“The sender want’s an immediate response.” The boy handed the envelope to Augusta.
Augusta snatched the telegram and tore it open. She sucked in a breath. “Oh no…”
“What is it?” Phoebe asked.
“It’s from Miss Wrightwood. Apparently, we sent her to the wrong groom!”
“What?! How could we have sent her to the wrong groom?!”
Phoebe exchanged a knowing look with Mr. Jones. He pressed his lips together and returned his attention back to the tree stand.
Margaret pressed a hand to her forehead and fell into the chair. “I knew it. If this gets out, we’ll lose business, then starve!”
Phoebe rolled her eyes and pushed back from the desk. “Let me see that.” She went around the desk and joined Augusta, who thrust the telegram at her.
Phoebe scanned the message quickly. “Silver Falls? I remember seeing the paperwork for Miss Wrightwood. She was supposed to go to Buffalo, Wyoming.”
Margaret wailed. “We’ve misplaced a bride!”
Josie wrung her hands. “On dear!”
Mr. Jones stepped forward, calm as a sunrise. “Ma’ams, if you’d just calm down, you can better sort the mess out.”
“A bride sent to the wrong town! How did she not catch it?” Josie looked at her sisters. “I mean, yes, we’re a little absent minded, but Miss Wrightwood seemed levelheaded.”
“Perhaps she’s as absent minded as we are,” Margaret suggested. “She was desperate to leave Chicago, after all.”
Phoebe took a steadying breath. She had no idea who this Miss Wrightwood was, but she could relate to being desperate to get out of Chicago. “Let’s think. Which bride was supposed to travel to Silver Falls? Did she wind up getting sent to Wyoming?”
“We have no idea!” Josie said.
“None whatsoever!” Margaret added.
George, sensing stress, wandered closer and sniffed the telegram in Phoebe’s hand. Before she could stop him, he snatched it.
“GEORGE!” all three sisters screamed.
He trotted proudly toward the coat rack, chewing.
Phoebe ran after him. “George, no! Give that back… oh!”
Mr. Jones intercepted like a professional sheepdog wrestler. He gently caught George by the collar, pried the telegram from his mouth, and handed it, slobbery and folded, to Phoebe. “Here you are, ma’am.”
Phoebe wiped a corner of the paper with her sleeve. “Well… at least we still have most of it.”
Margaret put both hands to her cheeks. “We’re finished. Ruined. We must close the office.”
“Or move to Canada,” Josie whispered.
Augusta shook her head sharply. “We are not moving to Canada!”
Phoebe stood straighter and lifted her voice. “Everyone, please, listen.”
They all turned to her.
“First, which bride should be in Silver Falls? Second, who are the grooms? Third, which grooms need updates? Good grief, the bride that was supposed to go to Silver Falls could be anywhere.”
The sisters blinked.
