Falling to Pieces (4 page)

T
HREE HOURS LATER,
Deborah handed Martha her change purse and sent her with the younger children around the corner to the grocer. “One small piece of candy each. Not enough to ruin your dinner.”

“Yes,
Mamm
.” Martha blinked once, accepted the purse, and tucked it in the pocket of her apron.

“I’ll be sure the boys stay out of the syrup this time.” Her tone indicated she understood the seriousness of her role as oldest sister. She and Mary took their positions on the end, with the twins in the middle. Arms linked up like cars on the train that passed through town, they made their way down the sidewalk.

It did Deborah’s heart good to see them that way—taking care of one another. She had
gut
children, who had worked hard the last few hours, and the results brightened everything in front of her.

Sparkling, clean windows.

Weeds pulled from flower beds and dumped in the mulch pile behind the store.

Well-swept walk.

Passing the window display, she noted with approval that the dead plants had been removed and the dust bunnies banished.

The inside of the store shone like the outside.

Callie stood behind the counter, an expression of confusion on her face. Max lay on the floor near her feet, sleeping blissfully.

“Something wrong?” Deborah asked.

“I don’t know how we did it. I keep checking the list, and nearly everything’s done. Not all of it, of course. I still need to set up new window displays—”

“You’ll want to check Daisy’s catalogues for summer suggestions.”

“And I should create new flyers to place outside.”

“When you decide what you want to advertise.”

Callie sank on to the stool, finally raised her eyes from the paper she’d been staring at since Deborah had walked into the shop. “Am I actually going to do this? Am I going to reopen Daisy’s Quilt Shop?”

“Do you want to reopen it?” Deborah moved closer to the sales counter, close enough to reach across and give her hands a comforting squeeze. Though she’d only just met Daisy’s niece, she found herself thinking of her like a younger sister.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I didn’t think that I wanted to, but I must say things look much better now. Before, everything seemed so overwhelming.”

“And are you overwhelmed now?”

Callie laughed, pulled her hands back, and tucked her hair behind her ears. “No. I’m exhausted, but I’m not overwhelmed. I can see this is a business, just like—” She bit on her bottom lip, stopped the words she’d been about to say. “Well, it’s no different than any other.”

“Of course it isn’t, and we’d be glad to lend a hand.” Deborah felt hope surge. Maybe she’d be able to carry good news to Esther and Melinda after all.

“We? You and the children?”

Deborah’s laugh joined with Callie’s. A light breeze ruffled
the curtains, and it seemed to Deborah that the beginning of trust breezed through the room, washing out some of the tension.

“My children are wonderful workers, but only Martha knows anything about quilting, and she just began sewing a few years ago.”

Callie smiled but didn’t interrupt her.

“No, when I said we’d be glad to help you I was referring to my friends—Melinda and Esther. Most of Shipshewana would also be happy to help. We’d all like to see the shop opened again.”

Callie nodded and traced a finger down the sheet of paper, tapped something written on the bottom, then checked it off with the pen she kept tucked behind her ear. “I hadn’t realized how important Daisy’s shop was to this town.”

“So you’ll do it?” Deborah aimed for a casual tone, but in her heart she was remembering sitting in the baby’s room—positioned between Esther and Melinda, and their hopes and needs.

Callie stood and walked toward the front of the store, to where she could look out the front windows and see the little sign that proclaimed “Daisy’s Quilt Shop.” It was the only remaining legacy to her aunt, to her family. If she left now, if she sold the store, what would the name be changed to? She couldn’t stay indefinitely, but maybe she could stay long enough to regain a sense of who she was, of who Daisy was. Maybe, here in Shipshewana, she could find a way to put her feet on solid ground again.

“To be honest, I don’t have any reason to hurry back to Texas.”

“That’s
gut
.”

“And Eli said the property would bring a better price if it’s open.”

“Eli always speaks the truth, even when it causes more work.”

Callie returned to the counter and replaced the pen behind her ear. “I suppose I don’t have to know about quilting per se to sell quilting supplies.”

“Of course you don’t. Any questions, just ask.” Deborah beamed at her.

Callie had the distinct impression that if the counter wasn’t between them she might find herself enfolded in a hug. Were the Amish always so demonstrative with their emotions? She realized then that she had grown used to being rather reserved and the touching left her a little unsettled.

Callie again pulled in her bottom lip, then placed both her hands flat on the counter as if to brace herself against a big wind. “I’ll do it then. I’ll reopen Daisy’s Quilt Shop.”

“Wunderbaar!”
Deborah exclaimed.

Max rolled over in his sleep, let out a sigh, as if he understood what Callie had decided.

Callie smiled and found that she actually felt good about the decision. “When I arrived, someone met me here at the door with a key and Max, but I don’t even recall the man’s name. I don’t believe he was Amish, but I was so tired that evening, I remember very little. Any idea who looked after Max for the last month?”

“That would have been Mr. Simms. He always had a soft spot in his heart for your
aenti.”

Cocking her head to the side, Callie looked at her quizzically. “Soft spot? As in romantic feelings?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Do you mean was he
in lieb?
I really couldn’t say.”

Callie began to giggle, picturing Daisy on a date. “My aunt was in her seventies, Deborah.”

“Do you think such things stop with age?”

“Last week I would have said so, but then last week I wouldn’t have imagined myself owning a quilt shop either.” Callie made a mental note to look through the journal and see if Daisy had mentioned Mr. Simms.

“I think it’s a
gut
decision. I’m very happy for you.” Deborah paused, then pushed on with what was troubling her. “There is
one more thing.” She nodded at the stack of quilts she’d left the day before.

Callie stepped out from behind the counter. “Martha and I moved them here while we were dusting.” She picked up the top two, brought them back, and stood beside Deborah. “It’s expert craftsmanship,” Callie said softly, almost reverently, her mind flashing back again to the quilt her mother had owned. “I assume you know that.”

“Danki.”

“Explain to me what your agreement was with my aunt.”

“Daisy agreed to sell them here in the shop, for an 80/20 split.”

“You had a contract?” Callie’s fingers traced the pattern of the medallion quilt.

“No, we had a verbal agreement. You’ll find that often Plain folk do business this way.”

Callie wondered if she should be tactful, then decided as a business owner—even a temporary one—it was more important to be clear. “I’d prefer to have something on paper.”

“All right.” Deborah didn’t even hesitate. “If it makes you more comfortable.”

“I think it would be best.” Callie glanced up at her. “It helps to keep good business records.”

“Of course.”

“I could draw them up on my laptop and have them ready for you next time you come into town. Did you have a set price that you wanted to ask for each quilt?”

“Actually that was something I wanted to talk to you about. I’d like to change the way we were offering the quilts. In fact, I’d like to try something completely different. Something I don’t think Daisy knew how to do, but I have a feeling you will.”

Nearly all the tension had drained out of Callie’s shoulders as the mountain of work had been completed in the last few hours. At Deborah’s words, it all came crashing back in an instant. “I
don’t know what you have in mind, but I doubt seriously there’s anything different I can do.”

“That is your laptop, your computer?” Deborah nodded at the slim black box resting on the other side of the counter.

“Yes …” Callie drew the word out, wondering what an Amish person, someone who didn’t even use electricity, could possibly know about a laptop.

“I would like you to sell our quilts on ibby.”

“Ibby?” Callie realized again there was going to be a learning curve to this Amish language thing.

“Yes, ibby.” Deborah frowned, pulled one of the strings of her prayer
kapp
forward and began fiddling with it. “Ibby is on your computer. It is a big store.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but I’ve never heard of Ibby.”

“Ibby. It’s like our auction houses, except much larger.”

“eBay?”

“Yes. Maybe. I’m not sure. Is it an auction house?”

“Oh, my. Yes, it is an auction house. Deborah, where did you hear about eBay?”

Deborah smiled, standing taller. “We are not ignorant of English things, merely because we choose a different way.”

“But you don’t have electricity; isn’t that correct?”

“Ya,
but our teenagers go through a time of
rumspringa
—a period where they’re allowed to sample English ways.”

“And they have computers?”

Deborah shrugged. “What they have changes with the times. I don’t know exactly what things they sample now. It’s been a few years since my
rumspringa.
I can remember one of the boys from our church kept an old motorcycle in the back of the shop where he worked.” She looked at Callie and smiled mischievously. “Several of us would sneak out at night and ride all over the county.”

Callie didn’t even try to stop the smile that spread across her face, in part because she was thinking of her own teenage years. “I had no idea.”

“Most people don’t. It’s not a problem in our community. All is done before we join the church—a time to, how do you say it, try our wings.”

“And now teens have laptops?” Callie reached down to pat Max as he stood, shook himself, and trotted toward the front window.

“Possibly. I heard my nieces talking about this eBay. Apparently someone had a way to participate in the auction.”

“Could have been a laptop computer or even a cell phone with internet capabilities, like a BlackBerry.”

“How can one get on the internet with berries?”

“I’ll explain it later. Tell me what you know about eBay.”

Deborah shrugged. “However they did it, these teens were able to purchase some items—one bought a new horse, and another bought some farming tools. I’ve even heard of a young man in the next district buying a racing buggy on auction. Could that be possible?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s possible. I’ve seen almost everything offered on eBay. But why would you want your quilts auctioned that way? It’s summertime. From what you’ve told me about market days, and the amount of shoppers on the streets, it seems Shipshewana has plenty of tourists and buyers.”

Max whined softly as Deborah’s children came into view. No longer linking arms, this time they were walking in a straight line, each focused on the candy they were eating. Martha stopped them outside the window. She and Mary set the twins down on the bench, then wiped their hands and faces with a handkerchief. Both boys squirmed as if they were being tortured, but they didn’t move from the bench. Callie watched the scene play out and wondered what a childhood here would be like then she turned back to Deborah.

“You have good kids.”

“Danki,”
Deborah said softly.

Something passed between the two then, something Callie wasn’t sure she was ready to share yet, something she might have once called friendship.

“Do you worry about them walking in the crowds?”

“No. They didn’t go far, and the other shop owners will watch out for them.”

Callie nodded and smiled as Jacob tugged on his cap.

“Why the wool caps in the summertime?”

“It’s what their
dat
wore, and their
grossdaddi.
It’s our way.”

Callie thought of all that must include, then glanced down at the quilts.

“It’s true we have a good amount of tourists during the summer, especially on market days, but more look than buy. Daisy had the quilts up for three weeks and no one had bought any.”

“That’s not a lot of time.”

“Yet many people came and went.”

Callie ran her hand over the medallion quilt again. “Are any quilts sold at the auction house here in town, the one you spoke of?”

“Ya,
and we could sell ours there.”

Callie waited.

“We need to make more money than that. Ours need to stand out, need to be different. You have a good eye, and you were correct when you said—how did you say it? That you noticed expert craftsmanship. Melinda, Esther, and I were always considered the best quilters in our age group. We have sold the occasional quilt at the auction house or to raise money for a benefit, but now we need to—”

Deborah stopped, turned, and walked toward the window. She waved at her children. Again Callie waited instead of pressing her. When she turned around, Callie was surprised to see tears in her eyes.

“It’s not my place to tell you the needs of my friends, but I believe there’s a reason God gave them this talent, a reason he put the three of us together, and a reason that you are here now to help us with this.”

Callie shook her head. “Deborah, I’m probably not staying here for long. I’m certainly not ready to say that God has anything to do with my being here.”

“Just tell me you’ll try. It’s very important or I wouldn’t ask.”

Callie pulled in a deep breath, glanced around at the shop that looked as if a miracle had occurred there in the last three hours, then turned back to the woman responsible for it all—the same woman who had seen to her aunt’s funeral arrangements when she hadn’t made it back in time to do so. “All right. If that’s what you want, I’ll do it. We’ll need to set a minimum bid.”