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Authors: Vannetta Chapman
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“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?”
“Ya.
He only will say there is no hurrying God’s wisdom. How will I explain to everyone if his answer is no?”
Jonas popped one of the oatmeal chocolate cookies into his mouth and considered her question. After he’d chased it with half the glass of milk, he finally answered. “We have to trust Bishop Elam to do what is best for Melinda and Esther.”
“But do you think he understands?” Deborah rocked the chair a bit harder.
“Do you doubt that he understands?”
Deborah paused mid-stitch. Suddenly it occurred to her that she was doing it again—she was taking on the role of provider for her two closest friends.
Jonas reached over, rested his hand on top of hers. “The bishop is a fair man. He promised to think on it, and he will. Perhaps he’ll give you an answer when we meet for church tomorrow.”
“Ya.
You’re right.”
“If he decides against this eBay idea, then you’ll go back to selling them in Callie’s shop.”
Deborah felt the tears she’d been holding back all night spring to her eyes. “And what if Callie closes the shop, or sells it? What if Melinda doesn’t get the money soon enough? What if Esther—”
Jonas’s thumb gently strumming up and down the back of her hand stopped the questions, stilled the avalanche of fear.
“Small steps,” he reminded her.
She nodded, blinked the tears back, and stored the pin in her apron.
Small steps, but as Jonas set the dishes in the sink and they readied for bed, she couldn’t help praying that the quilts would sell through the online auction, and that they would sell for a very high price.
Chapter 7
O N S UNDAY, Shipshewana was closed.
Callie rested—a little. She was uncomfortable about the idea of having too much free time, sure she’d end up huddled back under the covers. The feelings of depression she’d been submerged in just a week ago were never far away. So she’d allowed herself only a few hours of downtime before asking Deborah’s driver, Elaine, to take her to Elkhart for the rental car. Elaine was in her fifties with short-cropped gray hair and was definitely an Englisher.
She entertained Callie with stories of her aunt for the twenty-five minute drive—stories that had Callie wishing the drive were a bit longer.
Why hadn’t she come to visit Daisy sooner?
Why hadn’t she made time?
Why had she waited until it was too late?
Pushing the regrets away, she paid Elaine for the
“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?”
“Ya.
He only will say there is no hurrying God’s wisdom. How will I explain to everyone if his answer is no?”
Jonas popped one of the oatmeal chocolate cookies into his mouth and considered her question. After he’d chased it with half the glass of milk, he finally answered. “We have to trust Bishop Elam to do what is best for Melinda and Esther.”
“But do you think he understands?” Deborah rocked the chair a bit harder.
“Do you doubt that he understands?”
Deborah paused mid-stitch. Suddenly it occurred to her that she was doing it again—she was taking on the role of provider for her two closest friends.
Jonas reached over, rested his hand on top of hers. “The bishop is a fair man. He promised to think on it, and he will. Perhaps he’ll give you an answer when we meet for church tomorrow.”
“Ya.
You’re right.”
“If he decides against this eBay idea, then you’ll go back to selling them in Callie’s shop.”
Deborah felt the tears she’d been holding back all night spring to her eyes. “And what if Callie closes the shop, or sells it? What if Melinda doesn’t get the money soon enough? What if Esther—”
Jonas’s thumb gently strumming up and down the back of her hand stopped the questions, stilled the avalanche of fear.
“Small steps,” he reminded her.
She nodded, blinked the tears back, and stored the pin in her apron.
Small steps, but as Jonas set the dishes in the sink and they readied for bed, she couldn’t help praying that the quilts would sell through the online auction, and that they would sell for a very high price.
Chapter 7
O N S UNDAY, Shipshewana was closed.
Callie rested—a little. She was uncomfortable about the idea of having too much free time, sure she’d end up huddled back under the covers. The feelings of depression she’d been submerged in just a week ago were never far away. So she’d allowed herself only a few hours of downtime before asking Deborah’s driver, Elaine, to take her to Elkhart for the rental car. Elaine was in her fifties with short-cropped gray hair and was definitely an Englisher.
She entertained Callie with stories of her aunt for the twenty-five minute drive—stories that had Callie wishing the drive were a bit longer.
Why hadn’t she come to visit Daisy sooner?
Why hadn’t she made time?
Why had she waited until it was too late?
Pushing the regrets away, she paid Elaine for the
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