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.
Chapter 5
THREE 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 t
ook 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 t
he 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.”
Falling to Pieces Page 4
