A Perfect Square

Chapter 12




CALLIE COULDN’T HAVE BEEN HAPPIER despite the circumstances.

A year and a half ago she’d been flying around the country, hurrying to sales meetings, and pushing to be the top pharmaceutical rep for the Houston firm that employed her. She had no real friends, an apartment she rarely visited, and a giant hole in her heart left from Rick’s passing.

Looking around her circle of friends, she was still amazed at how much could change in so little time. Deborah, Melinda, and Esther were not the type of women she’d have associated with in her other life, but now it seemed as if she’d known them forever. She couldn’t imagine going through a day without them.

Her life was very nearly perfect, except for the absence of Rick and the fact that someone dear to her was once again involved in a murder investigation.

And the mess of material in her lap.

“Are you sure this wouldn’t be easier with a machine?” Callie looked down at her crooked row of stitches and considered ripping them out.

“Easier isn’t always better,” Melinda noted, her eyes crinkling into a smile as she quickly and neatly sewed a strip of blue fabric around a green quilt block.

“Say. I like what you’re doing there. Maybe I should try that.”

“She’s sashing, and you’re not quite ready for that step yet. Best to continue with piecing your square together.” Deborah exchanged a smile with Esther.

“I don’t know. Maybe I should start over. This looks terrible. My stitches aren’t the same size, and they look more like a wave than a row. I think I’ll pull them out — “

“Don’t do it, Miss Callie.” Martha, Deborah’s ten-year-old daughter, set her own sewing aside and moved to stand beside her. “Imagine a straight line and keep sewing. If you continue to pull out those stitches every ten minutes, your quilt square is going to look like Swiss cheese.”

The group of women burst into laughter. Callie wanted to stick her lip out and pout, but she was so relieved to see Esther laugh, even for a moment, that she didn’t mind being the brunt of the joke. “This is terrible, and you know it. Mine will never look as good as your mamm’s.”

“Each person’s work looks different.” Martha pulled her stool closer. “Your stitches look as good as mine when I started.”

“And you were—”

Martha hesitated, but Deborah answered.

“She finished her first quilt when she was eight. It was a small one that we used for Joshua’s bed.”

“Eight? I was playing with Barbie dolls when I was eight.”

“Ya, Amish children have a different life — it’s true.” Melinda reached under her glasses to rub her eyes. “But don’t think it’s not playing for our children as well.”

Callie followed Esther’s glance, over to Leah, who was using a large plastic needle to draw yarn back and forth through a wooden board that had holes drilled out of it. The board had been sanded, smoothed, and shellacked so the yarn wouldn’t catch on the edges. Leah was making a design all to her liking, that much seemed obvious to Callie. The girl was humming softly as she sewed.

Esther turned back to the group, a wistful note in her voice. “I remember when we were kinner, nearly Martha’s age. We used to pretend that we were grown-ups, making quilts for the kittens in the barn.”

“I remember taking one to the barn and having to do extra laundry chores for a week.” Deborah stood and rubbed at the small of her back. “I could not understand why quilts weren’t for kittens.”

“So you’re telling me to keep sewing.”

“Exactly,” Martha said. “You’ll improve, as I did. Try holding your needle this way.”

“I want perfect stitches, and a perfect square like everyone else,” Callie muttered.

“We don’t all receive what we want, and best be glad for that.” Martha sounded so much like Deborah that they all burst out laughing again, all except Esther, who set her quilting aside.

They’d chosen Friday and Monday afternoons for their quilting circle. On Fridays, the weekend shoppers hadn’t arrived yet — and it wasn’t a market day. On Mondays, the shop was closed, and by the afternoon, Callie was done restocking.

“How is your feud with Mrs. Knepp going, Callie?” Melinda never slowed in her stitching as she glanced up then back down again.

“I tried sending her a letter, but it was returned unopened.”

“She’s a bit mulish,” Deborah admitted.

“A bit? I thought Texans were stubborn. This woman is more obstinate than a west Texas bull. The letter was an invitation to tea. I thought we could host a quilting sale together, maybe promote each other’s business. So far nothing I’ve tried with her works.”

“Perhaps you should let her be,” Melinda suggested.

“Hard to do since hers is the only other quilt shop in town. It just seems that we’d do better business if we coordinated things occasionally.”

“It didn’t help when Trent included a picture of you in Amish clothing on the front page,” Deborah teased. “Mrs. Knepp was ranting about it when I stopped in to say hello. She seemed personally offended.”

“As if my being there was related to the story at all.” Callie frowned as she focused on ripping out her stitches. “I asked Trent why he included the picture of me and Max hurrying toward the scene and he said we sell papers. People want to know what trouble we’ve managed to find.”

“I doubt Shane was happy with the photo of the girl in the pond — even if there wasn’t much of her shown.” Melinda glanced around the group. “Trent must be pleased though. I heard they had to print extra copies of the paper, they sold so many.”

“That man would photograph his own mother if it would sell papers.” Callie set aside her sewing.

When Esther stood and began pacing slowly back and forth, her hands crumpling her apron, Callie decided it was time for tea and cookies.

Hurrying to the kitchen, she grabbed the tray of mugs and tea supplies, then turned and nearly bumped into Deborah.

“I’ll help you carry those.”

“Thanks. Do you think she’ll be all right?”

“Esther will be fine. It’s natural for her to worry. We’re all worried, but God will take care of Reuben. Have faith, Callie.”

Instead of asking the dozens of questions she had, Callie nodded and marched toward the sitting area at the back of the shop. Max looked up hopefully, so she gave Leah a dog treat and asked her to take it to him.

“Esther, tea?”

“Ya. I suppose so.” She sat, then popped back up again.

Melinda carefully stored her own sewing needle, walked over to her, and planted herself firmly in the path of her pacing. When Esther moved to sidestep to the right, Melinda stepped with her, reaching out to rub both of her arms gently.

“It’s going to be all right.”

“I know it will.”

“Come and talk about it.”

“Ya, maybe that will help.”

It took an entire cup of chamomile before Esther found the words, but then they began pouring like water from a stream that had been suddenly undammed. “Tobias agrees with what Reuben said, Deborah. He wishes to go on with the wedding. Says our life — “ she glanced over to Leah, down at her lap, then back up again. “He says that we can show our faith in Reuben best by continuing on as usual.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she brushed it away. “He really is a very gut man — they both are.”

“Of course they are.” Deborah reached over and squeezed her hand. “Yesterday was only the informal arraignment, Esther. We mustn’t become discouraged.”

“Explain to me again why the judge wouldn’t grant bail?” Melinda reached for an oatmeal cookie, broke it in half, and handed a small piece to her one-year-old, Hannah.

“Adalyn said it was because he hadn’t cooperated with the court. What do you think she meant by that, Callie?”

Looking around her, Callie took a few sips, wondering how to explain the Englisch legal system to her Amish friends. Even after what they’d been through a few months earlier with Stakehorn, this seemed new to them, perhaps because they’d never had a friend on the other side of the jail cell. The situation when Esther’s first husband had died had been somewhat similar, but the boys responsible had never been charged.

“Didn’t you say he refused to enter any kind of plea?”

“Ya. He still won’t talk.” Deborah shook her head.

“I looked that up on Google last night, since both Andrew and Shane refuse to discuss the case with me. The defendant has a right to silence. He can stand mute.”

“Reuben appears mute,” Melinda muttered.

“Apparently it’s frowned upon.”

“Adalyn was very upset,” Esther admitted. “She even left her leather bag in the car, and I’ve never known her to forget it.”

“If he had not insisted on remaining silent, the court would have entered a plea of not guilty. It looks better if the man on trial says he’s not guilty,” Callie continued. Everyone thought on that for a moment. “You said he’s still refusing to give a statement?” Callie asked.

“Ya, I think that’s what Adalyn was so bothered about.”

“The court can’t require him to testify against himself, but if he were cooperating — which the judge would prefer — he would seem more forthcoming.”

Every face in the room remained turned toward her, waiting for more of an explanation. Callie looked toward the front of the shop, toward the windows, where she could see the back of the “Information Wanted” poster that Gavin had taped there yesterday. It contained an artist’s rendering of a young Amish girl with beautiful brown eyes and golden hair, wearing a green-colored dress.

There was one in every shop window in town.

“For instance, Andrew said that Reuben knew the girl, but has he explained to anyone who she is?”

Now the women looked down at the quilting materials in the middle of their circle.

“Perhaps Officer Gavin was mistaken,” Melinda finally offered.

“Doubtful. Andrew’s trained in such things.” Callie set her cup down on the table.

“If he saw them together, which is what Tobias heard Officer Gavin say, then maybe they do know each other, but not well.” Esther nibbled around a cookie as she spoke. “But it doesn’t seem possible that the girl was staying in the house.”

Deborah never glanced up. “Tobias told Jonas that before they handcuffed Reuben, they did some sort of testing in the house. Do you know what that was?”

“Supposedly they found blood from the girl’s head wound. Tobias was allowed back in the house the next day, but he didn’t see anything.”

Callie had forgotten there were so many things the Amish simply were not exposed to — like crime television. “Blood can be washed away to the point where you can’t see it, but there are still trace particles there. When the police use luminol sprays, the spray exposes even small amounts of blood.”

“How do you know these things?” Deborah asked. “Agatha Christie?”

“Television.”

“Oh. Esther, how did Tobias not see her? What I mean is, does he think the girl was hiding, so he wouldn’t see her?” Deborah blushed slightly as she asked the question.

“No. We talked it through some last night, and he admitted he hadn’t even been back to his grossdaddi’s property in a week, and he hasn’t been inside the house in a year or more. Otherwise Shane might have tried to arrest him as well. Tobias could be sharing that Englisch cell with Reuben.” Esther paled as she spoke. Deborah picked up Esther’s cup of tea and pushed it into her hands, but she ignored it. “Tobias was pulling double shifts at the feed store, so he had been staying with his parents for the past week. They live closer to town. Some nights he even slept on a pallet in the workroom.”

“And he has witnesses to attest to that, I’m sure.” Callie reached out and rubbed behind Max’s ears when he padded next to her.

“Ya, lots of them. Apparently the girl arrived sometime after last Wednesday. Tuesday was the last day Tobias had been to the farm. He hadn’t mentioned to me he was working extra hours. He didn’t want me to worry. The money was to help with our setting up house.”

“All right. This is good. Maybe we can solve this thing.” Deborah sat forward, an optimistic look on her face.

“Solve this thing? Now you sound like old Mr. Bontrager. We’re not sleuths. We’re quilters. Well, you all are quilters; apparently I make cheese.” Callie put an arm around Martha as the last words popped out of her mouth. “It’s not our job to solve this crime.”

“But it is our job to stand by freinden,” Deborah pointed out. “For some reason Reuben won’t defend himself.”

“And to Shane and the judge, that looks like guilt.” Melinda picked up her quilting and began sewing again. “But our men have times where they grow quiet. When that happens, it’s no use trying to pull a word out of them.”

“Reuben’s not one to offer much up in the way of conversation anyway.” Esther motioned to Leah to begin collecting her things.

“But to stay quiet when it means serving time in jail for murder?” Callie shook her head, dark hair bobbing side to side. “I can’t imagine what would cause anyone to do that.”

“Of course you can. We all can.” Deborah reached for her purse and pulled out a small pad of paper and a pen. “There are reasons you’d do such a thing. It’s only that the list is short. We’d all keep our mouths closed and suffer years for our children.”

“But Reuben has no children.” Esther was clearly considering Deborah’s words.

“Let’s start there. We don’t need to find the girl’s killer, Callie. You were right. We were lucky with Stakehorn’s murder—”

“And technically we caught the wrong person,” Callie cut Deborah off.

“True enough, though it still resulted in the correct arrest.”

Callie rolled her eyes, feeling like a twelve-year-old, but also feeling better with the immature gesture.

Deborah pushed on. “All we need to do is find Reuben’s reason for remaining silent.”

As Deborah wrote her list, which was disappointingly brief, Callie wracked her brain trying to think of possibilities to add to it. But even as she focused on helping Deborah, on helping Reuben, her mind began wandering back to Tuesday morning, back to Mr. Bontrager and the daughter he claimed to have lost.