Phoebe smiled anyway. “Of course.” She sat and wrote the reply in neat script. When she finished, Mr. Jones reached for it. When their fingers collided, Phoebe’s heart skipped and her belly did a flip. No, no, no! He wasn’t looking for someone like her.
She fixed her eyes on the desk. Mr. Jones didn’t move. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said quietly.
George nudged her elbow with his nose, jealous or helpful, she couldn’t tell. She was just glad for the distraction.
Mr. Jones turned toward the door just as a second messenger boy burst in. “Urgent telegram from Nevada City!”
Augusta put a hand to her temple. “Now what?”
Margaret grabbed the chair again. “Canada,” she whispered. “We must flee to Canada.”
Mr. Jones took the telegram from the boy, gave him a coin, then sighed.
Phoebe closed her eyes. “This is going to be one of those days.”
Chapter Six
That evening, snow drifted against the windows in soft, steady flakes, muffling the noise of the street outside. Inside the Sister’s Mail-Order Bride Company, the chaos of the day had finally taken its toll on the Merriweather sisters.
Augusta yawned so wide her jaw cracked. “We shall… attempt to continue… reorganizing.” She sat in Josie’s chair and nearly slid out of it.
Margaret dropped a ledger on her own foot. “Ouch! Oh… oh dear. I can’t feel my toes.”
Josie was already half-asleep, chin tipped forward, a few telegraph messages still clutched in her hands.
Braxton took in the scene and shook his head. “Maybe the three of ya ought to call it a night.”
“Nonsense,” Augusta murmured, swaying like a tree in a windstorm. “We are professional matchmakers.”
Josie snored.
Margaret rubbed her eyes. “Yes, we are… very professional.” She shook the foot she’d dropped the ledger on.
Not five minutes later, all three sisters were beginning to nod off.
Miss Hale watched them with a tired smile. “They meant well.”
Braxton crossed his arms. “Pretty sure they meant to stay upright too.”
Her quiet laugh warmed the room more than the lamps did.
Augusta stirred awake long enough to wave toward the filing cabinets. “We must begin again… first thing… in the morning.” She yawned. “Don’t touch anything. In fact, go home you two.” She eased out of her chair and shuffled toward the door leading to the back, waking her sisters as she went. Margaret and Josie left their chairs and stumbled after her.
George followed behind them, paused halfway and turned and lumbered right back down to flop across Miss Hale’s feet. She blinked. “Well. That solves the question of where he intends to sleep.”
Braxton grinned. “Your shoes must be comfortable.”
She looked down at the dog sprawled over her shoes like a furry stone. “They’re certainly occupied.”
The sisters thumped up to their apartment overhead. They heard doors creaking, as their voices drifted through the floorboards.
Then silence.
Miss Hale exhaled slowly. “We should probably finish the sorting they didn’t get to.”
Braxton rubbed the back of his neck. “You don’t have to stay, Miss Hale.”
“I know,” she said softly. “But someone ought to. Besides, they didn’t lock up. However, I’m sure there’s a key around here somewhere.” She gathered some envelopes, smoothing them neatly. In the lamplight, she looked tired, but… determined.
