“How many children again?” Phoebe asked.
“Five. The oldest is ten. The youngest, two.” His eyes softened. “I’m looking for someone dependable, responsible, and someone I can come to love in time.” He leaned toward her. “And I hope she’ll come to love me too.”
He seemed a decent sort. Braxton swallowed hard and bent over a stack of old applications, pretending to sort them.
“Well, Phoebe,” Josie said gently. “What do you think?”
Braxton picked up a pencil as Phoebe turned her attention back to Mr. Clark. “I’d like some time to think about it.”
“Of course,” Mr. Clark said. “We should get to know one another better first. I’m not opposed to a courtship, provided it’s a short one.”
Braxton’s pencil snapped.
Everyone looked his way. He cleared his throat and reached for another. How could this be happening? And yet… wasn’t this what Phoebe wanted? A quiet life. Someone safe.
Though he wasn’t sure how quiet her days would be with five children underfoot. Still, Mr. Clark didn’t give him a bad feeling. Everything he’d said made sense.
Braxton studied the banker more closely. Average height. Brown hair thinning at the top. Brown eyes. Nothing about him suggested cruelty or intimidation. As far as what Phoebe was looking for, he could very well be the man she chose to marry.
Braxton closed his eyes against the thought and forced himself to stay where he was. No one needed to see how much losing her was already tearing him apart.
Chapter Seventeen
Phoebe didn’t see Braxton for several days. Mr. Clark came by a couple of times, and they sat and spoke. She didn’t want to give him an answer just yet. He seemed amiable enough, and if she were smart, she’d take his offer of marriage. It seemed a little unconventional, now that she thought about it, and he said he’d give her time, just not too much. She was beginning to feel as though he wanted to present her to his children as a Christmas gift.
Augusta came into the office and dropped a stack of new applications on her desk. “Isn’t it wonderful? Five more grooms!”
Phoebe forced a smile. “Yes, it’s great.”
Augusta’s hands went to her hips. “You don’t sound enthused. What’s the matter, dear?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose I’m… procrastinating.” And the fact that she missed Braxton didn’t help. Phoebe fiddled with the applications. “Have you heard from Braxton?”
“No, dear. But we’re still looking for a bride for him. Unfortunately, the few women that have come in wouldn’t suit him and want to head west right away. Which is why this new batch of applications is so timely.”
Phoebe nodded, unable to speak. Her throat was thick with emotion, and she realized she’d fallen for Braxton. What good did it do her? He was leaving, and he wanted someone with a lot more gumption than she had.
“Augusta,” Margaret said as she entered the office, “I’m heading to the telegraph office. Are there any more messages that need to be sent?”
“No, I think everything’s fine. Just let Mr. Hansen know we’ve found a bride for him and that she’ll be sending him a letter.”
“Consider it done.” Margaret went to the coat rack, put on the hat George had decimated, Josie’s coat, and her own scarf.
Phoebe smiled despite herself and realized how much she enjoyed working for the Merriweather sisters. “Augusta…”
“Yes, dear?”
“Do you have any other family, or is it just the three of you?”
“We have cousins. One, Stanley, lives in Apple Blossom in the Montana Territory, though we barely know him. In fact, we’ve never met. Then there’s cousins Lawrence and Mable and some other relatives scattered here and there. Unfortunately, we’re not very close with any of them. That’s the trouble when everyone’s so spread out.”
“I suppose it is.”
Phoebe thought of her father. He was her only living relative, and he didn’t care a whit about her. He only showed up when he needed money. If her guess was right, he could pop up at any time. Thankfully, she’d moved to Randall’s Boarding House not long after Mama passed. Even if he did show up, he might never find her.
She let out a long sigh and studied the applications. Augusta was still standing beside her desk. Phoebe looked up at her. “Yes?”
“Dearest. I know you’re not happy. Is it Mr. Clark?”
