Chapter Nine

T he afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the homestead as Amy rounded up her little flock with an announcement that had everyone's eyes sparkling. "Girls, we need to get ready—we're heading to town for new dresses!"

Ruby's shy smile peeked out from behind a curtain of hair, and Priscilla's tiny feet danced a jig on the wooden floorboards. Beatrice, however, bore the air of someone bestowed a rare gift. "Two for me?" she verified, voice lilting with a mix of disbelief and delight.

"Yes," confirmed Amy, tying on her bonnet. "The little girls still have dresses they can wear. Nothing you have fits anymore!"

As they made their way to the wagon, Beatrice practically floated to her seat beside Amy, each step a dance of anticipation. The wagon creaked under their weight, the horses snorting softly, ready to tread the familiar path to town.

"Ruffles would be so pretty," mused Beatrice. "And maybe some lace right here..." She gestured delicately around her neck and wrists, her imagination painting elaborate garments in the air before them.

Amy chuckled, reining in both the horses and Beatrice's fanciful ideas with gentle firmness. "We can put lace around your collar and sleeves, but remember, we need dresses for everyday life not big dance parties."

"Of course, Amy," Beatrice conceded with a playful roll of her eyes.

The bell above the store door jingled, heralding the arrival of Amy and her lively entourage. The shop's cozy interior was lined with bolts of fabric. Amy approached the counter, the reticule in her hand giving her the money she needed for her shopping.

"Goodness," she murmured, thumbing through the folded bills Tim had entrusted to her care. Her brows knit together. This was more money than she'd seen in a long while, enough to make her head spin like a top.

"Is something wrong, Amy?" Beatrice asked, peering at Amy.

Amy hesitated, then shook her head, laughing softly at her own surprise. "It's just...well, I didn't expect so much."

"Pa said it's for groceries too," Beatrice said. "He knows we eat a lot."

"Yes, we do," Amy agreed with a smile. "Well, let's see about those fabrics, shall we?"

Ruby, quiet as a mouse but with eyes wide as saucers, pointed to a bolt of vibrant red cloth. "Like roses," she whispered.

"More like rubies, don't you think?" Amy asked, hugging the girl with one arm.

"Pink!" Priscilla declared. "Pink like... like candy!"

"Then pink it shall be," Amy announced, her heart warmed by their simple joys. Beatrice, meanwhile, had wandered to a table laden with yard goods.

As Amy helped the girls pick out the perfect prints—a dainty floral for Ruby and playful polka dots for Priscilla—she couldn't help but think how each fabric seemed to capture the girls' personalities.

"Found anything you fancy, Beatrice?" asked Amy, glancing over at the eldest girl.

"Maybe," Beatrice replied, the ghost of a smile on her face as she set the fabric aside. "But let's get the little ones sorted first."

"All right then," Amy agreed, herding the excited children to the counter so they could put them down and continue shopping. As the clerk started their order, Amy realized that the excursion had been successful, with all three girls excited that they were getting exactly what they wanted.

Beatrice drifted back to the table she had abandoned earlier, her gaze now settled on two bolts of fabric. The first was a sky blue adorned with delicate white flowers, and the second, a vibrant green as fresh as new leaves unfurling under the morning sun.

"Blue for the sky," Beatrice murmured, almost to herself, "and green for the fields." She looked up at Amy with a rare flicker of excitement in her eyes. "I like these."

Amy beamed at her, thrilled at the girl's budding enthusiasm "Those are beautiful choices, Beatrice. They'll suit you perfectly."

With the younger girls' choices bundled and set aside, it was Amy's turn to peruse the shelves. Her hands found a bolt of plain white fabric, smooth and cool to the touch—perfect for a nightgown to replace the one she'd worn threadbare. She would also be sure to get enough to make aprons for all three of the girls.

She thought she'd surprise the girls with them as soon as all three were done.

Amy's fingers lingered on a roll of fabric that seemed to call out to her. It was a lovely floral print, a cascade of wildflowers that danced across a soft cream background. It was just the sort of dress she could wear when the weather turned fair, maybe to the Sunday service or to any summer parties.

"This one's for me," she said, a hint of dreaminess in her voice. Never before had she been given the opportunity to choose her own fabric for a dress. She was used to wearing the hand-me-downs all of the children in the foundling home had worn.

"Very pretty," Beatrice acknowledged. "You'll look nice in it."

"Thank you, Beatrice." Amy smiled. "Now, let's get these home so we can start creating."

"Can't wait," Beatrice replied, seeming to be genuinely happy to be shopping with Amy and her sisters.

Amy's arms brimmed with bolts of fabric as she approached the counter, her charges trailing behind her, each of them with full arms. The clerk, a portly man with a waxed mustache, watched with a bemused expression as they unloaded their bounty. Ruby and Priscilla giggled while piling on buttons and spools of thread, each one chosen with care.

"Will that be all, Mrs. Stockwell?" the clerk asked, his eyes darting from the mountainous stack to Amy's face.

"Just about," Amy replied. "We'll need to pick up some provisions for the week ahead."

The girls set to work once more, this time navigating the narrow aisles lined with jars of preserves, sacks of flour, and tins of tea. Beatrice's nose scrunched as she deliberated between two bags of oats, finally choosing the one that seemed fuller.

"Can't forget Mr. Stockwell's favorite molasses," Amy reminded them, reaching for the sticky jug. "And some of these dried apples—they'll bake up nice."

"Priscilla loves apple pie," Ruby chimed in.

"Then apple pie it shall be," Amy decided, adding the fruit to their growing pile.

As the last can of beans clinked onto the counter, Amy's gaze fell upon a basket of soft woolen yarns, their colors rich and inviting. She hesitated only a moment before selecting skeins in hues of charcoal and oatmeal.

"Going to knit some warmth into those boys' come winter," she said with a determined nod, picturing George and Tim out on the chilly range, their feet snug in the socks she'd craft by the firelight.

"George will like that," Beatrice observed, a rare note of affection in her voice for her brother.

"Tim too," Amy agreed, smiling at the thought of the men's surprise when they slipped their feet into her handiwork.

"All right then," the clerk announced, tallying up their goods. "That should do it, unless you've got a hankering for anything else."

Amy shook her head, content with their haul. "This will see us through just fine."

"Very good, Mrs. Stockwell." He offered a nod, appreciative of her decisiveness.

"Come on, girls," Amy beckoned, ready to return home and start on their sewing adventures. "Let's get these things back to the wagon."

"Can we help make the pie?" Priscilla asked, her eyes wide with hope.

"Of course," Amy assured her, her heart swelling with the simple joy of these shared moments.

Amy lingered a moment longer than the others, her gaze caught by the gleam of polished metal in the corner. There was a sewing machine. She'd seen such contraptions in passing—marvels of the modern age that promised to transform the labor of needle and thread into something swift and effortless.

"Never touched one before," she mused aloud, her fingers tracing the contours of the cool metal and intricate gears. It was a beautiful piece, solid and promising.

"Looks complicated," murmured Ruby from behind her, clutching her chosen red fabric to her chest.

"Perhaps, but think of the time it would save," Amy replied, her voice tinged with a mix of awe and practicality. Then she remembered Tim's money was meant for necessities, not luxuries. With a gentle pat on the machine's side, she turned away, her thoughts already flipping through patterns and meals as she herded the girls out of the store.

"Let's get these treasures loaded up," she said brightly.

The ride home was filled with chatter about the dresses they would make and the pies they would bake. But once they arrived, Beatrice's sudden request surprised Amy.

"May I go for a walk?" Beatrice asked, her voice quieter than usual.

"Alone?" Amy's brows raised in surprise. The girl had been stuck to her side like glue since their arrival at the store.

"Need some air," came Beatrice's simple reply, her eyes not quite meeting Amy's.

"All right then," Amy conceded, her curiosity piqued but her tone supportive. "But don't wander too far. Supper won't wait for any young lady."

"Promise," Beatrice said and, with a quick hitch of her skirt, she was off, leaving Amy to watch her go, a small smile playing on her lips.

Amy spread the soft pink fabric across the worn wooden table, the gleam in Priscilla's eyes reflecting the gentle hue. The little girl clapped her hands with unbridled excitement.

"It's so pretty!" Priscilla exclaimed.

"Yes, it'll make a fine dress for you," Amy replied, measuring and snipping with practiced ease, her heart buoyant amidst the flutters of cotton.

"Can we add some fairy wings to it to make me fly?" Priscilla asked.

"We won't attach them to the dress, but I'll make some fairy wings," Amy chuckled, envisioning Priscilla twirling in her new dress.

"Ruffles!" Ruby chimed in, bouncing on her toes. "Lots and lots!"

"Ruffles it is," Amy agreed, nodding at the eager child. "This will be a church dress, so ruffles are necessary!"

As if summoned by Amy's musings, Beatrice reappeared, her face flushed from the walk and looking excited. She hovered near the table, watching Amy's hands move.

"I want my dress with...with a train!" Beatrice declared.

"Trains are lovely," Amy said, placing the scissors down, "but not very practical for every day. You know how muddy it can get."

"Then maybe just..." Beatrice trailed off, biting her lip in thought.

"Here," Amy offered, rummaging through a modest pile of patterns, "these are what I have. But none quite match your grand ideas."

Beatrice's nose wrinkled in mild frustration before a spark lit up her features. "Wait here!" she instructed, dashing away before anyone could utter a word. Curiosity bubbled within Amy as she continued pinning the fabric for Priscilla's dress.

Moments later, Beatrice returned, arms straining beneath the weight of a dusty crate.

"Mother's patterns," Beatrice said, her voice softer. "She loved making dresses."

"Your mother had exquisite taste," Amy observed, peering into the crate.

Together they sifted through the designs, the air tinged with memories and muted hope. Beatrice's finger halted on an elaborate drawing, her expression brightening.

"This one," she said, laying the paper pattern atop the others. "It looks like my mother's favorite dress, but my colors will be different."

"Of course," Amy smiled, "we can start on yours after we finish with Priscilla's."

"Thank you, Amy," Beatrice murmured with a smile.

"Always," Amy replied. She felt as if she and Beatrice had a true breakthrough.

AMY TRACED THE DELICATE lines of the sewing pattern with her finger. Beatrice beamed down at the intricate sketch on the table—a high-waisted dress with just the right amount of frill for a young lady of twelve.

"Are you sure?" Amy asked, knowing full well the joy dancing in Beatrice's eyes.

"It's perfect," Beatrice said. "Just like she would have made."

"Priscilla's dress is already laid out. Mind if I stitch hers up first?" Amy asked, wishing she could do them all at the same time. "If you want to help sew, it will be done much faster."

"I'll help," Beatrice agreed.

The day waned as Amy tucked Priscilla's dress under her arm and moved toward the oven. The scent of baking bread wafted through the room, mingling with the earthy aroma of stewing herbs. She slid the supper inside.

The front door creaked open. George ambled in, his grin wide enough to split his face in two, while Tim followed, muscles straining against the bulk of something hidden from view.

"Look what we have here," George announced.

Together, they heaved their surprise onto the wooden floor—a sewing machine, sleek and gleaming even in the dimming light. The very one Amy had admired in town but dared not dream of owning.

"Is this..." Her words faltered, disbelief etching her features as she turned to Beatrice, who stood a little straighter, a conspiratorial glint in her eye.

"I knew you wanted it but wouldn't buy it for yourself." Beatrice's voice held a note of mischief. "Besides, we'll all get dresses faster this way."

Amy's heart swelled, the corners of her mouth lifting in a smile. Just when she'd started to wonder if she and Beatrice would ever see eye to eye...

Amy's hands trembled as she reached out to touch the sewing machine, her fingers grazing over the glossy black surface etched with delicate gold filigree.

"Beatrice," Amy said, her voice a mixture of gratitude and wonder. She turned to the young girl who stood watching her, an impish smile playing on her lips.

With a couple of quick strides, Amy closed the distance between them and wrapped Beatrice in a heartfelt embrace. "This is exactly what I need," she whispered, her words muffled by Beatrice's hair.

"Thought you'd say that," Beatrice replied, her arms returning the hug with equal fervor.

"Aren't you going to thank Pa?" George asked.

"Of course," Amy said, pulling back to look at both men standing there, their faces flushed from the effort of carrying the heavy machine—and perhaps from the satisfaction of their good deed.

"Thank you, both of you," she added, directing her gaze toward Tim, who nodded.

"Can't wait to see what magic you'll whip up with this thing," Tim said.

"So much magic," Amy agreed, her mind already racing with the possibilities now laid open before her. "First up, Priscilla's dress!"

"Then mine," Beatrice piped up.

"Then yours," Amy confirmed.