Falling to Pieces (5 page)

Deborah named a number.

“That sounds like a good starting price to me. I think the quilts will bring more, but I’ll search the listings of completed auctions to be sure—not that I expect to find many Amish quilts there. Also, I want to start by placing only three for sale.”

“How long do you think it will take?”

“We’ll start the bidding the day I open. Today’s Tuesday. I don’t see how I could open before—”

“Saturday?”

“Saturday would be good. And we’ll close the bidding on the first quilt in ten days—long enough to attract notice, but not so long that people will lose interest.”

Callie barely had the words out of her mouth, when she found herself enfolded in a hug. She held very still and waited for Deborah to back away. When she did, Callie couldn’t help returning the woman’s smile. Her enthusiasm was a bit contagious.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Deborah? It seems like a big step, seems very different for you and your friends to conduct business this way.”

Deborah stood straighter, a look of confidence replacing whatever had caused the tears earlier. “It’s what we need to do. The bishop will understand.”

“The bishop …”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll speak to him. You take care of the auction.”

Callie agreed, called Max to her side, then followed Deborah outside.

As she watched Deborah and her children climb into the buggy, watched the horse and buggy trot gracefully down the road into a nearly picture-perfect sunset, it occurred to her that the day had certainly taken some bizarre turns.

She was still on her own, still lonely if she was honest about it, but at least her life had a bit of purpose. More than in her last job. She didn’t miss the endless traveling or the traffic jams one bit.

Selling Amish quilts on eBay. She didn’t tumble out of bed ten hours earlier imagining she’d be doing that, which went to show that you never knew where a day would lead you.

S
ATURDAY MORNING
new plants graced the front window display. Deborah’s friend Melinda had brought them by, insisting they were welcome-to-the-community gifts. Quiet and friendly, wearing glasses, and carrying a baby, Melinda reminded Callie of a cousin she had played with at summer reunions. Played with might have been the wrong word. They sat side by side near the creek behind her grandmother’s place, reading their books together and staying away from the boys who insisted on catching grasshoppers and throwing the insects at them for some unfathomable reason.

With the plants placed among the yards and yards of white lace Callie had found on a top shelf in the store room, the green and white made for a bright, inviting window treatment.

The grounds outside the window were also in pristine shape, thanks to Jonas who had stopped by and done much more than was on Callie’s list.

But of course what people had been stopping to point at for the past twenty-four hours was the centerpiece displayed in the front window—the medallion quilt. A placard at the bottom read,
Available ONLY on eBay.
Beneath that was the item number.

Callie had also purchased a wireless router for her laptop and a secondhand computer from the local tech expert who had helped her set everything up. Where the old button bin had once taken up a nice corner, she now had an eBay station. Customers could place their bids immediately or browse and wait until they were home to shop. A laminated instruction card was tacked next to the computer terminal and flyers were stacked beside it that customers could take home. Reconnecting Daisy’s phone service and internet had been easy enough, and she had been able to purchase a replacement cell phone from Mr. Cooper, the grocer. It had all come together seamlessly.

Esther’s cookies filled two plates that rested on a table near the electric coffee pot, which Callie had filled with hot water. Next to the drinks was the basket full of a variety of instant coffees and teas.

Callie surveyed her shop and decided she was prepared—even excited—for Shipshewana’s Saturday morning tourist crowd. She had made an effort to keep things much like her aunt had them while still adding her own flair. Instead of using the Styrofoam cups Daisy had kept stocked in the pantry, Callie had set out a peg board, placed hooks on it, and filled it with a variety of mugs she’d found in the cabinets above the sink. Beside the table she’d placed a bucket, with another sign directing customers to place used cups there. She’d never liked the taste of Styrofoam herself and liked the homey feel the old-fashioned cups lent to the refreshment corner.

Max padded over to her and placed his head against her leg.

“You ready, boy?”

He didn’t answer. Why would he? But he did allow her to fix the blue bandana around his neck. It nicely matched the blue summer dress with spaghetti straps she’d chosen to wear over a white short sleeved T-shirt. She’d always liked wearing layered clothes, but it had been too casual in her last job. She planned to indulge herself as far as wardrobe if she was going to be a shop owner.

Checking her reflection in the mirror one last time, she marched to the front door, turned the CLOSED sign to OPEN, and unbolted the door.

No one waited on the benches.

No one walked inside.

Sticking her head outside, she peeked down the road a bit. A few people walked up and down the sidewalk, but the roads were surprisingly quiet. She’d grown used to Shipshewana’s busy foot traffic.

“Hmm. I wonder where everyone is.”

Closing the door she walked back inside and moved behind the counter, which was when she spotted the clock sitting next to the register—it read seven a.m.

“Might explain why there are no shoppers out yet. Come on, Max. Looks like we have some time for you to take a run.”

Clipping his leash to his collar, she walked him out to the freshly mowed side yard. While he ran about, acting as if he hadn’t just been there less than an hour before, she sat on the bench in the early morning light, and tried to envision what her first day as a shop owner might be like.

Three hours later, she looked up from the register into Deborah’s laughing amber eyes, baby Joshua on her hip.

“Busy morning.”

“Yes, it has been.” Callie peered around her to see if any customers waited in line. Sighing in relief, she dropped on to the stool. “Good thing I worked a few summers in a General Store back in Houston. That was years ago, but they used this same type of register. Pricing hasn’t been a problem. Daisy had everything tagged, but I have no idea how to note what inventory I’m selling. I’ll have to work out a system of some sort.”

“I take it you haven’t had a rest?”

“Not at all. It’s been a steady stream of customers since eight this morning.” Callie raised her hand in a high five, but when
Deborah merely looked at her quizzically she dropped it back to the counter.

“I was supposed to do something?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Show me, Callie. I want to celebrate with you.”

“It’s silly. My friends and I used to high-five when we received a high grade on a paper or returned a good volley.” She realized that she hadn’t high-fived anyone in a long time—and that it felt good to have something to celebrate.

“Volley? So you play volleyball?”

“I did, but that was years ago—in high school and then a little in college for fun. I don’t know why I thought of it just now.”

“Then high-five, to the grand reopening of Daisy’s Quilt Shop.” Deborah held her hand up beside her, as if she were about to take a pledge.

Shaking her head, Callie leaned across the counter and slapped it. Baby Joshua giggled and bounced in Deborah’s arms, attempting to slap at her hand like his mother.

“Your English ways are a bit strange, but I’m glad things are going so well.”

“I’m glad you talked me into opening.”

“I didn’t talk you into it. I believe you convinced yourself.”

“Maybe so. Maybe I did. Certainly it’s better than sitting around feeling sorry for myself.” Callie suddenly busied herself straightening things on the counter. The truth was, though she did feel better, she still had moments when she wanted to turn the sign to CLOSED, make her way back up the stairs, and climb under the old quilts covering Daisy’s bed.

Deborah cocked her head and waited, but she didn’t question her—it was one of the things Callie liked about her. Deborah rarely asked questions, waiting instead to see if Callie wanted to share more.

“Good news about your quilt. I saw several tourists stop and write down the item number. A few also logged onto the eBay
site. Tonight I’m going to print out some cards that look like bookmarks—I want to put pictures of all three quilts on them along with the corresponding item numbers.”

“You’re a natural businesswoman,” Deborah said. “I never would have thought of doing such a thing.”

Callie felt a blush creep up her cheeks at the compliment. She reached for the pen stuck behind her ear and studied the notebook where she’d begun keeping all her work notes.

“A good businesswoman would have already ordered a new phone over the internet. I suppose I wasn’t in a hurry to replace it because there wasn’t anyone I wanted to talk to.”

“Replace the one you lost in the airport?”

“I told you about that?” Callie ran her fingers through her hair, trying to remember.

“You did, the first day I was here. Along with the fact that you had no automobile.”

“I’m still working on the transportation problem, though to tell you the truth I’ve become used to walking. I think I’ve found a car rental firm that I can lease from weekly and will deliver straight to Shipshewana, but it costs more.”

“Where are they located?”

“The closest seems to be Elkhart.”

“It’s less than twenty miles away. I know a driver who can take you. Her name is Elaine.”

“A driver? You have a driver?” Callie leaned forward, her face resting in her hands as the bell rang over the door. Two ladies entered, followed by an older gentleman carrying a small notepad and wearing a scowl. Deborah nodded to all three as if she knew them, but suddenly Joshua grew restless in her arms, claiming her attention.

“Welcome to Daisy’s Quilt Shop,” Callie called out. “Let me know if I can help you.”

“All Amish people have a driver,” Deborah explained in a hushed voice, as Callie stepped out from behind the counter. “We
can’t very well drive our buggies long distances, so we hire someone who owns an automobile. I’ll tell Elaine to stop by and talk to you. She’s a sweet, older English woman. You’ll get along fabulously.” Joshua continued to fuss. “I better run. Time for his nap.”

Callie waved as she made her way toward the two ladies. Though she’d had several men in shopping, this elderly gentleman did not seem to be browsing. Something about him raised her defenses. At the moment he was standing in front of one of Deborah’s quilts, jotting down the eBay number. If anything, the frown on his face had deepened.

“Is there anything in particular I can help you find?” she asked the oldest woman.

“Oh, no. We were visiting Shipshe for the day, and saw your lovely shop. How long have you been here?”

“I reopened the store today, but my aunt ran Daisy’s Quilt Shop for over thirty years.”

“We saw the For Sale sign in the yard. So you don’t plan to stay?”

“No. I’m afraid I can’t. I have obligations in Texas.” Callie’s consciousness twinged slightly at the lie, but fortunately she didn’t have to dwell on it. The shorter of the two women had problems retrieving a pattern book from a rotating display.

Callie helped her with the book, invited them to enjoy the refreshments, then turned back in time to see the older man scowling at the second quilt.

Gathering her courage, she stepped toward him.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Max moved with her, pressing himself against her leg.

The man remained focused on the quilt, which was actually the third that Callie had placed on auction. The first was the medallion quilt which was in the front display window. The second was a nine-patch block design. Callie had confirmed the names with Melinda when she brought by the plants.

The final quilt, the one the gentleman scowled at now, was the signature quilt.

“Melinda, Esther, and Deborah know that you are auctioning their quilts?” His voice sounded as if it had sand in it. “Auctioning them on the
internet?”

He practically spat the last word as he glared at the computer center she’d set up.

When he turned to look at her, Callie had the urge to step back. She didn’t, but the desire was strong. She thought for the second time that day of her old volleyball games.

“Never give up court space,” the memory of her coach murmured.

“Excuse me?” Callie kept her voice even.

“I asked you, Do the girls know that you are auctioning their quilts on the internet? You’re not deaf are you?” The man glanced at her again, as if she were a pesky fly he’d rather not have to bother with.

“Who are you?” Callie asked, matching his rudeness with a firmer voice of her own.

“I’ll take that answer as a no.”

“No?”

“No, they do not know what you’re doing. How could they? After all they’re only three
Plain
women.” The man continued to scribble on his small pad. What little hair he had was gray and cut uniformly, one-half inch in length. It grew in a circle around the top of his head, rather like a crown.

Callie had a perfect view of his shiny bald spot because she could look down directly on it—he couldn’t have been over five feet tall.

He might have been old, but he wasn’t frail.

The man was built like a tiny Sherman tank—bulky and solid. When he finally looked directly at Callie, blue eyes pierced her as if she’d committed some crime.

“I don’t suppose you asked their bishop about this?”

“About what?” Callie’s voice now settled into what she’d learned years ago to use with her most difficult clients. She took a deep breath, held it a moment, then let it out slowly. “I didn’t speak to their bishop about what?”

Obviously he was referring to the quilts, or the eBay auction, or both, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of admitting she understood the problem. Deborah had assured her there was no problem, and besides, it was none of his business.

“Never mind. I heard you say you don’t plan on staying, apparently you didn’t take the time to learn anything about Amish ways either.”

“Mr.—” she waited for the rude little man to fill in his name. When he didn’t she pushed on. “I’m not sure what you’re in a tizzy about, but if you’d tell me perhaps we could work this out.”

“Tizzy? Is that how you speak to your elders in Texas?”

“What?”

“I would have thought Daisy’s niece would have been more respectful.” And with that, he snapped his notepad shut, tucked it into his shirt pocket, and marched out of the shop.

Deborah sat rocking and quilting. She didn’t hear Jonas walk into the living room, didn’t realize he was there until he rested his hand on her shoulder.

“You plan on quilting until dawn?”

Deborah reached up, patted his hand, then continued with her sewing. “I’d keep you awake if I came to bed now. Best that I sew here for a while.”

Instead of trying to convince her otherwise, Jonas walked over to the kitchen, retrieved the milk from the gas-powered refrigerator, and poured two cups. Then he pulled the cookies that Esther had brought by out of the cabinet. Bringing it all to the living room, he sat down near her.

“Kind of late for a snack.”

“Never too late for Esther’s cookies. Wonder what she puts in these things.”

A little of the tension eased from between Deborah’s shoulder blades as she shook her head at her husband, then took a bite of the cookie he held out to her. “You’ll make me fat yet.”

“You look perfect to me, and you know it.”

“What if the bishop says no, Jonas? What if he says Callie can’t auction the quilts on the internet? Then what will we do?”

“You explained to him she’s already placed the quilts for sale?”