Excerpt: Subversive Stitchers

With a sense of relief after her last delivery, she pulled onto the narrow country road, just getting her van up to the speed limit, watching the maples and oaks, poplars and birch in their glorious autumn foliage. She adored driving in the country – the pristine farms decorated by these trees, revered for so many reasons by these practical people – the maple syrup from some, the shade from others, the firewood, or the bark for medicines. Her thoughts returned to the road when she approached Harriet’s curve as it had been called for generations. A tale had been passed down that on this point at dusk a woman could stand under the huge old black walnut tree and her true love would appear to her. Whether he came in a vision or in flesh and blood, the tale was unclear. But over the years hundreds of girls and just as many attentive young men – Amish and English -- had stood under that tree. It had been a popular place for teen girls Amish and English alike to go to pick up walnuts. Olivia smiled then froze. A car came out of the gathering darkness, careening around the curve in front of her. She held her place on the road, stomping on the brakes, honking her horn, knowing she would surely roll her van if she hit the berm and she had no intention of landing in the steep ditch filled with muddy water from the drizzle that had turned into a deluge two days ago and hadn’t entirely dissipated.
The other driver, a woman, behind the wheel of a flame orange Corvette, gripped the steering wheel, her mouth open, her eyes wide, so close Olivia saw every detail as her senses heightened. Brakes screeched and machines groaned. Then the woman jerked the wheel and the car hit the berm and it went airborn. Olivia screamed, “Nooooooooo,” and reached out a hand to stop the girl. A silly gesture. She knew before seeing it happen that the woman was headed directly for the tree.