“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.
