Free Falling to Pieces by Vannetta Chapman Page A

invisible ink that will fade away after twenty-four hours?”
    Deborah bit into the cookie and smiled at her. “You’re kidding, right? I’ve never heard of this invisible ink.”
    “Of course I’m kidding. It’s not as if we’re living in a Harry Potter book.”
    “Harry who?”
    “Oh, never mind.”
    Deborah stood and picked up her saucer as the two women outside the shop proceeded around the corner and up the walk. “You have customers. I should go.”
    “Do you need to get back to your family?”
    “Not right away. The children went to their
grossmammi’s
today. Why?”
    “The store closes in another thirty minutes. I want you to show me where the newspaper office is located. We’re going to have a talk with Mr. Stakehorn. We’re going to set him straight about the quilts and the auction. You can explain to him that it was your idea to auction them on the internet, and that I did not corrupt you!”
    “Perhaps it is best if we go to see him together,” she agreed.
    Deborah turned to greet two regular customers. It was good to see that Daisy’s faithful customers were supporting the shop.
    Glancing back at Callie, she added, “I brought my quilting bag. I’ll sit by the window and stay out of the way until you close. As long as I’m home by six, Jonas won’t worry.”
    “You’ll be home by six. We’ll have this cleared up in five minutes. Mr. Stakehorn can print a nice retraction on page one of the next edition.”
    As Callie walked off to assist the customers, Deborah wondered if it would be so easy. Shipshewana was a small town, and she’d had dealings with Mr. Stakehorn before. The man wasn’t the most agreeable Englisher she’d been around.
    Could be she’d always caught him on a bad day. Or maybe he only had bad days.
    She’d find out in a half hour.
    For Callie’s sake, she hoped today Stakehorn’s temperament would be different.

Chapter 8
    D EBORAH PUT BOTH HANDS on her hips and nodded toward the front seat. “It’s only a horse and buggy. What’s there to be
naerfich
about?”
    “I realize it’s a horse and buggy. And I don’t know what nar-fitch is.” Callie tucked her dark hair behind her ears and crossed her arms. She looked for all the world like Martha, Deborah’s oldest, when she didn’t want to do something.
    “Naerfich,
you know, a little green in the face. Maybe you haven’t ridden a horse before? I promise, buggies are perfectly safe.”
    “We have horses in Texas.” Callie’s voice hardened and her eyes darted from the horse to the little blue car and back again. “I don’t see why we can’t take my car. It would be faster.”
    “Sometimes slower is better.”
    Callie shook her head, as if Deborah’s reasoning made no sense at all.
    “I’m a
gut
driver,” Deborah added.
    “I’m a good driver too.”
    “Ya,
I’m sure you are, but Cinnamon is tired of standing here, and I know where the newspaper office is.”
    Callie’s look softened a bit. “Her name is Cinnamon?”
    “The children named her, because of her light brown color. We’ve had her three years now, and she’s a very good mare.”
    Callie looked doubtfully at the mare. “All right, but next time we take my Ford, which I haven’t named yet.”
    “Sure. Next time you drive. Where are we going next time?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe to pick up the retraction Mr. Stakehorn is going to write. Or to dinner to celebrate the awesome price you ladies will receive from your quilts.”
    “That’s a
wunderbaar
idea.”
    Deborah clucked to the mare and they started off, out of Daisy’s Quilt Shop’s parking area. Callie clutched the seat, obviously still agitated about Stakehorn’s editorial.
    “Buggy riding is generally soothing. Might help settle you down a bit.”
    “What makes you think I’m unsettled?” Callie let go of her grip on the seat and turned around to look at the two cars slowing down behind them on the road.
    “Possibly the way you slammed things as you were closing