As I approached my father's shop, the familiar scent of wood shavings and candle wax filled the air. The rhythmic sound of my horse's hooves against the cobblestones echoed in the quiet early morning. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a golden hue over the town, and I could already hear the bustling sounds of market vendors setting up their stalls.
I shifted in my saddle, feeling the soft layers of my petticoats rustle with each movement. The task ahead was a significant one; we had orders piling up for dresses, and the dim light in the workshop would make our sewing all the more challenging. We'd have to stock up on candles to keep our spirits bright and our stitches precise.
Arriving at the shop, I dismounted and tied my horse to the hitching post. I pushed open the door, the familiar creak welcoming me inside. The large workbench was already cluttered with fabric scraps, spools of thread, and half-finished garments. I called out to my father, who was busy organizing supplies in the back.
“Father, we’ll need to order more candles if we’re going to tackle all those dresses this week!” I said, already envisioning the light illuminating our work as we crafted the beautiful garments.
He turned, wiping his hands on his apron and nodding. "You're right, my dear. Let's jot down what we need. The last batch went faster than I expected."
Together, we set about preparing our list, the excitement of a busy sewing season ahead stirring in the air like the flicker of candlelight.
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