited for our turn to mix."

"Sounds...fun," Beatrice said, though the word seemed foreign on her lips.

"It was," Amy smiled, watching the younger girl work. "We didn't have much, but those moments made us feel like we had everything."

"Everything?" Beatrice repeated, her voice softening.

"Yep, every laugh, every burnt cookie—it was ours. Made the place feel like home."

The wooden spoon paused mid-stir as Beatrice mulled over Amy's words. Then, with a slight shrug, she resumed her task. "What else did you bake?"

"Everything from bread to biscuits. But cookies? They were my favorite." Amy's eyes twinkled with the memories. "They were easy enough for us to try out different things—raisins, nuts, sometimes even bits of candy if we were lucky."

"Did they ever turn out strange?" Beatrice's lips curled into a genuine smile.

"Strange and wonderful," Amy laughed. "Like the time we mixed in too much salt instead of sugar. We couldn't stop laughing, even though they were awful."

"Guess that means these could be worse." Beatrice glanced down at the dough with a new sense of possibility.

"Exactly," Amy agreed, rolling up her sleeves. "Now, how about we add some cinnamon? Gives them a nice warmth."

"Sure," Beatrice nodded, reaching for the spice herself. "How much?"

"Let's start with a teaspoon and see how we feel."

Amy handed Beatrice a wooden spoon, the handle worn smooth from years of use. "Here, why don't you do the honors? You need to spoon the cookies onto the pan."

"Like this?" Beatrice asked, her fingers curling around the spoon as she put a spoonful of dough onto the pan.

"Perfect," Amy praised, watching the girl's careful movements. She leaned back against the counter, observing Beatrice come alive in the warmth of the kitchen. "You've got a good touch. Your mama must have spent a lot of time with you in the kitchen."

Beatrice paused, her eyes lingering on the golden batter. "She did...before." Her voice trailed off, lost in the bittersweet tang of memories.

"Before?"

"Before she got sick." Beatrice dropped her gaze, focusing intently on the mixing bowl.

Amy reached out, laying a gentle hand on Beatrice's shoulder. "I can't imagine how hard that must have been for you."

Beatrice shrugged. "It was fine. I mean, I had to learn to help with my sisters and all."

"Fine isn't the same as easy, though, is it?" Amy's question hung softly between them.

"Nothing's been easy." Beatrice said.

"Change never is," Amy said, her voice a soothing balm. "But sometimes, it brings something good too. Like new friends, or...new family."

"Is that what we are now? Family?" There was hope mixed with the skepticism in Beatrice's tone.

"If you want us to be," Amy replied earnestly. "I know I'm not your mama, Beatrice, and I don't aim to replace her. But I'd like to think she'd be happy knowing her girls were loved and cared for."

"Maybe." A single tear rolled down Beatrice's cheek before she hastily wiped it away.

"Hey," Amy said gently, tilting Beatrice's chin up to meet her eyes. "It's okay to miss her. And it's okay to be scared. But I promise, you're not alone anymore."

"Promise?" The word was a whisper.

"Cross my heart."

"Okay." Beatrice nodded, a fragile smile breaking through. "Okay."

Later, while the aroma of freshly baked cookies filled the air. Amy poured hot water into two teacups, the gentle clink of ceramic against ceramic punctuating the comfortable silence that had settled between her and Beatrice.

"Smells like heaven," Amy remarked, smiling as she set a cup before Beatrice. The girl looked up.

"Thank you," Beatrice murmured, cradling the cup in her hands.

"Nothing beats a good batch of cookies and a cup of tea," Amy said, taking a seat across from Beatrice. She sipped her tea, thinking with as hot it was in Texas in June, she should have chosen to make ice tea.

"Guess it's all right," Beatrice conceded. "I think I'd still rather have milk, though."

The door creaked open, and Ruby slipped into the room, followed by a bounding Priscilla. Their eyes were wide, drawn to the promise of treats and the comforting ritual of teatime.

"Can we have some?" Ruby asked, her voice soft but hopeful.

"Of course." Amy's heart swelled at the sight of the young girls. She fetched two more cups and poured half tea, half milk, knowing full well the strength of the brew could be too much for their young taste buds.

"Here you go." She slid the cups toward them, earning gleeful grins in return.

"Thank you, Amy!" Priscilla chirped, gripping her cup with both hands.

Beatrice watched her sisters, her gaze lingering on Amy's face as she interacted with them. A shadow crossed her features.

"Hey," Amy caught Beatrice's eye. "There's plenty of love to go around."

"Sure," Beatrice said, though her voice was less than convinced.

"Really, Beatrice," Amy continued, sensing the need to affirm her commitment. "You're not losing anything. We're just making our family bigger, that's all."

"Family," Beatrice repeated softly.

"Exactly," Amy replied.

The young girl's eyes, previously sparkling with reluctant mirth, now held a glint of something else—resentment, perhaps, or fear.

"Enjoy your tea...with them," Beatrice said, her voice tight as she jerked her chin toward Ruby and Priscilla.

Beatrice bolted, her chair screeching against the wooden floorboards in protest. "You're probably just going to die anyway!" She dashed through the doorway, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Amy started to rise, her instinct to comfort and chase after the upset child tugging at her. But she paused, her hand hovering mid-air. Maybe, just maybe, Beatrice needed space more than soothing words right now.

"Will she be okay?" Ruby asked, peering up at Amy, her big eyes round with concern.

"Sure, she will," Amy replied. "Sometimes we all need a moment to ourselves, don't we?"

"Like when I hide in the barn?" Priscilla asked.

"Exactly like that," Amy agreed, wishing she had something magic to heal this broken family.

Amy turned her attention back to the littler girls. "Shall we pack up some cookies for Papa and George?" she asked, brushing aside her concerns about Beatrice.

"Can we put ‘em in the pail?" Ruby suggested.

"Sure thing," Amy agreed. She stood up, collecting the golden-brown treats from the cooling rack. Together, they lined the bottom of the pail with a clean cloth before stacking the cookies neatly inside.

They found Tim and George near the barn, deep in conversation about the next day's chores.

"Pa! George!" Ruby called out, swinging the pail as they approached.

"Is that for us?" Tim asked, his eyes lighting up at the sight of his daughters and Amy approaching with the pail.

"Did you make these, Amy?" George asked, eagerly reaching for a cookie as soon as the lid was lifted.

"It was a team effort," Amy responded, glancing down at Ruby and Priscilla, who beamed with pride.

"Best cookies I've ever had!" Tim praised.

"Let's not let them get cold," George said, grinning as he grabbed another.

"Try one, Amy," Tim urged, extending the pail toward her.

"I had my fill with the girls. All of those are for the two of you," Amy said softly.

"Girls, let's leave the pail with them," Amy said softly. "We can pick it up later."

"Okay, Amy," Priscilla replied, slipping her hand into Amy's as they started back toward the house.

"More cookies tomorrow?" Ruby asked, looking up at Amy with hopeful eyes.

"Absolutely," Amy promised, squeezing Ruby's hand gently. Things weren't as rosy as Amy had imagined, but they'd get there. She was certain of it!