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found so disturbing that it sent her into a funk for the rest of the morning?
    â€œI like the eggplant color,” Ruby said, waving straw from the box she was unpacking. “Stunning. Oh, and the crimson. Gone are the days of plain broom straw, I suppose.”
    â€œThe brooms will be amazing,” Cora said. She began to set baskets in a row along the wall of the main crafting hall, a wing added on to the house in 1912 and filled with floor-to-ceiling windows. Twelve women had signed up for the broom-making class—not including the three of them. Each person would get broom straw, a handle, and the tools to make their brooms. It would all be given to them in baskets made by a local basket maker. Cora had been thrilled to find out that this region of North Carolina offered a multitude of crafters.
    This part of the state had a rich heritage of Appalachian craft traditions, and the quality of techniques had stayed the same throughout the years. They were handed down from elder to younger crafter, which was the best way to learn. Some of these crafters launched art careers by taking their crafting to the next level. Many of them could be found in galleries in Asheville.
    The hills around Indigo Gap appeared to be scattered with older women, like Ruby, who were “wild-crafters,” or herbalists. Many of these women quilted, sewed, and crocheted just as a matter of course. But they had as much pride in their workmanship as the professional artist-crafters.
    â€œYou know,” Ruby said. “There’s nothing like a well-made broom.” She flipped her fingers through the colorful broom straw. “I inherited one of my mother’s. It’s in good shape, too. I’m not sure they make brooms that well anymore.”
    â€œWell, Jude Sawyer does,” Cora said, starting to place straw in each of the baskets.
    â€œOh yes, don’t I know it. So does his daddy,” Ruby said.
    â€œI hate housekeeping,” Jane said, after a moment. “But I don’t mind sweeping. There’s something, I don’t know, meditative, about it.”
    â€œI agree. But for me, it’s more than that, really,” Ruby said, pulling out more straw from her box. “You can sweep away negative energy with them.”
    â€œMetaphorically speaking, of course,” Cora said.
    Ruby harrumphed. “You can call it whatever you want, honey.”
    â€œIn any case, it’s a great craft for our fall retreat, with Halloween right around the corner,” Cora said.
    â€œAnd the candles will be just the right touch,” Jane added. “Oh damn, paper cut. Where are the Band-Aids?” She held up her bloody finger.
    â€œIn the downstairs bathroom medicine cabinet,” Cora said.
    â€œCome by my cottage later. My homemade herbal salve will soothe it,” Ruby said as Jane walked off to find a Band-Aid.
    Cora stood back and surveyed the filled baskets. “They should be a bit more festive,” she muttered. “What else can we do to them? Ribbons? Paper flowers?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Ruby said, coming up beside her, her hands on her hips. “I like them the way they are. Earthy and simple.”
    â€œGood point,” Cora said, as her cell phone rang. She took a step away from Ruby as she answered the call. “Cora here, how can I help you?”
    â€œThis is Isabel Collins. Is it too late for me to cancel my registration for the broom-making class?”
    â€œCancel?”
    â€œYes. Is it too late? I’d like a refund.”
    Cora looked around at her baskets and sighed. “Certainly, I’ll issue a refund. May I ask why you’re canceling?”
    â€œI have better things to do with my money,” the other woman said in a clipped tone. And she hung up.
    â€œWhat was that about?” Cora said more to herself than to Ruby, who was busy breaking down the boxes the broom straw had come in.
    â€œWhat’s that?”