Falling to Pieces

by Vannetta Chapman

  4.Chicken breast disease, or nemaline myopathy, is a real disease, and there are real doctors like Doc Bernie who travel among the Amish and treat their children. Doctor Bernie explains to Callie that Melinda and Noah have made the choice to treat their child Aaron at home. In chapter 17, Doc Bernie agrees with this choice. How did you feel about it?

  5.In chapter 23, Esther explains to Callie exactly how her husband died. Her decision not to prosecute the boys responsible for Seth’s death is in keeping with Amish beliefs. Although this situation is fictional, it seemed to me that this was an extreme, real-world example of someone extending God’s grace and forgiveness. What was your reaction to this scene?

  6.I mention white roses twice in the story. The first time is in chapter 23, when Esther is speaking to Callie, describing her husband’s death. The second time is in chapter 30, when Deborah is climbing out the window, running away—though she doesn’t yet know why. What do you think the white roses represent in these scenes?

  7.At the end of the story, Callie notes that she now has casual friends and real friends. Do you think we need both?

  8.If you’ve read Amish books before, was the portrayal of Amish people different in this book than in others? If you haven’t read any Amish books before, was the portrayal of the Amish here what you expected?

  9.When the novel opens, Callie is very disconnected from those around her. She first opens up slowly—through Max, and then more so through Daisy’s journal, Daisy’s books, and the friends and community that her aunt was a part of. Could this transformation also have taken place in a large metropolitan area like Houston? Why or why not?

  10. From the beginning scene to the closing one, quilting is the lens through which Deborah understands her world. It is her frame of reference, and when she’s confused, she tries to envision the “problem” as she would a quilt that isn’t cooperating. What helps you solve your problems?

  Acknowledgments

  THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED to my mom, Wanda Van Riper. She is a talented seamstress, a patient woman, and believes I have the ability to do anything. Above all, she is a loving mom and grandmother. I’m blessed to have her in my life.

  I also would like to acknowledge the help of my agent, Mary Sue Seymour, my editor, Sue Brower, and all of the wonderful team at Zondervan—they are a writer’s dream to work for.

  Many other authors were instrumental in guiding my way through the process of writing this book, including Barbara Cameron, Amy Clipston, Mary Ellis, and Beth Wiseman. Each of these ladies has been a help and encouragement to me.

  I can’t thank the members of ACFW and FHL enough.

  I would like to acknowledge Dr. Richard Kelley and his work among the Amish community. He served as inspiration for Dr. Bernie, though any errors made in medical details are my own.

  As always, I could not write a book without the support and help of my pre-readers: Donna and Kristy, you have been with me from the very beginning. Martha, thank you so much for help with quilting details. Cindy and Toot, I appreciate you both being available to help with all of my equestrian questions.

  To all the friends I’ve made in Shipshewana, I count it a pleasure to know you. Thank you for enduring my questions. You were very kind to a country girl from the heart of Texas. I hope to be back to see you often.

  And last, but never least, my family makes it all possible. I couldn’t write if my husband didn’t feed me and make sure my car was filled with gas before I take off on my many crazy trips—Bobby, you are the greatest.

  Kids—I know you are grown, but I still think you’re tops. You mean more to me than a thousand books—Cody, Kylie, Yale, and Jordyn.

  Mom, Pam, and Loyall—thank you for being my first fans.

  I thank the Lord for giving me the chance to follow my dreams, for putting stories in my heart, and for giving us all lives filled with grace.

  Excerpt

  Read an excerpt from book 2: A Perfect Square.Coming soon!

  Chapter 1

  Shipshewana, Indiana Late October

  “LESS THAN TWO WEEKS UNTIL THE WEDDING.” Deborah Yoder glanced once at Esther, then focused again on the dirt lane, her horse Cinnamon, and guiding the buggy down the rutted path.

  On both sides of them, fields of fall corn rose, golden and plump, ready for harvest. They shaded the lane so that the mid-morning sun broke through in a slatted fashion, as if it were winking at them.

  Joshua and Leah spoke in hushed tones from the back seat, caught up in some game that children played. It never failed to amaze Deborah how they managed to find amusement in the smallest things. Yesterday it had been twisting stalks of corn shucks into absurd figures.

  When Esther didn’t comment, Deborah looked at her again. Her hands clutched the casserole bowl firmly, but she managed a radiant smile.

  “Ya. Less than two weeks. One part of me wishes it were tomorrow. That I could wake up and we would be living our life together, as man and wife.”

  “And the other part?”

  “The other part agrees with Tobias. There’s still much to do before he moves into my home. We’re not ready, and as much as I’d like to wish the days away, I know it’s all a part of the season and something I won’t want to forget. Less than two weeks. I should be grateful for each day, as Tobias reminds me.”

  Deborah smiled as she began circling the small pond at the far end of Tobias’s and Reuben’s place—actually it was their grossdaddi’s place, but they’d been farming it for the last several years. “Tobias has become quite industrious since he asked you to marry him. He’s always been a hard worker, but in the last few months it’s as if he’s a man on a mission. He wants everything to be perfect.”

  “I know. He’s working even more hours at the feed store, and he still needs to help with the harvest.” Esther’s hands worried over the top of the casserole dish. “It’s why I wanted to bring them dinner. I’m not sure they eat well with Reuben’s cooking.”

  Deborah laughed out loud, causing both children to pop up and hang over the front seat. “I’ve no doubt they’ll be glad you made the chicken and potatoes. They don’t strike me as wunderbaar cooks. Reuben burned the kaffi the last few times I stopped by. I wouldn’t fuss over them too much though. I think their schweschders bring them dinners fairly often.”

  “I spoke with Tobias’s mother Saturday when I saw her in town. No one was coming by tonight so—” Esther reached out and clutched Deborah’s arm. “Could you stop the buggy? Just for a moment?”

  Following her friend’s gaze, Deborah immediately spied the tall bunches of wildflowers growing on the pond’s southwestern side.

  Black-eyed Susans swayed among autumn goldenrods, dipping and rising beside the blue water of the small pond in the October morning. Nearly buried in switch grass that was close to three feet tall, Deborah was surprised they’d seen the cluster of wildflowers at all. If they hadn’t been riding in the buggy, they would have missed the beautiful sight, which looked to Deborah like colors from a patchwork quilt.

  Esther’s fingers tightened their grasp on her arm. “Can we stop?”

  “We don’t have to be at Daisy’s Quilt Shop for another hour. Let’s pick a few.”

  “Callie will love them,” Esther agreed.

  “And when they’re dried, you can keep the seeds for your garden.” Deborah pulled the buggy to the side, noticed that Cinnamon acted a bit nervous, tossing her head and dancing to the right of the road. “Whoa, girl.”

  “Will she be okay?” Esther asked, even as she pulled her small quilting scissors out of her sewing bag.

  “I’m sure. I’ll stay here. You go and gather the flowers.”

  “Later I’ll regret using sewing scissors for gardening.”

  “Callie will have cleaning solution, and you’ll only snip a few. You use those for thread, not cloth. It will be fine.”

  “I want to go, mamm.” Leah’s sweet little face peeped forward from the back seat. She had recently turned three, and had come out o
f her shell quite a bit over the last few months—perhaps because her mother was no longer so sad. Perhaps because her mother was in lieb.

  Joshua wasn’t far behind her.

  “Me, too,” he said. “I wanna go with Leah.”

  Deborah studied her son. He would turn two next month, and she worried some days that he’d be the last baby she’d ever hold in her arms. “You? I thought you’d stay with me and Cinnamon.”

  “Leah needs me.” He pulled his wool cap down around his ears and climbed out of the buggy after his best friend. “Kay, Ceemon?”

  The horse shook her head again, rattling the harness.

  “I’ll look after Cinnamon.” Deborah followed them out of the buggy and stood with her hand on the mare. “You two go with Esther, but stay close to her, and come back as soon as she says. We’re going to see Miss Callie this morning.”

  Esther allowed each child to clasp one of her hands as they walked toward the flowers by the water’s edge.

  Deborah kept one eye on them as they wound their way through the tall grass, but another part of her mind was focusing on the mare. She ran one hand down her neck, whispering and stroking, attempting to calm her. Still Cinnamon shook her harness and tried to pull away. Deborah ran a hand down the length of the mare’s leg, wondering if perhaps she had something in one of her hooves.

  She’d seemed fine trotting down the lane.

  “Easy, girl. What’s wrong?” Again running her hand down the mare’s neck, she found the horse was actually trembling. Sweat slicked her coat though the morning was cool.

  Deborah’s own heart rate kicked up a notch as she responded to the mare’s anxiety.

  She must have missed something.

  Perhaps there was a snake nearby or an animal carcass in the weeds. She was scanning the surrounding area when she noticed where the dry grass was stamped down to the north. It looked as if someone had traveled the opposite direction as Esther and the children, though still close to the water, sometime earlier. The path that had been beaten down was wider than footsteps—smaller than a buggy.

  More like something had been dragged.

  The path extended well past the area where she’d stopped with the buggy …

  She glanced back to where Esther still stooped among the flowers, where the children continued to play.

  Yes, the paths led to almost opposite ends of the pond. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed it earlier, but she’d been so focused on the flowers. It was hard to imagine Tobias and Reuben taking the time to come out here, unless they’d been fishing. But Tobias had been so busy working double shifts at the feed store and on the farm, which had left Reuben pulling extra weight in the fields.

  She focused again on the scene, tried to find the piece she was missing.

  Esther and the children stood beside the water, snipping flower stems.

  A slight breeze stirred the water.

  Geese crossed the blue autumn sky, heading north, their cry piercing the morning, then fading, leaving it quiet but not peaceful.

  Cinnamon tossed her head one more time, nearly pulling the harness out of Deborah’s hand when the morning’s silence was broken by Esther’s scream.

  Callie Harper clomped down the stairs from her apartment to her quilt shop, tugging at the long, plain dark green dress with one hand and readjusting the tie to her apron with the other. Oh how Rick would laugh to see her now. There were a lot of things her husband would be amused to know about her new life. There wasn’t a day since he’d died that she didn’t miss him, didn’t wish he could share things with her. This though, oh he would laugh about the dress.

  She wanted to reach up and scratch under the kapp on her head, but it had taken so long to corral her shoulder-length dark hair underneath the white bonnet, she didn’t want to displace any of it.

  When she turned the corner into the shop’s main room, her yellow Labrador, Max, let out a whine and placed his head on his paws.

  Lydia, the seventeen-year-old girl who worked for her full time now, dissolved into a torrent of giggles.

  “Why are you laughing?” Callie spun in a circle. “Don’t I look exactly like you?”

  “No.” Lydia collapsed onto the stool behind the counter. “You do not look like me at all.”

  “But I pinned the dress right.” “Ya.”

  “And I put the apron on correctly, though I don’t know how you manage to tie it in the back just so. I had the hardest time with that.”

  “The tie is fine.”

  “It’s the kapp, isn’t it? My hair isn’t long like yours, but still it didn’t want to stay in.” She moved to a mirror that ran along the top of a fabric display. As she suspected, her dark hair had begun to escape from various corners of the white kapp. She looked nothing like the neat Amish women who were her friends.

  She looked like what she was—an imposter.

  “I don’t think the kapp or the clothing is the problem.” Lydia propped her chin on her hand and studied her employer. “It’s not our clothes that make us Amish. It’s obvious you’re only pretending—an Englisher in Plain clothing.”

  “Fix me.” Callie’s hands flapped at her side. “I have to sneak into Mrs. Knepp’s store. To do that, I need to look Plain.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “I like how you normally dress. Why can’t you look English?”

  “She’s suspicious of all English.”

  “Mrs. Knepp is suspicious of everyone—Amish or English.” Lydia hopped off the stool and joined Callie in front of the narrow mirror.

  “You look a bit like her. Mrs. Knepp is exactly your size, only much older.”

  “She’s old and her eyesight is poor. If I wear this, maybe she won’t recognize me.” Callie narrowed her eyes at the mirror. “No doubt she does a better job taming her hair.”

  Carefully pulling the hairpins away one by one, Lydia removed the kapp, freeing her boss’s dark curls.

  “Now I look like a prairie girl,” Callie said.

  “Ya. You should change before our mid-morning rush of customers begins. Wouldn’t want Trent McCallister to happen in and snap a picture of you in this dress, then splash it across the front page of the Shipshewana Gazette.”

  Both girls turned to look at the framed photo of Callie, Deborah, and Max. The words “Burglar apprehended” were printed in large letters under their name. Max padded over and pushed his head between their legs, as if he understood what they were staring at.

  “Those were the days, right boy?” Callie reached down and rubbed the Labrador between his ears, pausing to adjust his orange colored bandana. She might as well change back into her clothes. She preferred to match Max’s wardrobe to hers, though she knew it was silly—and his orange bandana definitely clashed with this green dress. Together they looked like something out of a fall window display. “I’m not worried about Trent. I’m worried about Mrs. Knepp. She hates me, and I don’t know why.”

  “You can’t please everyone. That’s what my grossmammi says.”

  “We’re losing customers because of her.” Callie walked to the counter and straightened the stack of flyers announcing her weekly sales. “I don’t mind competition, but this is growing nasty. We could work with each other instead of against each other. Her store is different than mine. We could be referring customers to each other if she weren’t so stubborn.”

  “You said last month’s profit was better than ever. The best since you re-opened the store four months ago.”

  “True, but—”

  The store to the shop burst open and Trent McCallister nearly fell through it. Wearing jeans and a long-sleeved Harley T-shirt, with a souped-up Nikon digital camera slung around his neck, he looked as if he belonged on the cover of a magazine rather than in Shipshewana, Indiana. Shoulder-length brown hair was pulled back in a pony tail, and wire-rimmed glasses completed the West Coast look.

  His eyes widened at Callie’s outfit, but he didn’t comment on it. “I’m headed
out to Tobias’s place. A call came in ten minutes ago over the police scanner.”

  “Tobias?” Callie moved forward. When she did, Max moved with her, on alert as if he’d been called to hunt.

  “Is Tobias all right?” Lydia asked.

  “I don’t know, but …”

  “Is there anything we can do?” Callie began fumbling with the tie on the back of her apron.

  “Callie.” Trent stepped closer, put his hand on her arm, waited until she was still and looking directly at him. “Deborah and Esther are there.”

  “They’re at Tobias’s?” Callie reached for something to sit on, nearly stumbled. “But they’re all right.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “They have to be. Tell me there’s nothing wrong with Deborah or the children.” Her hand covered her mouth, as if to stop the words that were tumbling out. “Esther and Leah, they’re fine—”

  “I’m not sure. Callie …” Again his hazel eyes sought hers. “All I know is that someone called in a homicide.”

  ZONDERVAN

  Falling to Pieces

  Copyright © 2011 by Vannetta Chapman

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