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"They were friends of my Granny's." She adjusted her grip on the wheel. "She knew everyone up here. Knew their people, their histories, what they needed and what they were too proud to ask for." She paused. "She used to bring Chloe and me up here in the summers. We'd pile into her old Buick, and Granny would pack a basket like she was feeding an army. Biscuits, fig preserves, that terrible sweet tea that Chloe loved and I pretended to."

She gave me a sly look. “Can you imagine how sweet something had to be for me not to like it?”

"How old were you?"

"The first time? Seven, maybe eight. Chloe and I had never been anywhere that felt so far from everything. It felt like the edge of the world." She slowed for a switchback, took it clean. "Granny would knock on their door and Judy would open it before she'd finished knocking, like she'd been listening for the car the whole way up. She'd pull us both inside and start fussing. Did we want cookies? Were we cold? Had we seen the new rug she'd put down in the hall?"

I could see it. Two little dark-haired girls in a mountain cabin, somebody's grandmother making them feel like the most important visitors in the world.

"And Janice?"

"Janice was quieter. More watchful. She'd sit in her chair in the corner and work while Judy talked, and every once in a while she'd look up and say something that would stop the whole room." Zoe smiled at the road. "One time when I was about nine. I was bored and I started pulling at a loose thread on one of their rugs. Janice watched me do it for about thirty seconds, then she said, very calmly, 'Every thread in that rug has a name.' I didn't touch another one."

"Every thread has a name."

"She meant the wool. They raised their own sheep when they were younger, and the whole family was involved. The rugs weren't just craft, they were record-keeping. Who was there. What year. What the season was like." She shook her head. "I didn't fully understand it until I was older, but I never forgot it."

We came around a long curve and the valley opened up on my left. The morning was clear enough that I could see a long way.

"That's where we're stopping on the way back," Zoe said, without me asking. "I want you to see it right."

I was already looking.

"You said your grandmother was the one who introduced you to them. Did she know what you'd eventually do with it?"

"She died before I opened Gathered." Her voice stayed even. "But I've thought about that a lot. Because the idea started here. I was probably sixteen the last time Granny brought us up, and I remember watching Judy pull a finished rug off the loom, and Chloe said something like, oh that's beautiful, someone should sell that. And I thought, yes. But not just sell it. Show it. Tell the story of who made it."

She'd been sixteen. I let that sink in for a moment.

"Gathered was built around that."

"Not right away. I spent a few years figuring out what kind of store I wanted, what the soul of it would be. And then one morning I woke up and I knew. It could be more than a shop. It could be a showcase. Real goods from real makers, and the maker's story on every tag." She glanced at me quickly, then back at the road. "Judy and Janice were the first two people I talked to."

"What did they say?"

"Judy cried. Janice said, 'Well, it's about time somebody did this right.'"

I laughed.

"I think I'm going to like Janice."

"Everyone does. She just takes a minute."

The road narrowed, the trees thickening on both sides until they nearly closed overhead. Zoe slowed and took a left fork I wouldn't have noticed without her, onto a track that was more packed earth than pavement.

"Almost there," she said.

The cabin was smaller than I'd expected and better built. Cedar plank siding, a covered porch with two rockers that had been there long enough to leave impressions on the boards. A kitchen garden to one side. Smoke from the chimney.

Before Zoe had the engine off, the front door opened.

The woman on the porch was small and round, white hair pinned up, wearing an apron over a flannel shirt. She had her arms out before Zoe reached the porch steps.

"There she is," she announced, like Zoe's arrival was the conclusion of something she'd been anticipating all morning. "I told Janice, I told her, she'll be here by nine."

"It's eight fifty-three, Judy."

"Which is close enough to nine." Judy pulled her in and held on. Over Zoe's shoulder, her eyes found me. Sharp eyes. She was taking inventory. "And who is this?"