Free Falling to Pieces by Vannetta Chapman Page B

up the shop.”
    “I slammed things?”
    “Or maybe the fact that you’ve been muttering under your breath since the minute you read the first line of his editorial.”
    “He called me a robber.”
    Deborah flicked Cinnamon’s reins, pulling her to the right when the road broadened to four lanes. The cars behind her sped up and passed, but she maintained a steady, even pace.
    “Ya,
Stakehorn had quite a few inaccuracies in his editorial.”
    “The title alone was enough to make my blood boil.” Callie sat back against the buggy seat, slapping the folded paper against her leg. “New Shop Owner Robs Amish—what was he thinking?”
    “He was thinking about selling papers, and no doubt he sold quite a few.” Deborah’s voice was an extension of her thoughts,calm and quiet like the summer afternoon’s breeze. Its effect on Callie was mild but evident nonetheless.
    She stopped slapping the paper and closed her eyes for a moment as they completed the drive down Main Street.
    Deborah breathed a quiet prayer of relief. She’d been a bit concerned with the way Callie had first slammed the paper on the counter, practically thrown the mugs into the sink, even banged the door shut when she locked up the shop. Deborah didn’t doubt Callie was a good driver, but she had no desire to ride in the little blue car with her driving in her current state.
    Even Max had scampered to the far end of the yard and sat gazing at his new mistress, head cocked, ears perked—as if he could somehow hear what was wrong by listening more closely.
    “You’re awfully quiet over there. I suppose it takes a lot of concentration to drive one of these?” Callie’s voice went up at the end as Deborah pulled Cinnamon to a stop in front of the red light on Main Street.
    “Oh, it doesn’t take as much focus as you’d think. Cinnamon is very used to the traffic. Now if we’d brought our other mare—Lightning, I would need to pay very close attention.”
    “You have a horse named Lightning?” Callie’s eyes widened, and she cornered herself in the buggy so she could study Deborah more closely.
    “Ya,
she’s midnight black with a white streak between her eyes. Jonas brought her home a few months ago. I didn’t think we needed another, but he made a good trade, and he likes to ride in the buggy races.”
    “You have buggy races?”
    “We’re not all work and no play, Callie. We even have volleyball games. I was going to ask you to join us sometime.”
    Callie’s eyes lit up instantly for what seemed to Deborah like an unguarded moment, but then she turned and stared back out over the front of the mare. “Sounds like fun, but I don’t know how long I’ll be here. Depends on when the shop sells.”
    “Of course. If you’re still here on Sunday though, perhaps you could come by.”
    A smile played on Callie’s lips. “Don’t you have church on Sunday? I thought Amish were very religious.”
    “We do take our commitment to the church and our faith very seriously, but we only gather together for services twice a month. This Sunday there is no service, so several families are meeting at our home for lunch and some games.”
    Callie cut her gaze sideways, but didn’t turn. “Maybe we should try that in Texas.”
    “Try what?”
    “Alternating Sunday church with a week off now and then for food and games.”
    Deborah laughed as she pulled the buggy to a stop in front of the
Shipshewana Gazette.
“It’s been our way for a long time.”
    Callie was out of the buggy before Deborah had come to a complete stop. By the time she had Cinnamon tied to the post, Callie had already disappeared inside the small newspaper office.
    “Mr. Stakehorn has already left.” Mrs. Caldwell sat at the front desk, plainly closing up for the day.
    “We need to talk to him though.”
    Mrs. Caldwell had been the receptionist at the
Gazette
for as long as Deborah could remember. She was in her early sixties, with short gray hair cut in a bob, and glasses