Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The next morning Phoebe awoke to more snowfall. The wind last night wasn’t as bad as she thought it might be, and this morning the flakes were coming down gently. Okay, at least she wouldn’t have to look for another place in a blinding snowstorm.
She got up, went through her morning routine then looked at her meager belongings packed into two large valises.
She’d have to try to find lodgings in a cheaper neighborhood.
But the problem with that was, how was she going to make money in the meantime?
Did she dare ask the Merriweather sisters?
She and Braxton had been helping them for at least a week now, and she’d only been presented with one groom. In person no less.
Phoebe shuddered at the thought of Mr. Pringle. He was a man who would make her miserable in no time at all. He didn’t want to marry for love. He wanted to marry for looks and prestige. She’d be nothing but ornamentation for him.
She shook her head as she searched her room for any item still not packed.
Poor Braxton hadn’t faired much better with Miss Poppenstock.
Gads, the woman wanted to become an ornament.
Phoebe hoped the sisters matched Miss Poppenstock and Mr. Pringle together.
She was sure they’d be very happy together. Neither seemed to care about love.
A loud rap sounded at her door. Phoebe jumped, a hand to her chest then drew in a shuddering breath. She knew that knock. It was Mr. Randall, come to collect the rent. She glanced at her valises and blinked back tears. This was it.
Phoebe opened the door. “Mr. Randall,” she managed calmly. “Good morning.”
He frowned at her. “Your rent’s caught up and paid through December. He gave her a curt nod, turned on his heel, and marched down the hall to the staircase.
Her jaw dropped. “Wh-what?”
“You heard me,” he called back.
Phoebe stepped into the hall and watched him disappear down the staircase. “But… how?” She shivered then hugged herself. “What… I…,” her eyes widened. “Braxton.”
Phoebe hurried back into her room and closed the door behind her. “Oh, Braxton, you did’nt…” But she was sure he did. How else did the rent get paid?
Phoebe put a hand to her mouth as something between a sob and a laugh escaped her. She looked at her valises, tears in her eyes, and began to unpack. But should she?
Phoebe stopped and looked around the room. If she got lucky, and the sisters would find her a groom in the next few days, then she’d just have to pack everything up again.
Her face fell. The likelihood of Augusta, Margaret, and Josie finding her a groom in the next couple of weeks was slim to none at the rate they were going.
She might still have to move at the end of the month.
She only had to have the rent money for January now.
Could she get the sisters to hire her and make the rest?
Maybe she could act as their assistant until Miss O’Malley returned.
She left her valises alone, donned her coat and hat, and pulled on her gloves.
She’d go straight to The Sister’s Mail-Order Bride Company and ask them if they’d hire her.
If they said no, then she’d have to think of something else.
She would also have to stop helping them.
If they couldn’t pay her, she had to find some form of work to earn the other half of the rent money she’d need for January.
She thought of Braxton and her heart pinched.
It meant she wouldn’t see him anymore, and part of her wasn’t sure she was prepared to do that.
He was kind, calm, and always knew what to do.
Steady was a good word to describe him. Like a big, solid tree in a storm.
He didn’t waver, was unmovable in his decisions, and knew what he wanted.
Too bad what he was looking for in a wife wasn’t her. She could fall for a man like him. Hard too, if she let her heart have free rein. But she didn’t dare, and the more she thought about it, the more she knew she was going to have to stop helping Augusta, Margaret, and Josie.
When Phoebe reached The Sister’s Mail-Order Bride Company, she wondered if Braxton had returned to help.
Neither spoke about it last night when he walked her home.
What little conversation they had involved the day’s work, and of course George.
Braxton had taken to walking him a few times throughout the day, and Phoebe didn’t wonder if he’d ask the sisters if he could have the dog.
She went inside and entered the office. Augusta sat behind her desk, smoothing the edges of some tired looking applications Phoebe had sorted last night.
Phoebe looked at the lamp on Augusta’s desk and was reminded of the lantern-lit moments she’d shared with Braxton.
For a moment, she thought she saw attraction in his eyes, or maybe admiration.
But it had been nothing. The result of a long day and a trick of the light.
Augusta looked up and smiled. “Miss Hale. I’m so glad you’re here.” She stacked the applications neatly and reached for a fresh sheet of paper.
“Augusta, that is, Miss Merriweather…”
“Please, call me Augusta. For heaven’s sake, you’ve earned the right. You’ve been helping us for days now.”
“That’s just it. I won’t be able to help anymore. I need to find a job if the process of finding me a decent groom is going to take a while.”
Augusta’s face fell. “Oh, dear me… well, we can’t have that.” She glanced at the door on the other side of the room. “Margaret and Josie are making tea. Why don’t we discuss it over a cup?”
Phoebe sucked in a tiny breath of surprise. “Really? You mean you’ll consider it?”
“Of course, dear. Goodness, you’ve been a life saver. Paying you something is the least we can do.” She left her chair and headed for the door leading to the back.
The office door opened and Braxton sauntered in. As soon as he saw Phoebe, his eyes locked on hers. “Good morning.”
She gave him a nod as her cheeks heated. She was going to have to say something to him about her rent. How else did it get paid? And how was she to pay him back?
Margaret and Josie swept into the room. They were dressed, but barely. Their hair had been hastily pinned, their shawls askew. And both had ink smudges on their sleeves. Neither wore her usual morning smile.
Phoebe straightened in alarm. “Is something wrong?”
Braxton joined them, his brow creased beneath the brim of his hat.
Augusta wrung her hands. “Ah yes. Um, Phoebe, dear… Mr. Jones… would you both sit down, please?”
That was never a good sentence. Phoebe tried not to gulp and sat in the nearest chair.
Braxton pulled a second chair beside hers. As soon as he sat, George shuffled over and flopped his enormous body across both their feet. Braxton didn’t attempt to move him, just settled deeper in his seat.
Phoebe folded her hands. “What happened?”
Augusta inhaled shakily. “We owe you both an apology.”
Phoebe’s stomach tightened. “For what?”
Augusta began. “We may have… slightly… mislaid some information.”
Margaret added, “As you know, some brides have been sent to… incorrect destinations.”
Josie burst out, “And we may have matched some people with the wrong people but only for a moment!”
Braxton blinked. “Ma’am, you want to start that over?”
Augusta shut her eyes and exhaled. “We’ve made a terrible mess.” She opened her eyes and glared at George. “But it wasn’t entirely our fault.”
Phoebe stared in disbelief. “A… mess?”
Margaret laid the files on the desk. “Phoebe, dear… the original groom we promised you, Percy Trevor, we don’t know where all his paperwork is. We think some of it is mixed with another groom’s. Then again, most of it may have been chewed up by George.”
Everyone looked at the dog. George panted a few times then barked.
Oh, George! Phoebe swallowed. “Mr. Trevor’s been chewed up?”
Josie stepped forward. “Mr. Jones… the bride we thought we had lined up… well… we didn’t actually have her. Not officially. We just hoped that once we sorted the files, we’d find the perfect candidate. But all we’ve come up with so far was Miss Poppinstock.”
Phoebe’s breath left her. How did the three of them stay in business?
Braxton was still beside her. “So you’re tellin’ me,” he said evenly. “There ain’t one bride in all them files of yours, that’s a good fit for me?”
Augusta looked ready to sink to the floor. “Not… anymore.”
A long silence spread across the room.
Phoebe stared at the scattered files on Margaret and Josie’s desks. All those hopes she’d clung to, structured, sensible hopes, suddenly felt like paper swept off a desk.
Augusta tried again. “We never intended to mislead either of you. We simply… lost control of the situation. George didn’t help.
We wanted so much to help you both that we let the chaos get ahead of us.
Honestly, we thought we’d have more new applications that might suit you, Phoebe.
” She turned to Braxton, and though we’ve had some prospective brides come in, none have the inclination to live on a sprawling ranch.
Like Phoebe, they’re looking for a grocer, banker, bookkeeper, or newspaper man. Even a blacksmith.”
Josie was getting teary-eyed. “We were afraid if we told you the truth, you’d never trust us again.”
Phoebe’s throat tightened, not in anger, but with tired compassion. “You should have told us sooner,” she said gently. “We could have helped you. Instead of letting you struggle in silence.”
Braxton grunted an approval. “Folks depend on you. Brides. Grooms. Ya can’t dodge that responsibility.”
Augusta wilted. “We know.”
“We want to make it right.” Margaret whispered.
Phoebe exchanged a glance with Braxton. Something unspoken sparked. An understanding built from late-night work, shared disasters, and a few warm moments. She nodded. “Then we fix this. Properly. Together.”
Braxton leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “First we’ll need a list. What’s where. Who’s where. What’s missin’.”
Margaret lit up. “A list! Yes!”
Josie looked almost hopeful. “You’ll help us?”
Braxton shrugged. “I’m already in it. Might as well see it through.”
“You’ve all been kind to me,” Phoebe said. “More than most. I won’t turn my back on you now.” She turned to Augusta. “But I will need to discuss with you what I told you earlier?”
“Of course, dear,” Augusta said. “Right away.”
When all was said and done, they sat at the table they used and set to work.
Margaret dictated the known facts: brides dispatched, grooms waiting for replies, destinations, and of course, the mismatched brides and grooms.
Phoebe wrote everything into one clean, organized ledger. Her script was steady despite the swirl of emotions inside her.
Braxton cross-checked towns and dates with her, his deep voice calm and soothing.
Every time he leaned her way, their shoulders almost touched, and she even found that a comfort.
She still hadn’t spoken with the sisters about paying her, but knew she would by the end of the day.
She also hadn’t mentioned anything to Braxton about his paying rent.
But she would. First, she wanted to get through the work they had today.
George contributed by dragging over a crushed envelope from under a chair. Miraculously, it belonged to the St. Louis bride they needed.
“Good boy!” Phoebe said.
George melted into her skirt with delight and gave a bark.
Braxton watched the dog’s reaction with a quiet, curious expression. “Fella’s taken a shine to you. Maybe you ought to walk him when the time comes.”
Phoebe’s cheeks warmed. “He’s very… enthusiastic.”
“Smart, too,” Braxton said. “Brings exactly what you need, even if he ain’t supposed to.”
Phoebe tried not to read into that metaphor.
By midday, the disaster had shape. One master list now lay before them. A clean record of everything known, unknown, missing, misfiled, or mauled by George.
Augusta pressed both hands over her heart. “There. At last. Order.”
Josie nodded. “Now, surely nothing else can go wrong.”
The office door slammed open. A messenger boy stood panting in the doorway, holding up a crumpled slip of yellow paper. “Urgent telegram for the Sisters’ Mail-Order Bride Company!”
Phoebe and Braxton shared a look over George’s furry head. Of course there was.