Chapter Five
Amy Stockwell sat on the modest porch of the house, her hands twisting a handkerchief in her lap. She was waiting for Brenda and Cassandra, her heart sisters from the orphanage, now her neighbors and closest allies.
“Lord knows I need their counsel,” she murmured, thinking of Beatrice’s cold stares and sharp words. Amy’s heart was full of love, but she wasn’t certain Beatrice was ready to accept that love from her.
“Troubles?” Brenda’s voice called out as she approached the porch, Cassandra followed Brenda as they both climbed the steps to the porch and sat down in the wooden chairs there, and Amy marveled for the millionth time about just how short Cassandra was.
“Every day’s a battle with Beatrice, Tim’s oldest daughter,” Amy confided, once they were all seated on the creaky wooden planks, the scent of fresh-cut grass filling the air. “She’s twelve and looks at me like I’m trying to erase her mama’s memory.”
“It sounds like she’s still grieving her mama,” Brenda said. “But even the wildest storm can be calmed.”
Cassandra leaned forward, placing a comforting hand on Amy’s knee. “Mrs. Jackson,” she began, “she always had a way with the older girls who lost their mothers. She’d listen more than she’d talk, let them cry until the tears wouldn’t come anymore.”
“Did it work?” Amy asked, hope flickering in her chest.
“I never saw it fail,” Cassandra replied with a smile. “Sometimes, a heart just needs to know it’s heard.”
“Wouldn’t hurt to try,” Amy said softly.
Brenda cocked her head to one side, her eyes sparkling with an idea. “Here’s what you do, Amy,” she began, a playful lilt in her voice, “why not take Beatrice out for a walk? The blackberries are ripe for picking. A basket each, and you’ll have your hands too full of berries to fret.”
Amy’s brow arched in surprise, her gaze fixed on the sprawling fields beyond their homestead. She nodded thoughtfully, picturing the brambles heavy with fruit. “I do love a good blackberry pie,” she mused.
“Exactly,” Brenda declared with a grin, clapping her hands together. “Nothing sweetens a sour mood like a bit of sunshine and berry juice staining your fingers.”
Cassandra, who had been quietly listening, softly cleared her throat. “Remember, it’s not just about the berries,” she said gently. “Beatrice needs patience and someone to simply be there. I’ve felt that same emptiness, never having known my mother.”
Amy nodded slowly. “I won’t rush her,” she promised, her voice steady. “ I’ll walk beside her.”
“Then it’s settled,” Brenda said, clapping her hands in finality. “Tomorrow, you two will pick all the blackberries in Texas.”
“Thank you,” Amy whispered. She clasped a steaming cup of tea, the scent of chamomile rising with the morning mist. “Can I truly make a difference?”
Brenda leaned against the porch railing, her gaze softening as she regarded Amy. “You know, you don’t have to be her mother to be someone important in her life,” she said.
“I fear she sees me trying to step into shoes far too cherished to ever be filled by another,” Amy confessed.
“Then let her know that,” Brenda suggested. “Tell her you’re here to add to her life, not to take anything—or anyone—away.”
Amy agreed with her friend’s suggestion. “I’ll talk to her, heart to heart.”
Cassandra emerged from the house, wiping her hands on her apron, the flour dusting her cheeks giving her a ghost of a blush. “You should try to schedule a day to spend alone with her.” She took a seat beside Amy on the swing, the gentle creak of the chains joining their conversation.
“Alone?” Amy asked, unsure of how Beatrice would react.
“Sure,” Cassandra continued, her tone matter-of-fact. “Just you and Beatrice. It might help her see you’re not here to overshadow memories.”
“New memories,” Amy repeated softly. “We could start small. Perhaps a walk tomorrow? And the picnic and berry picking. Oh, and we can follow it up with pie baking!” Amy laughed. “Although I’m not sure that’s starting small.”
Cassandra patted Amy’s knee, a gesture of solidarity. “Let her share her world with you, and in turn, share yours with her.”
“Thank you, both of you,” Amy said, relaxing as plans began to form. “I think...I think maybe that would work for us.”
“Of course, it will,” Brenda said, her blunt nature leaving no room for doubt. “Now go on, the day is young and full of promise.”
AMY HOISTED THE WICKERbasket onto her hip. It was a fine day for an outing, she mused. It was a bit too hot, but she was going to have to get used to hot if she was going to live in Texas. She approached Beatrice, who stood by the garden gate, her posture stiff as a fence post.
“Ready for an adventure?” Amy asked.
