“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.
