Falling to Pieces

by Vannetta Chapman

  “Even Joseph and Jacob?”

  “Especially Joseph and Jacob.”

  Sighing, she slipped the last cup into the soapy dish water, twirled her dishcloth through it, then dipped it in her rinse water. “I never thought the mud would come out of their hair.”

  “I never thought the pigs would go back in their pen.” Jonas reached past her, pulled the plug on the water, then took the dish-rag from her hand and placed it over the middle of the sink.

  “Looks like you’re finished here. Why don’t you come and sit in the swing with me?”

  “Jonas Yoder. Are you serious? After washing all these dishes, and I still have darning in that basket—”

  “Come.” He turned her around in his arms, pulled her close, and traced her jaw line with his thumb. “The darning will wait, but the stars won’t. They’re beautiful tonight.”

  “Do not tell me you’re going to use the star line.”

  “I will if it works.”

  “It always works.”

  “That’s why I always use it.” Loosening the pins from her hair, he pulled off her kapp and set it on the table. “Come sit outside with me.”

  She stood on her tiptoes, placed her still damp hands on both sides of his face, and planted a kiss on his lips. “You win. The darning will wait for another night.”

  As she ducked under his arms, Jonas dimmed the gas lantern to its lowest setting, then left it there on the hook over the kitchen sink.

  The moment Deborah walked outside, the cool night air hit her like a welcome caress. Jonas again put his hand on her neck, under her hair, and they walked leisurely across the yard to the swing.

  “It was a good day, ya?”

  “It was. It’s one of the things I like most about our life.” Jonas eased himself into the swing and pulled her down close beside him. “I remember it from my own childhood. The resting on Sunday—the sermons and gathering too, but mostly that it was a day where we took a break and came together with each other. It’s what I want for our children, and why I was so happy when we bought this place and were able to stay in LaGrange County.”

  “It’s gut land, Jonas, and it’s gut to be able to keep the old ways, to teach our bopplin the important things.”

  “Like how to catch pigs.” Jonas’s laughter moved out into the night, merging comfortably with the evening breeze.

  They sat there for a few minutes, rocking, listening to the sounds of the evening birds and the crickets.

  He brought it up before she did. “Miss Callie seemed to enjoy herself.”

  “She did.” Deborah thought of the conversation on the porch with Doc Bernie, thought of Aaron, but decided not to pursue it. It was Stakehorn’s murder though, that she needed to talk about.

  “So what are you fretting about?”

  “I’m trying to puzzle out who might have killed Stakehorn,” Deborah admitted.

  “You don’t know it was murder, and it’s not your place to figure it out even if it was.”

  “Ya, but …” Deborah moved to shift away from him, but Jonas pulled her back.

  “I’m only saying what you already know. Don’t be shying away from the truth. You try to solve every puzzle, even those not in your own yard.”

  “But this one keeps popping up around my freinden. You heard about the break-in at the Gazette?”

  “I did. Reuben was talking about it to my daed.” Jonas pushed the swing once to keep it rocking.

  “I heard it from Esther. By tomorrow everyone will know—it would be in the paper if the paper were running. Doesn’t it strike you as odd that Stakehorn is found dead and then three days later someone breaks into the paper?”

  Jonas took his time answering, something that bothered Deborah immensely when they were first married. Over the years, she’d learned it meant he was considering the different angles of a topic before he answered. “Could be related, I suppose. Then again, maybe it’s nothing.”

  “How in the world would you figure that?” Deborah studied him in the darkness.

  “I suppose everyone knows about Stakehorn now.”

  “Oh, everyone’s heard. Shipshewana may be growing, but it’s still a small town. Even without a funeral everyone knows.”

  “And that’s a shame.”

  “The police haven’t released his body yet.”

  “Well, they should,” Jonas said. “Family should be able to bury their own.”

  “His family isn’t even here.”

  “Heard his son is coming.”

  “Ya. I heard the same. He’s never been here before though, so I’m thinking he can’t be much of a son.”

  “Bit judgmental my lieb”

  Deborah sighed, realizing he was right. “I’ve forgotten what your point was. You distracted me.”

  “I was trying to say that everyone knows the Gazette’s office is empty. It’s an easy place to vandalize.”

  “Mrs. Caldwell is there—but who would dare mess with her? She’s tough. Trust me.”

  “Anyway, the break-in occurred at night—if you can believe Reuben’s version, which came from Tobias.”

  “He’s still working late nights at the feed store?”

  Jonas laughed and pulled her back to his side. “I think it’s a way of avoiding some of the chores and all of the younger children at home.”

  “But he’s living at his grossdaddi’s.”

  “Still expected to show up at home and help.”

  “The boy needs to fall in lieb, marry, and get a place of his own, then he wouldn’t have to avoid his parents’ house.”

  “Know anyone you want to set him up with?”

  “I do not, and you’re changing the subject again.”

  “Which was?” Jonas began to run his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp, neck, and shoulders as he did.

  He held her hair up, allowing the breeze to cool her skin, sending a light shiver down her back. Then he started planting kisses on her neck, which Deborah did her best to ignore. “Someone broke in, then took nothing?”

  “Ya. Have I told you how beautiful you are?”

  “It’s dark, Jonas.”

  “There’s starlight. I can see your beauty in the glow of the stars.”

  She knew her husband well enough to guess there was a grin on his face as he teased her.

  “The bishop spoke on humility just last week,” she reminded him.

  “You are humble—that’s part of your beauty.”

  Deborah tried to catch the idea lurking in the corner of her mind, but Jonas’s distractions were too strong. Before long he had her full attention, first in the swing, then upstairs under the quilt she’d made as a young girl, hoping to find the man of her dreams.

  She did dream later—of a quilt she was piecing together, only she couldn’t see the pattern. Each time she looked down at the blocks of fabric, everything in her hands was obscured as if by a cloud, but a cloud couldn’t exist in her sitting room. She’d laugh and attempt to push it away, but her hand would go through the fluffiness, like batting between layers of a quilt.

  In the dream, it suddenly became important that she know the pattern, that she put this one quilt together correctly. Again and again she would look up from where she sat, sewing more intensely. Once she saw Aaron outside her window, wheeling himself across her yard. She wanted to call out to him, but she couldn’t. She had to stay with the quilt, had to figure out the pattern. When she looked down though, all she could see was the white of summer clouds.

  Except the clouds were no longer white; they became gray, then black like the color of the sky darkening before a storm.

  She woke to the sound of rain upon her roof, Jonas already gone from her bed, and with worries for Callie still dogging her thoughts.

  Callie was learning to enjoy the routine of her weeks.

  She’d taken Deborah’s advice and decided to keep the shop closed on Mondays, but she enjoyed the increase in activity in the downtown area that followed Sunday’s silence. M
ost of the shop owners around her were in their stores, stocking inventory, setting up new displays, and taking care of yard work.

  Since she had on blue jeans and a brown T-shirt, she let Max choose his own bandana.

  “We might be taking this coordinated thing too far,” she admitted as she tied the blue one with small silver stars around his neck. She had to admit it looked nice though. Who had said dogs were color-blind? Max was proof that was an urban myth.

  A few tourists strolled up and down the streets.

  Mr. Simms stopped by to apologize about answering Black’s questions. “I hope what I said didn’t cause you trouble.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Simms. Shane Black is turning over every rock he can find, but I’ve nothing to hide. I lost my temper—that’s true. I didn’t hurt anyone though.”

  “Of course you didn’t, and I told Officer Black as much. He doesn’t listen though. He’s stubborn like an old mule. Though if it makes you feel any better, I heard he also pulled in three other people who had argued with Stakehorn in the last month. The editor had more than one enemy.” The older gentleman picked up a few of the quilt flyers to place in his deli on his way out.

  Several of the adjacent store owners stopped to talk to her as she added new plants to her window boxes and tacked WEEKLY SPECIAL flyers on her outdoor announcement board.

  She was surprised when Deborah drove up in her buggy.

  “How about we grab some lunch together?” Deborah asked after admiring the new flowers. “I wanted to run some ideas by you.”

  “Sure. I needed to return a few things to the General Store. Let me go inside and grab the bag.”

  “I can put Max in the side yard for you if you like.”

  Within five minutes they were standing outside the store door, ready to leave.

  “I’m not complaining, but how do you manage to get away from the farm so often? I mean you do have five children.”

  “Are you kidding me? They have one grossmammi and two grossdaddis who clamber to take care of them, not to mention all those aentis and onkels.”

  Callie squinted and shook her head as she locked the shop behind her. “My car or yours?”

  “How about we walk?” Deborah asked.

  “Um, sure.” She pocketed her keys and resumed their conversation. “I’ve had friends with children before. They always had trouble finding sitters, and you have five children. It can’t be easy.”

  “But with Amish families, we all live close to one another. Think about it, Callie. I come from a family of eight children, seven of us are married.”

  “Okay.”

  “Jonas comes from a family of ten.”

  “Yeah.”

  “All married except Stephen.”

  “So, if you don’t count the in-laws …”

  “Which we do.”

  “I’m not great at math.”

  “Want a calculator?”

  “Eight plus ten, minus you two equals sixteen.”

  “Right.” Deborah smiled and stopped between the deli and The Kaffi Shop. “Which do you prefer for lunch?”

  “Umm, either is fine, but I could probably use a bit more caffeine.”

  “Kaffi it is.”

  Callie continued with the math as they pushed into the shop and Deborah studied the menu board above the counter. “So sixteen, but you said two weren’t married.”

  “One’s not old enough. One’s a bit stubborn.”

  “Okay. So fourteen times two equals twenty-eight.” She’d grabbed a napkin from the counter and was jotting down the math now. “Plus the two hold-outs who aren’t married equals thirty aunts and uncles?”

  “Ya, and they all live close and all have cousins who want play dates.”

  Callie turned and stared at her in amazement. “What is Christmas like with your family?”

  “Very special, very holy, and a time we spend with our families. You’d have to see to understand.”

  “I suppose you do need two days for the holiday with so many people. How many gifts do you have to buy?”

  “We usually give handmade things, and then only one or two items even for our closest family. No, holidays are simply different for the Amish.”

  Callie shook her head, as they turned their attention to ordering.

  “Gudemariye,” Deborah said.

  “Actually it’s afternoon.” Margie, the woman who owned The Kaffi Shop, had bright red hair cut in a spiky fashion. “Good to see you Deborah, Callie.”

  Deborah turned and looked curiously at Callie. “You come here often?”

  “Oh, Callie’s become quite the regular.” Margie smiled. “I believe she needs the caffeine.”

  Callie focused on ordering her lunch. “Could be that I was a bit used to a certain coffee chain.”

  “No Starbucks in Shipshewana,” Margie explained.

  “Starbucks?”

  “Strong coffee.”

  “Don’t forget they have wireless,” Callie muttered.

  “We have wireless.” Margie grinned.

  “Which is why I come so often.”

  “She’s here so often, we allow her to bring Max inside.”

  “How do you manage to come at all?” Deborah shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t see how you have a free minute what with all the time you put in at the shop.”

  “A girl has to eat. I come in the evenings after the shop closes, force myself to get away from work for an hour or so. I learned at my last job …” Callie hesitated, then pushed on. “I learned that it doesn’t pay to be married to your work. An hour off here and there is healthy. I didn’t do that before, and I paid a steep price.”

  “Sounds as if your last employment wasn’t a good situation.”

  “No. No, it wasn’t.” Callie looked around her, half expecting to see copies of the Houston Chronicle and the Wall Street Journal. When she glanced out the window though there was only a few tourists, two buggies, and a Honda Accord Hybrid. There wasn’t even a pickup truck in sight. “This shop is the one thing that feels familiar. Everything else seems so alien—not at all what I’m accustomed to. I still feel as if I’ve settled on a different planet.”

  “We all feel that way sometimes, sweetie.” Margie smiled, took her order, then handed her a receipt and change. “Don’t worry. It gets easier with time.”

  “I’ve told her the same, Margie.”

  They chose a booth near the window, looking out over the old train station. Callie pushed her large plastic shopping bag with SHOP SHIPSHEWANA emblazoned on the front across the seat.

  “What’s in the bag?” Deborah asked.

  “I had purchased some things for Max, then I found Daisy had most everything. It was all in a cupboard in her apartment.”

  “You’re a very good niece—caring for her dog, taking over the shop …”

  “The shop is still for sale,” Callie reminded her.

  “I know. I’m just saying, I think Daisy would be proud of you.”

  Callie didn’t speak for a moment, focusing instead on stirring the whip cream topping into her coffee while Deborah sipped her iced tea. Then she looked up, a grin splitting her face. “Danki” she said.

  “And your mastery of the Amish language is truly amazing.”

  “Next week I’ll teach you Texan.”

  “Texas has a different language?” Deborah’s eyes widened, and Callie realized she could have a lot of fun with this.

  “Absolutely.” She cocked her head sideways, then pointed to the music speakers which were currently sporting a wonderfully familiar George Strait tune. “Do those words make sense to you?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Texan. That’s what I’m talking about. Now, back to your kids. You’ve convinced me it’s not a problem for you to get away when you want.”

  “No. It’s not. But then you might stop by and find me with ten bopplin instead of my usual five.”

  Callie held up her hands, palms out. “Stop. I don’t even want to en
vision it. At this point, Max is the most I can handle.” She took a deep drink of the coffee and smiled in satisfaction. The coffee shop was becoming a place of refuge for her, country music and all.

  “How would you like to help me out part-time in the shop?”

  Deborah placed her napkin in her lap, seemed to choose her words carefully. “I’d love to, but I wouldn’t be dependable enough. While it’s true I can get away from the house often, other times I’ll have bopplin cutting teeth or one with a cold. Then I need to be home for a week at a time.”

  Callie dug back into her salad. “I figured you might say that, but I also have realized I’m going to need some help.”

  “You should hire one of the Amish girls in town. They’re very dependable.”

  “Have anyone particular in mind?”

  Deborah pulled a napkin toward her and began writing down names and phone numbers. “Remember those cousins I told you about?”

  “Wait. How do they have phones?”

  “Many are in their rumspringa and have cell phones, but we’re not supposed to know about it.”

  “We?”

  “Adults, aentis, onkels, parents.” Deborah pressed on. “These are gut girls though. They will be good employees for you.”

  Callie stuffed the list into her purse.

  “So what did you want to talk to me about?” Callie asked.

  “Did you hear about the break-in at the Gazette?”

  “I did. Several people mentioned it yesterday, and the owner of Yesterday’s Pansies came over and talked to me about it this morning.”

  “What did you think about it?”

  “I didn’t, really.”

  “Just seems a bit odd.”

  “Probably someone heard the building was empty. Didn’t Stakehorn used to live out back of the place? Which is a little creepy since I live over Daisy’s Quilt Shop.”

  “I wouldn’t worry, honey.” Margie set their sandwiches down in front of them. “I heard it was kids.”

  “Ya, that’s what Jonas thought too.” Deborah stared down at her sandwich.

  “Should stop now that the new editor is in town.”

  Chapter 19

  DEBORAH’S GAZE locked with Callie’s.

  “New editor?” they asked at the same time.