Phoebe gasped. “So far?”
“Yes, dear. They’ve men there seeking wives.” Augusta looked her over. “Let’s see now, what brings you to us?”
Phoebe tried not to gulp. “I’m alone now, you see. My mother died almost a year ago, and, well, things haven’t been favorable when it comes to seeking employment.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. Tsk, tsk. But surely you have skills.”
“Of course. I can sew, clean, do laundry, and I’m a decent cook.”
Augusta studied her a moment. “So no family left? What about your father?”
Phoebe stared at her hands. “I have no idea where he is, and frankly, don’t want to.”
“Oh dear.” Augusta typed something, though Phoebe didn’t want to ask what. “So you’re all alone in the world.”
“Yes. My… rent is overdue, and what funds I have are running dangerously low. I didn’t want things to come to this, but no one will hire me and…”
Augusta’s head came up. So did her sister’s and the young woman she’d been helping at the next desk.
Phoebe swallowed. “My father… he has a reputation, and… folks, well, you know the saying. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree? Most think that’s the case here, but I’m nothing like my father. I take after my mother.”
Augusta reached across the desk, giving her a sympathetic look. “Of course you are, dear.” She returned to the typewriter. “What sort of man are you seeking?”
Phoebe blinked. She hadn’t known she’d get a say. “Well… a grocer or accountant would be nice. I’m good with numbers and can keep books.” Too bad no one in Chicago thought so. It was hard for a woman to find employment. Everyone wanted experience and references. Good references. No one would give her any because of Papa.
“Hmmm, so a man who lives in a town or city,” Augusta said as she typed.
“Yes, preferably. I’m not one to become a bride to a man from a town like the one you mentioned.”
“Wild Rose Ridge?” Augusta asked. “Not everyone is. One needs an adventurous spirit and must be willing to live in harsh conditions.”
Phoebe shivered at the thought. “That’s not me.”
“It’s perfectly all right, dear,” Augusta assured. “Now, what else can you do? Do you sing? Play the piano or another instrument? What about children? You do want them, don’t you?”
Phoebe did her best to answer. By now the other young lady had left the office, and Augusta’s sisters were standing at the desk.
“Oh my, I think we have the perfect groom for you!” the one called Margaret gushed.
Phoebe tried to spot the sheepdog but didn’t see him.
“Are you thinking of Mr. Trevor?” the third sister asked. Phoebe still didn’t know her name.
“Yes, of course,” Augusta said. “Percy Trevor. Bookkeeper. Hails from… oh dear, where is he from?”
The other two sisters blushed and shook their heads.
“I’m not sure,” Josie said. “We haven’t found the rest of his information.”
Phoebe’s eyes widened and for the first time noticed stacks of files and papers sitting on top of desks, the filing cabinets along one wall. Everything was stacked willy nilly, as if scooped off the floor then set aside.
“Not to worry, dear,” Augusta cooed. “We had a little mishap about a week ago that we’re still recovering from.”
George barked somewhere behind a door. Margaret must’ve put him in another room.
“Yes,” the third sister said. “We, um… well, suffice it to say, in time we’ll get everything sorted.”
George barked again, louder.
