“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.
