“Josie, this one’s for you,” Augusta said, handing her a rectangular package. “This one’s for me.” She indicated a smaller box tied with ribbon to a flatter parcel. Then she lifted another small package. “Oh my, he even got something for George!” Augusta glanced at the tag on the largest box and two smaller ones. “Phoebe, these are for you.”
Phoebe sucked in a breath. “What could they be?”
“I can’t wait,” Margaret said. “I’m opening mine!” She undid the ribbon, peeled back the tissue paper, then opened the box and beamed. “A hat!” She lifted it out reverently and placed it on her head at once. It sat a bit askew, but it was lovely.
“Oh, sister, it looks divine!” Josie clapped her hands. “I’m opening mine next.” She unwrapped her gift. Inside were leather-covered ledgers trimmed in gold, along with several fine pens.
Augusta’s jaw dropped. “Those are beautiful!” She didn’t announce opening her own gift. She simply did. Inside were record-keeping books, also leather-bound with gold-edged pages, and beautiful pens.
“I’m opening George’s for him,” Josie said. George, snoozing in the back parlor, likely wouldn’t mind. Josie tore off the paper. “Oh, look, a new collar!”
“Now you, dear,” Margaret said, nodding toward Phoebe’s parcels.
Phoebe untied the ribbon on the smallest package first, her hands trembling. She unwrapped it slowly. “Oh…” Her voice caught. “It’s a book of poetry.”
“Open the big one!” Margaret urged.
Phoebe smiled, and reached for the second biggest. “Goodness…”
Augusta, Margaret, and Josie all drew in a breath at once.
“Phoebe, what a lovely hat,” Josie said.
Phoebe lifted it from the box. It was the hat she’d admired in the first dress shop she and Braxton visited. She stared at it a moment, her heart in her throat, before setting it aside and reaching for the biggest box. She opened it and gasped. “Mercy, will you look at this?” She pulled a dress from the box and held it to her chest. “It’s beautiful.” Tears stung her eyes. “He remembered what I liked…”
Her gaze fell to the letter resting on the table. Setting the dress down carefully, she picked it up. “Mind if I read this?”
“Not at all, dear,” Augusta said.
Phoebe opened the envelope and unfolded the letter with care.
Ladies,
I wish to thank you for the time, patience, and consideration you extended to me during my stay. Your professionalism and kindness will not be forgotten. It was a true pleasure working with you.
Phoebe,
Please forgive the liberty of addressing you here, but I believe it best to speak plainly. I understand that Mr. Clark has made an offer for your hand, and that his intentions are honorable.
It is my hope that whatever course you choose brings you comfort and stability, both of which you deserve.
I wish you every happiness in the future.
Respectfully,
Braxton Jones
Phoebe read the letter twice. There was no accusation in it. No claim. No reproach. Only understanding. And that, somehow, hurt the most.
“What does it say, dear?” Margaret asked.
Phoebe handed her the letter and wandered toward the Christmas tree. The sisters gathered close as Margaret read it aloud. As she did, Phoebe’s jaw trembled.
“He didn’t even say goodbye.”
Chapter Eighteen
One of his ranch hands, Charlie Flax, picked Braxton up at the train station that morning. Snow had started again, fine grains at first, then heavier. It clung to his coat, his lashes, the brim of his hat. It was the sort of weather a man might blame for his mood. He’d hardly said two words to Charlie.
