Josie turned the hat around. “Margaret is bound to notice.”
Augusta took it and plopped it on the coat rack. The missing piece faced the wall. “There. No one will see it. Besides, half the time Margaret takes one of our hats. She took mine when she left.” She strode to the window and yanked the curtains open. Pale winter light spilled into the room. “All right, let’s get started. Josie pick up any paper you see and put it on my desk. I’ll straighten the…”
Josie picked up the fallen Christmas tree instead and propped it back in the corner. It slumped sideways but at least stood. “We need to do something about this.”
Augusta stared at it, tapping a finger against her chin. “When Mr. Jones comes in today, maybe he can fix the stand for us. Let’s take all the ornaments off and get it ready.”
The two moved quickly to strip the tree. Several ornaments rolled across the floor and Josie chased them, bumping into a desk and toppling a stack of papers. “Oh, bother.”
Before Augusta could comment, a sharp rap sounded at the door.
The sisters froze for a heartbeat, then spun toward the entrance. Augusta lifted her chin. “Compose yourself. We have a customer.” She smoothed her hair, and marched toward the door to the front hall.
Josie glanced around at the scattered papers, the crooked tree, the chewed hat, and sighed. “We can’t let anyone see any of this.”
Thankfully, when the door opened, Miss Hale stepped inside. Her expression said she saw the renewed chaos, and might walk back out the door.
Chapter Five
Snow drifted in slow, feathery spirals outside The Sisters’ Mail-Order Bride Company, coating the windowsills in white.
Phoebe paused on the sidewalk, tightening her scarf as she looked up at the frosted windows. She’d planned to stop by to check if the sisters had uncovered any promising grooms or at least located the correct folder with her file in it. But after yesterday’s sorting, they’d only managed to get half of the chaos organized. She suspected “promising” and “located” were not words this office used often.
Phoebe stepped inside the building, turned to the office door, and without thinking knocked on it. Maybe no one was there, or perhaps Mr. Jones had already come by this morning. Wait a minute, why would she think of him?
Augusta opened the door and smiled. She muttered something that sounded like, “Thank goodness!” and stepped out of the way.
Phoebe stepped through the door and gaped at the room. All the ornaments had been taken from the tree and were set on nearby desks. Papers were once again strewn everywhere, and the neat, organized piles she and Mr. Jones had worked on yesterday were now… well, she wasn’t sure where they were…
“We’ll have a perfectly calm day,” Augusta declared. She shut the door and strode past Phoebe.
Phoebe continued to take in the office. She had no idea how they managed it, but it looked worse than yesterday. At least the floor wasn’t strewn with papers. Still, what in the world happened to all their neat piles?
The door opened and George trotted inside. He made a beeline for her and sat, panting before he barked at her. “We had a lovely walk,” Margaret announced. She took off her hat and coat and hung them on the coat rack.
Josie inhaled sharply, her eyes flicking to Augusta. “You weren’t gone very long.”
“George took care of his business then I saw Miss Hale outside the office. I thought I’d better head back.”
Phoebe glanced out the front windows. There was a park across the street, and she was glad the sisters had a place to walk George.
Margaret clasped her hands before her. “Now, where is Mr. Trevor’s file? We just had it.”
“Miss Hale,” Augusta said, clearing her throat and trying to step in front of Margaret. “Once again, we didn’t expect you so early.”
George turned around and sat on her shoes. “I see you’ve had… quite a morning,” she said. Or was it a night? Phoebe didn’t care at this point. She just wanted them to find her a husband.
Margaret bent to grab some fallen envelopes. “We might have a few more prospects for you other than Mr. Trevor.”
Augusta sighed. “We had things under control last night, but then we couldn’t find Mr. Trevor’s file, and well, one thing led to another…”
Phoebe knelt, gathered a handful of papers she didn’t see earlier, and offered a small, reassuring smile. “So George isn’t to blame this time?”
Josie’s shoulders sagged. “Well, we can’t blame everything on the dog.”
Margaret clasped her hands together. “You wouldn’t happen to have some time to help us again, would you?”
Phoebe stood and set the papers on the nearest desk. She shouldn’t do this, but… “All right. Where shall I begin?”
