Falling to Pieces (3 page)

Callie began shaking her head, moved to the small sink and rinsed out her cup. “No, no I never said that.”

“But my agreement with your
aenti—
”

“Was just that, an agreement with my aunt. It wasn’t with me.”

Deborah had a sinking feeling in her belly. She rinsed out her cup, placed it on the dishcloth beside Callie’s. “Are you saying you won’t sell my quilts in your shop?”

“I’m not selling anything in the shop.” The Englisher turned now, looked her directly in the eye as if her flat, no-nonsense voice wasn’t convincing enough. “The shop is closed, and I have no intention of reopening it.”

C
ALLIE FELT A TWINGE
of guilt at the look of distress in Deborah Yoder’s eyes, but she knew it was best to be straightforward with her.

She’d disappointed enough people in the last few years—no surprise that she’d just let down one more.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m not staying in Shipshewana. I’m here to see to my aunt’s things—that’s all.”

Deborah fidgeted with the strings of her
kapp.
“So you mean to sell the shop?”

“I suppose. I mean yes, of course. I have no use for it. I certainly know nothing about running a craft store.”

“You could learn.”

The moment seemed to freeze—even Max stopped nudging the bowl around the floor. Amber eyes met brown ones, and Callie almost thought Deborah was daring her. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed the ridiculous idea away.

“I can’t possibly stay in Shipshewana.” Callie left the small kitchen and walked toward the quilts Deborah had brought with her.

“I see.” Deborah followed slowly behind.

At the counter they both stood looking at the quilts.

“When I received word that my aunt had died,” Callie said quietly, “I meant to come right away.” Her hands came out, as if she could explain better with motions than with words. “But everything became complicated. My job didn’t understand why I needed more than three days off. When I insisted, they made me choose work over family. I had a big argument with my boss, and then I walked out.”

Callie laughed, but even she heard the nervousness and pain behind her words. The memory was too raw. “We have family leave laws, but suddenly I was too tired to fight. Suddenly I knew I needed out of that job. I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this.”

“At times it helps to talk things out.” Deborah shrugged, and Callie thought of what Deborah had said about seeming like old friends. It did feel good to have someone to talk to.

“Anyway. I didn’t know what to do,” Callie continued. “I had financial obligations I suddenly couldn’t meet. The lawyers were saying I had to get to Chicago and sign probate papers. I finally put my things in storage, since I knew I’d have to find a new place to live—not to mention a new job when I returned. I let the lease go on my car, and got here as soon as I could.”

“It sounds as if things have been very difficult for you.”

“I certainly wasn’t expecting—this. And what happened with my job, well, it wasn’t the first disagreement I’d had with my boss. We hadn’t seen eye to eye in quite some time. It’s complicated, but ultimately I figured I’d be better off doing something different. If I only had some idea what.” Callie glanced around the room, shook her head, and pushed on. “Now what am I left with? A dusty old shop in a state I know nothing about—and all my things are still in Texas, where I should be looking for employment.”

Callie fingered the medallion quilt, the one that reminded her of her mother. She may not be keeping the shop, but she was still interested in hearing about this beautiful item.

“You were going to tell me about this one.”

“Yes, it’s a traditional Amish pattern, typically done in deep, rich tones. As you can see it’s a diamond-in-a-square design with wide borders. It’s quite popular among our families, and we had hoped it would sell well.”

“The work is exquisite.”

“Danki.”

Callie hesitated, then plunged on—since Deborah was leaving, there was no harm in speaking with her. It wasn’t as if she’d ever see her again.

Running her hand over the medallion quilt, she said, “My mother had a quilt like this. Seeing it, I feel as if I were a girl again.”

Deborah retrieved a stool from behind the counter and offered it to her.

Perching on it, Callie shook her head, shook herself free from the memories which held such heartache. “I knew my aunt owned a craft shop—”

“Quilt shop,” Deborah corrected her gently.

“Right.” They were quiet for a moment. “I didn’t even make it for her funeral,” Callie whispered.

“I took care of the arrangements.”

Callie looked up in surprise.

“It was a pleasure for me to do so. We had heard there were problems with her family making it from such a long distance. Your
aenti’s
final ceremony was well attended. The community thought a lot of her. She was liked by everyone.”

Pulling in a deep breath, Callie again ran her hand over the medallion quilt sitting between them. “Where I come from, quilt shops—craft stores—are pretty much one and the same. They’re quite large and owned by chain stores.”

Deborah tilted her head, rather like Max did when she spoke to him. Instead of jumping in with a comment, she waited.

Callie pushed on. “I haven’t seen many chain stores in Shipshewana. Anyway, I didn’t realize my aunt had left her store to me. The last time I was here, I was four or five years old.”

“Just a kind.”

Callie shook her head. If she had ever thought of staying in Shipshewana, she would need to buy an Amish-English dictionary.

“Child,” Deborah explained.

“Yes, I was only a child. I can remember the flowers in her garden, the smells of cooking, even the sound of the buggies out on the road. I think she had a dog then too, but seems like it was smaller.” Callie ran her fingers through her hair, thought again of how she needed to shower, needed to find a rental car, needed to buy some food, find a realtor, do so many things—oh yes, and purchase another phone.

“I don’t know how to do …” with her hand she gestured to include the entire shop, the apartment above, even Max, “this.”

“We would help you.”

“No. I don’t belong in a town like Shipshewana.”

“So you have family back at home?”

Callie stood, placed both palms flat on the dusty counter, but didn’t look at Deborah, couldn’t look at her. She seemed, after all, to be a nice person. “I’m sorry I can’t help you. I really am.”

“You’re leaving soon?”

“As soon as I can clean this place up and find a buyer.”

Deborah ran her fingers from the top of her
kapp
strings to the bottom. “Jonas, my husband, knows a man here in Shipshewana who is a good realtor. I don’t have a phone, but I’m running some other errands while I’m here in town. I can see if he’s in. If he’s not, Jonas will know how to reach him. We’ll ask him to come and see you.”

A small amount of hope surged through Callie for the first time in the last week, actually in a lot longer. If she could sell the shop, maybe she could use the money to go in some new direction.

Callie brushed her hair down with her fingers. “I would appreciate it very much.”

“It’s no problem at all. What else do you need?”

Looking down at Max, Callie pulled in her bottom lip. “Any idea where I could buy a cell phone? I lost mine.”

Deborah laughed again, the sound reminding Callie of springtime and hummingbirds and Texas. “We rarely use phones. When we do, we have phone shanties that are set up for the purpose of placing calls, or sometimes we have phone cards and go to the General Store here in town where there is a phone the owner lets us use.”

“It’s really different here,” Callie said, scrunching her face up as Max turned in a circle and flopped on the floor between them.

“Ya,
which is why we like it.” Deborah’s smile broadened. “If you walk down the street to the corner light and make a right, you’ll find a small grocer. An Englisher, Mr. Cooper, owns it. He may sell the disposable phones. If he doesn’t, he can tell you who does.”

“You’ve been a wonderful help. Thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem. We’re a small town, and we help each other. Now I have a favor to ask you.”

Callie felt her insides tighten in a knot, but she forced a smile. “I’ll try.”

“Allow me to leave the quilts here. I’ll pick them up in a few days.”

Callie let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. It was a small favor, and one that wouldn’t complicate things in any way. It was the least she could do considering how much help Deborah had offered. “I suppose there would be no harm in leaving them here, but why?”

“It’s just that I hadn’t planned on taking them back with me, and I need to pick up supplies while I’m here in town. My buggy will be full, and I don’t want to soil them.”

Walking Deborah outside, she waved good-bye.

She didn’t have many answers, but at least Max was fed and she knew where the grocery store was.

It wasn’t much, but it seemed from the perspective of where she’d been while huddling under the covers that it would be a start.

Jonas had begun to snore when Deborah slipped off her house shoes and crawled into bed. Pressing her cold hands against the small of his back, she wasn’t surprised when he startled awake.

“What’s wrong? Who needs me?” Jonas sprang up, reminding Deborah of the way the
kinner
bounced on the seats in the buggy.

“Nothing’s wrong, and I need you.” She laughed softly and pulled him back down under the summer quilt. “Now lie still and let me warm my hands.”

“How can you be so cold? It’s summer.” His voice was gruff, but he took her small hands between his own, brought them up to his lips, and kissed them gently.

“I was rocking Joshua until he fell asleep, and then I sat out on the porch a little while, thinking about the English woman.” She burrowed into his arms, into his warmth. “There’s a breeze tonight.”

“Which is why you should be in bed.”

“I was trying to puzzle it out though.”

“Not another of your puzzles.” Jonas began to breathe deeply, and Deborah realized he was on the verge of falling asleep again. She placed her toes against his ankles, and he jerked his legs away.

“Your feet are like ice, woman.”

“Talk to me until I warm.”

“You talk. I’ll listen.” He touched her face, ran his fingers down her neck, sent shivers zipping all the way down her spine.

“I believe she’d like to stay—the look in her eyes when I asked her if she had family back home … Jonas, it cut to my soul.”

“And how can you help her?”

“We have a good community here. People would support the store if she were to reopen it.”

“She told you no.”

“But she didn’t mean no.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Intuition.”

He didn’t argue with her. They rarely argued, though when they did it was short and fierce—like the storms that raged in the spring.

Deborah allowed him to fall into a deep slumber, nestled in his arms.

She wondered if Callie Harper had found her groceries and her cellular phone.

Who did she plan to call with it?

Were there people who would come and help her to restore Daisy’s Quilt Shop to its former condition?

And then would she put it up for sale with Mr. King? Jonas had promised to speak with him tomorrow.

Deborah didn’t know how this new twist would end for her and Melinda and Esther.

She was, however, glad she had managed to leave the quilts on Callie’s dusty counter. It didn’t guarantee that the woman would change her mind, decide to reopen the shop, and agree to honor the deal to sell the quilts; but Deborah had seen the wistful way she’d stared at the medallion quilt. It was the only time she’d shown real interest in her surroundings. Surely that had been a sign.

She’d stop back by soon.

Until then, she’d pray that the quilts worked their way into Callie’s heart.

He stood under the canopy of one of the older shops, one of the shops he knew didn’t have security cameras. Pulling out his cell phone, he punched in the boss’s number. “The package isn’t in his house.”

He listened a few more minutes, then disconnected the call.

As far as locations went, Shipshewana wasn’t the worst, but it could be the most bizarre. Just as he was about to cross the street, a horse and buggy appeared out of the darkness, causing his heart rate to accelerate, causing him to reach for his gun.

That was the last thing he needed to do—shoot some farm animal in the middle of Main Street. One more reason he hated being here.

Find the package and he could head home.

Which was exactly what he intended to do, no matter what measures were required.

C
ALLIE WAS SITTING
in front of the windows of her upstairs apartment. It was mid-afternoon of the next day, and she was astounded at the number of people on the street below. When had Shipshewana become so busy?

Her fingers traced the letters on the cover of the book in her lap—JOURNAL. She’d found it while cleaning this morning. It seemed almost like trespassing to look inside, but her desire to know more about her aunt had won over the slight twinge of guilt.

She slowly traced the J with one finger, traced it and thought about the single page she’d randomly opened to. February 4
^th
, four years ago—

Earlier she had slapped the journal shut and pushed it back into the drawer on the night stand. Reading about those days, even from her aunt’s perspective, caused the wounds to bleed anew. She found it easier to concentrate on the basket of laundry
that needed folding. It had stacked up over the last week. But as she’d folded her mind kept going back to the journal. Now she sat holding it, wondering what else was there, wondering whether she had the courage to read more. She had begun reading again when not one but two buggies pulled up in front of the shop.

Two men with long beards, straw hats, dark pants, light-colored dress shirts, and suspenders stepped out of the buggies. They stood looking at the shop and talking. One of the men carried a cane, though he didn’t seem to be leaning on it.

“I’ll never get used to people not calling first,” she confessed to Max.

For his part, the dog looked thrilled to have company. He ran to the door and waited expectantly for her to clip on his leash.

Checking the mirror over the hall table, she decided at least her appearance had improved since yesterday’s fiasco.

She was dressed.

She was clean.

And she’d eaten.

These days it didn’t get much better.

Clipping Max’s leash to his collar, she hurried down the stairs, and exited the door at the same time the two men started up the walk.

The younger of the two men nodded, but didn’t offer his hand. “Hello. I’m Jonas Yoder. I believe you met my
fraa
yesterday.”

“Deborah?”

“Ya.
She asked me to bring Eli by.” Jonas nodded at the older gentleman, who put his hand on his hat and nodded at her. Light streaks of gray peppered his beard, and gentle lines feathered out from his blue eyes.

“My name is Eli King. I help people buy and sell their property.”

“You’re a realtor?” Callie’s heart tripped a beat, as she realized one of her problems might be solved.

“Ya,
I suppose that’s what you English would call me.” He shared a smile with Jonas, leaned on the cane. The old guy seemed spry enough. Callie had the oddest feeling the cane was more of a prop than a necessary aid. “You might have noticed we do things a bit differently here in Shipshewana.”

“I noticed.” Callie tucked her hair behind her ear. “Can you help me sell the shop, Mr. King?”

“I believe I can.”

No one spoke as Max settled between the three of them.

“Can’t say as I’ve been in the shop before, though of course I knew Ms. Powell.” Eli studied the building, then turned and looked her directly in the eye. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

Tapping the side of the stucco wall with his cane, he smiled mischievously. “I remember when this building was first put up. Construction’s good.”

“Nice to know.”

“Can’t sell it like it is though. Folks don’t like to buy a place that looks abandoned.”

Callie’s head snapped around, and she glanced at Jonas to see if she’d heard the old guy right.

Jonas grinned and stooped to scratch Max behind the ears.

“I suppose you know the shop’s been empty since my aunt died. I only arrived last week.”

He nodded. “Landscaping will have to be tended, windows washed, displays redone.”

Callie hurried to catch up with Eli King, who was indeed surprisingly spry.

“I don’t want to reopen it. I want to sell it.”

He turned to study her. “Reopening it is a fine idea. I’m glad you suggested it.”

“I didn’t suggest it. I said—”

“Of course it’s your decision, but you’d have the best chance
of getting top dollar for a business that’s open and thriving versus one that’s …” His voice trailed off as his cane took in the state of the parking lot where weeds had run rampant.

“Abandoned?” she asked sarcastically.

“Excellent choice of words.”

Callie closed her eyes and pulled in a deep breath. When she opened them, Eli had disappeared around the corner of the building. Suddenly remembering Max, she turned and nearly bumped into Jonas.

“He can be a bit opinionated,” Jonas said, handing her the dog’s leash.

“A bit?” she accepted the leash and hurried to catch up with Eli King.

Jonas kept pace with her.
“Ya,
but on the other hand, he’s usually right.”

After Eli had surveyed the exterior of the building, he walked through the inside, then asked to see the apartment. Callie was relieved she’d at least picked up the dirty laundry upstairs. Jonas wrote down Eli’s suggestions as they walked through each room. By the time they’d returned to the buggies, the list covered two sheets of paper.

“You want me to do all of this?” Callie’s voice rose like the birds chattering in the trees.

“Where are you from, Miss Harper?” Eli studied her from beneath bushy eyebrows.

“Texas.”

“In Texas, do you not clean up a piece of property before you attempt to sell it? Put on the best possible face, as if you are preparing it for a grand celebration?”

“Yes, of course we do, but I don’t want a celebration. I simply need to sell this place, and go …” the word
home
almost slipped from her lips, but she blocked it. Instead she allowed the afternoon sounds of Shipshewana to fill the silence.

“Selling property is never easy,” Eli said, not unkindly. “But in a small town, like Shipshe, it’s even more difficult. Most of the Amish people live on farms. While they are appreciative of the stores, they haven’t the resources or the desire to own one.”

“What about Englishers?” The word fell clumsily off her tongue. “Like myself?”

“It’s rather far for them to commute from Elkhart or Angola, and though of course we have some Englishers who live among us, most—like yourself—prefer not to live in such a small rural place.”

Something in Callie’s stomach sank like a stone, and she found herself wishing she hadn’t eaten the cheese bagel and egg earlier. “So you’re saying it’s useless for me to try and sell Daisy’s Quilt Shop?”

“Not at all,” Eli said.

“Of course not,” Jonas added.

She studied them both. “Then what am I missing?”

“Hope, perhaps.” Eli reached out, patted her arm.

Callie stiffened at the touch, in spite of herself. When had she grown so unaccustomed to something as simple as a hand on her arm?

“This list though …” Callie studied the two sheets in her hands. “I don’t even know where to begin. And opening the store—I’m not sure I can do that. I’m not sure I want to do that.”

“A decision you’ll have to think on and pray about,” Eli agreed. “But an open and thriving business will sell much more quickly than—” he turned and looked once more at her aunt’s shop, at her shop. “More quickly than one which has been deserted.”

Callie sighed and stared back down at the sheets of paper.

“As far as the list,” Jonas said. “I believe Deborah might have some ideas.”

They all looked up as another buggy entered the parking lot. As soon as it stopped, the doors opened and four children tumbled out, followed by Deborah holding a toddler.

By the expression on Callie Harper’s face, Deborah worried things were not going well.

However, Eli greeted her children exuberantly, and Jonas grinned as if he hadn’t seen her in months.

“Danki
for sending me over to meet Miss Harper, Deborah.” Eli tapped his cane on the ground. “This is a beautiful shop, and I think we can find a good buyer in a few short months.”

“Months?” Callie’s voice squeaked, reminding Deborah of the mice Joseph sometimes snuck in from the fields to hide in a shoe-box under his bed.

“I wish I could stay, but I have a meeting with the bishop this afternoon.” Eli nodded to everyone, patted the last of the children, and climbed into his buggy.

“Did he say months?” Callie’s gaze jumped from the departing buggy to the children standing stair-step beside Jonas.

Deborah and Jonas both nodded yes, waving after Eli as he drove away.

“Are these all your children?” Callie covered her mouth with her hand, as if she could draw the words back. “I’m so sorry. That sounded rude.”

“It’s no problem,” Deborah said.

“Englishers are often surprised by our large families,” Jonas agreed, accepting baby Joshua from Deborah’s arms.

Deborah reached out and pulled down on Joseph’s wool cap, which was about to fall off his head. “Callie Harper, meet Martha, Mary, Joseph, Jacob, and this is baby Joshua. Ages ten, six, the twins are five, and the baby is fourteen months.”

Callie smiled weakly. “Hello.”

The children all nodded, and a few murmured their hellos. Deborah motioned toward the paper. “Eli’s famous for his lists. I thought we might be able to help.”

“We?” Callie asked, her eyebrows arching in disbelief.

Jonas shifted the baby in his arms. “Everyone except myself and baby Joshua. We’ll be headed back to the barn. I will stop by tomorrow to take care of those trees that need trimming and the mowing in the side yard.”

“You don’t need to do my yard work. I can find someone—”

“Be happy to do it. Daisy’s place has helped our town for years. It’s the least we can do in return.” Jonas ran his hand down Deborah’s arm, then headed toward his buggy, carrying the baby as if he were a sack of potatoes. Joshua grinned at them over his dad’s shoulder.

“If there’s anything else on that list I need to do, just mark it down,” Jonas called out as he climbed into his buggy. “I’ll be here after lunch.”

“All right children. Unload the supplies.” When Deborah turned back toward Callie, she found she still hadn’t moved.

“I don’t feel right accepting your help.”

“It’s the way we do things here, Callie. We support each other. Is it not this way where you come from?”

“In Texas? Sometimes, perhaps, in the smaller towns.” She clasped her hands around her waist.

“But not where you lived?” Deborah asked.

“I lived in Houston, and well, I traveled a lot actually and didn’t know my neighbors very well.” Callie shifted her weight from one foot to the other, still staring down at the list. “Even if you could help, this will take days. I’m not even sure where to start.”

Deborah peered at the lists, at her husband’s handwriting. “Many hands make the work light. I’ll send Martha inside the store with you to begin. She’s
gut
at housework. The other children and I will start out here.”

Callie looked from the paper to the crowded road and sidewalks. “Deborah, why are so many people here today?”

“Market days,” Martha said, as she handed a bucket with
paper towels and cleanser to her younger sister and led her toward the shop’s front windows.

“What are market days?”

“They are what Shipshe is famous for,” Deborah explained as she corralled the boys toward the front flower beds. “Our little town of six hundred swells to nearly thirty thousand on market days. Tuesdays and Wednesdays from May through October.”

Callie froze where she was, halfway between the littered walk and the front door of the shop. “Did you say thirty thousand?”

“Ya.
It’s one of the reasons the shops do so well.” As Deborah and Callie spoke, they were interrupted by two ladies asking if the shop was reopening. When Callie said she hadn’t decided, Deborah nearly squealed in victory. They’d moved from a no to a maybe.

“Lots of tourists visiting and buying things.” With a smile on her face, she directed the boys to pulling weeds. Perhaps the idea of all those tourists buying her stock would convince Callie Harper to stay and reopen the shop for at least a few weeks.