“With Mr. Trevor’s file,” Josie said. “Where is it again?”
“We just had it,” Augusta said.
Phoebe arched an eyebrow then looked around. She spotted more random papers on the floor, but at least it wasn’t carpeted with them. “Perhaps we start with picking things up off the floor.”
The sisters nodded at once. “Right you are,” Margaret said. “And since George and I were out, we know he didn’t take Mr. Trevor’s file.”
Phoebe bent to pick up a stray envelope when the office door opened again.
Braxton Jones stepped inside. He filled the space, his hat in his hands, his expression somewhere between resigned and mildly amused, as if he’d anticipated the new mess. “Morning, ma’ams. Miss Hale.”
Phoebe straightened. “Good morning, Mr. Jones.”
George took off at once, racing toward him with a bark. He slammed into him. Mr. Jones stood solid as a tree.
Phoebe stared at him, her jaw going slack. He was such a big, strong man...
“Mr. Jones,” Augusta said, swooping toward him. “We are so pleased you’ve arrived.”
“We aren’t ready,” Josie whispered.
“We are never ready,” Margaret replied.
Phoebe hid a smile. Were these three ever ready for anything?
“Mr. Jones, could you possibly help with the Christmas tree?” Augusta asked.
“And possibly the entire filing system?” Josie muttered under her breath.
Phoebe caught the remark and turned to him. “I told them I’d help tidy a little.”
Augusta smiled at her. “Miss Hale, we apologize that everything is in utter disarray. But it was all for a good cause. Mr. Trevor. We think he’s perfect for you.”
Phoebe hesitated, glancing around at the mountains of papers. “I suppose he might be…”
“Wonderful!” Margaret said. “As soon as we find his file, you can tell us if he meets all your requirements.”
Phoebe wasn’t sure what to think about anything at this point. Did Mr. Trevor even exist?
Mr. Jones, meanwhile, moved to the Christmas tree and began examining its wooden stand. “I’m going to need a hammer.”
Phoebe looked away quickly and sat at the desk to start sorting.
“Right away,” Margaret said and hurried through the door to the rooms in the back.
Not minutes later, the pounding started. Mr. Jones had already taken the stand off the tree, and was now reattaching it.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The front door rattled. Mr. Jones’ hammering wasn’t the only rapping going on.
Josie gasped. “What if it’s a groom?”
Augusta hurried to the door and opened it. “Stop your fussing, Josie. We’re fine.”
Another messenger boy burst inside, red-cheeked from the cold. “Telegram for the Sisters’ Mail-Order Bride Company. It’s marked urgent, ma’am!” He waved the envelope dramatically.
Margaret staggered backward and grabbed the nearest chair. “Urgent? Oh no. We aren’t ready for urgent.”
