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Chapter Seven

A my sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped together, waiting for the perfect moment to speak. Tim was washing up, his movements slow and deliberate, the sound of water splashing a gentle rhythm in the quiet room.

"Tim?" Amy said as he dried his hands and turned toward her.

"Sure, what is it?" Tim replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he sat down beside her. He was thrilled with their arrangement so far. The children were doing well, and she was a better cook than anyone he'd ever known.

"I've been thinking about asking my sister Gail to build a treehouse for the kids," she said, her gaze fixed on his face to gauge his reaction. "She's got magic hands for that sort of work. Thought maybe I could pay her in cookies or such since she'd rather climb trees than be stuck by a stove."

"Sounds fair enough." Tim chuckled. "But you know Gail married Max, the one who owns the restaurant and hotel in town? You might find yourself cooking there for a day or two. Max won't be able to spare Gail for long, and that would be a good way of paying them back. With the way you cook, he'll never want to let you leave."

Amy bit her lip, considering this, before nodding resolutely. "Then that's what I'll do. I'm sure Gail will be thrilled to have a couple of days doing what she does best. She's a good cook, but she hates it so much! I think it would be a fair trade for the littles to have a place to play, don't you think?"

"Can't argue with that," he agreed, leaning back against the headboard and pulling her close.

Their conversation meandered through plans and dreams. The night deepened around them, but inside their little world, time seemed to stand still.

Tim's hand found hers, his touch warm and steady. His fingers traced delicate patterns on the back of her hand, sending shivers up her spine. She leaned into him, her breath catching as his other hand brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear.

"Tim..." she whispered, her heart fluttering like the wings of a trapped bird.

"Shh," he murmured, his lips finding hers in the darkness. Their kiss was gentle at first, testing, exploring, but as the seconds slipped away, it grew deeper, hungrier.

The rest of the world fell away. It was just the two of them, wrapped in each other's arms, the steady beat of their hearts echoing through the silence of the night. They moved together, desire making them hungry for one another.

AMY PADDED SOFTLY THROUGH the still house. Sunday's early light crept through the windows. She moved with practiced quietness, laying out the neatly pressed garments at the foot of each bed. George's shirt and trousers were easy, but her fingers lingered on the fabric of Beatrice's dress, its plain cut a stark contrast to what a young lady might desire. A gentle sigh escaped her lips—Beatrice deserved something finer, something that would let the girl shine.

"Got to make some proper dresses for Bea," Amy murmured to herself, envisioning soft laces and satins.

With the clothing sorted, she tiptoed to the kitchen. The comforting ritual of cooking filled her with a sense of purpose and peace. First, she cracked eggs into a bowl, whisking them with a dash of salt before pouring them into the sizzling pan. Next came the toast, each slice crisping to golden perfection under her watchful eye. She hummed a tune, lost in the rhythm of assembling sandwiches packed with the fluffy eggs and savory sausage.

"Smells like heaven in here," Tim's voice broke the morning's quiet as he emerged, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Morning, " Amy greeted him with a smile, placing a steaming mug of coffee on the table. "Thought we'd start the day right."

"Can't argue with that," Tim said, taking a seat and reaching for a sandwich. His appreciative grin was all the thanks she needed.

"Sunday best is all laid out for the kids," she added, pouring herself a cup of coffee and joining him.

"Beatrice too?" Tim asked between bites. "She's not always the best behaved at church these days."

"Especially Beatrice," Amy replied. "Though I think she needs something new, something with a touch of grace."

"Sounds like a plan," Tim agreed, nodding. "You seem to know what they all need."

Their conversation flowed as easily as the coffee they shared, a simple joy found in the quiet moments of the morning.

The children gathered for breakfast. "George, you're hogging all the sandwiches. If you take three then I don't get one!" Beatrice's voice was particularly shrill as she glared at her brother.

"Am not!" George protested with a scowl. "Just eat your eggs, Beatrice."

Amy watched them, her heart sinking a little. The balance between stepmother and disciplinarian was a tightrope she walked daily. She set down her sandwich, untouched, and attempted to broker peace. "Now, let's share nicely. There's plenty for everyone."

"Doesn't feel like it," Beatrice muttered, glaring at her brother before snatching a sandwich from his plate.

"Enough, Beatrice." Amy's voice was firm. She caught George's eye, hoping he would let the matter drop.

George sighed. "This isn't going to be enough, and my stomach will growl all through church."

"Here, take mine. I can make another," Amy said, giving him an encouraging smile.

The meal continued with less bickering but an undercurrent of tension that had Amy worrying about what her first church service with her family would be like.

After breakfast, Tim stepped outside to hitch up the wagon. Amy followed, smoothing down her simple dress, her hands trembling. She couldn't believe how nervous she was about going to church in her new community.

"Ready?" Tim called over his shoulder, the lines around his eyes crinkling as he smiled reassuringly at her.

"Guess I have to be," Amy replied, mustering a brave front. Her palms felt clammy against the fabric of her skirt.

"Hey, it's just church," Tim chuckled. "And after today, it'll just be another Sunday routine."

"Hope so," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

"Look at it this way," Tim said as he took the reins and gave her a sidelong glance, "it's a fine day for introductions."

"Sure is," Amy agreed, the optimism in Tim's tone infectious. She settled into the seat beside him, taking comfort in the warmth of his presence. The children all climbed into the back of the wagon, and Amy sensed there was still friction between George and Beatrice.

Amy stepped down from the wagon in front of the church, her heart lightening at the sight of friendly faces. Elizabeth's blond hair glimmered in the sunlight, and Susan's warm smile beckoned her closer.

"Elizabeth! Susan!" Amy exclaimed, rushing over to embrace them both. "It's so good to see you."

"Look at you, a breath of fresh air," Elizabeth said with a chuckle, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Welcome to the community, Amy," Susan added, her voice rich with maternal warmth.

Their familiar banter helped settle Amy's nerves. And then she saw Gail, her sister, standing a little apart, her gaze lingering on the oak trees that dotted the churchyard.

"Gail!" Amy called out, hurrying toward her. "I've been dreaming of a treehouse for the children. You think you could build one?"

Gail turned, her face lighting up with enthusiasm. "Treehouse? I'd love to! But, Amy, I won't take cookies as payment this time."

"Deal," Amy laughed. "How about a day of cooking at the restaurant instead?"

"Perfect! I'm tired of cooking anyway, and we both know you're a much better cook than I am." Gail grinned, clapping her hands together in excitement.

As they chatted about the treehouse, Amy's eyes wandered to the front steps of the church where Hannah stood, her arms wrapped around herself in a self-embrace, speaking earnestly with Amos, the pastor.

"Excuse me, Gail," Amy said, her curiosity piqued. She made her way to her younger sister, whose presence in such a holy place seemed as out of character as a fish climbing a tree.

"Hannah?" Amy approached cautiously. "What brings you here?"

Hannah turned, a small, almost shy smile playing on her lips. "Oh, Amy, you wouldn't believe it. Amos and I, we...we got married."

"Married?" Amy blinked, taken aback by the revelation. "But you and church..."

"He wasn't even there to meet a woman. He was only there to perform weddings, but I saw him, and well..." Hannah said, her eyes softening as she glanced at Amos.

"Congratulations," Amy managed, though a knot of concern formed in her stomach. Hannah and faith had always been like oil and water. Could such a union truly last?

"Thank you, Amy," Hannah replied. "I hope you'll support us."

"Of course, Hannah," Amy assured her, though the doubt lingered like a stubborn shadow. Attraction was powerful, but was it enough to bridge the gap between a skeptic and a pastor? Only time would tell.

The sermon was well underway, the pastor's voice a gentle hum in the background when Amy caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned just in time to see Beatrice's foot connect with George's shin, not with the playful tap of siblings in silent disagreement, but with the sharpness of pent-up frustration. George's yelp sliced through the pastor's words, and silence fell like a heavy curtain over the congregation.

Amy felt a blush warm her cheeks as heads swiveled their way, eyes filled with curious disapproval. She stood swiftly, skirts rustling softly against the pew. With a firm but gentle grip, she took Beatrice's hand, whispering words meant to soothe and scold all at once. "Now, Beatrice, you know that's no way to act in the Lord's house."

"Sorry," Beatrice muttered, not meeting Amy's gaze as they made their way down the aisle.

"Let's step outside for some fresh air," Amy suggested, her tone light despite the weight of embarrassment settled on her shoulders. They slipped out the church door and into the heat of the Texas sun.

"Church is a place of peace, Bea," Amy said. "We need to show respect, even when we're feeling cross."

Beatrice scuffed her shoe against the dirt, her defiance wilting under Amy's kind gaze. "I know, I just...I don't like it here without Ma," she whispered, her voice quivering like leaves in a breeze. "Pa has been letting me stay home for months, but when I saw you'd laid out a dress for me, I knew I had to come."

Amy rested her hands gently on the girl's shoulders. "I understand. Truly I do," she said with a warmth that reached straight into Beatrice's stormy heart. "But I'm here for you, and I promise, together we'll find a way through this."

Amy fiddled with the brim of her bonnet, watching as the last of the congregation filed out of the church. She caught sight of Susan Dailey. Taking in a deep breath, Amy approached her.

"Mrs. Dailey?" Amy's voice was hesitant yet hopeful.

Susan turned, her smile as welcoming as the warm bread she often baked. "Yes, Amy. How are you settling in?"

"Quite well, thank you," Amy replied. "But I—I wonder if I might ask for some advice."

"Of course, dear." Susan's eyebrows lifted in a gesture of attentive concern.

"It's about Beatrice. She...She seems to be profoundly sad, and I'm having a hard time getting through to her." Amy's fingers twisted the fabric of her skirt. "I thought maybe, since you've been a stepmother..." Amy shook her head. "It's so hard to know what the right thing is to do."

"Ah." Understanding dawned on Susan's face. "These things take time. And love, plenty of love. Why don't you and Tim come over for supper tonight? We can talk more then."

"Really?" A budding hope took root in Amy's chest.

"Really. It's nothing fancy, but we Daileys believe there's no trouble too big that it can't be soothed by good company and a hearty meal."

"Thank you." Amy's gratitude was clear. "We'll be there."

"Good, it's settled then!" Susan declared before waving off to another parishioner.

Amy felt a touch lighter as she walked back to where Tim was hitching up the wagon, ready to navigate the bumpy roads—and relationships—of their newfound life together.

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