Sage and Sweetgrass

by LoRee Peery

  He took a step back. For sure, if the mirror were attached, he didn’t think he could say good-bye.

  From the depths of repressed memory, he heard his mother sing to him, by way of answering his questions.

  “When I was just a little boy, I asked my mother…”

  And with every question he fired, she’d smile, ruffle his hair, and then continue to sing the answer. “What will you be when you grow up?”

  They’d continue singing back and forth, suggesting occupations.

  He’d long ago given up wondering, or wishing, for anything good, for what or who he’d be the rest of his life.

  What was so great about life? People you love die and leave you alone.

  He sure never dreamt he’d be a young widower.

  How could he have imagined that he’d have a daughter who became a mother as a teen and a grandson whose father was a mystery?

  No time to contemplate life’s unsolved issues. He had horses to feed.

  ****

  The first thing Lanae did after Geneva said good night, was to get two cheesecakes in the oven. Then she picked up the phone, curious about the oak vanity.

  A nice sounding man with a pleasant voice answered.

  “Hi. I’m calling about the dressing table.”

  “Sure. It’s a woman’s piece of furniture. Been sitting in the corner of my garage since I moved in.”

  Lanae tried to picture a face with the voice and came up blank. “Can you tell me a little more about it?”

  “It’s old. Been in the family for some time. It’s turned that dark color that old varnish gets over the years. There are paint splotches and rings from cans. Stuff like that. But it’s solid.”

  “It sounds lovely. Do you know how much you want for it?”

  “Well, it’s genuine oak, I guess handcrafted, and should look real pretty when you’re done refinishing. I was kind of thinking seventy-five, but you’d have to take a look.”

  “Where can I see it?”

  “I’m on acreage southeast of Lincoln.”

  Hmm, a country boy. By nature or transplanted?

  “That’ll be a breeze to find. I’m in Platteville. When would be a good time?”

  “I’ll want my chores out of the way. Would midmorning tomorrow work for you?”

  “Sure thing. How about directions?”

  Lanae grabbed a pen and wrote down landmarks and turns before ending the call.

  With a sigh, she turned her attention back to the smell of baking cheesecakes, which was now curling up the stairs. She had slipped downstairs to make sure the shop was locked up tight. She lived in the loft over the store now that Moselle and Eric would live in his home.

  She had never even baked a cheesecake for her husband while he lived. Was there a man to replace Keith in her future?

  Though tired, the joy of adventure burbled through her as she later prepared for bed.

  “Thank You, Lord. Tomorrow I plan to do something more exciting than loop yarn around a crochet hook. Please give me a safe and enjoyable drive through the countryside. Open my eyes to all You have for me to see, to enjoy, to live, to bring glory to You.

  “I’m alive. Thank You again, Lord.” Lanae snuggled under the covers, and added with a yawn, “And for the ability to look forward to tomorrow.”

  The prayer calmed her heart, but anticipation filled her mind.

  She’d be in the country again.

  The guy’s phone voice intrigued her. She kicked herself for not asking his name. Could he be single?

  She chuckled at herself as she rolled over to get more comfortable. Ah well, it was in God’s hands.

  The old oak piece would undoubtedly fit right in with the shop’s décor as a display nook, maybe even a cranny for their goods. She wondered what kinds of stories the antique vanity could tell.

  2

  Wherever I am, I aim to be in the here and now.

  For most of the thirty-minute drive, Lanae had the window at half-mast. The air was crisp with the clarity of fall. Inevitably, winter’s chill loomed as a shadow just around the next bend of the road. She breathed in the freshness, more invigorating than the cool side of a pillow on a muggy summer night.

  She matched the rural street names according to the man’s directions. When she turned onto the gravel road, she slammed on the brakes.

  A handful of wild turkey hens leisurely strolled across the road in single file.

  She slowed to the shoulder. With a hand flat against her crashing heart, she commanded her body to relax just as fast as it had accelerated. Her heart slowed back to its normal beat.

  As she watched the processional, her phone rang. The wild turkeys took the jarring noise in stride as though they heard musical jangles every day.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Lanae,” Geneva responded, “just wanted to let you know Moselle called to say she and Eric are having a wonderful time.”

  “I sure didn’t call Mom on my honeymoon.”

  “Neither did I, but Moselle and I have always stayed in touch. Have you arrived yet?”

  “About there.”

  “I’m anxious to see that furniture. Bye now.”

  Lanae flipped her phone shut and searched both ditches for a tom or drake. Neither adult nor younger male of the species could be spied, so she pulled back onto the gravel road. Turkeys didn’t have four legs, but they could damage a vehicle—not that she wanted to hurt them either.

  She drove on, beyond the tree-trunk chainsaw carvings of two large eagles, one sitting atop a nest. Her stomach fluttered with anticipation, excitement, adventure. She had no idea of the cause.

  Homesickness clawed its way into her throat when she turned onto the rock drive. She belonged in a place like this, where tires crunched over gravel. Lanae brushed away a tear at the sight of a horse silhouetted on a hilltop in the bright morning sunlight.

  “Calm me down, please, Lord. I don’t know what’s going on within my restless soul,” she whispered.

  Through all the wasted hours of her illness, she hadn’t allowed herself to think of the ranch she left in the western part of the state. Except for last night, she’d concentrated her idle thoughts on the creation of Frivolities with Geneva.

  And she sure hadn’t had the energy to yearn for the outdoors while fighting her disease.

  She rolled the window all the way down to breathe in the cool country air. Catching the smell of hay and horses on the breeze, her gaze roved the land. Small rocks rolled and resettled beneath her tires as she crept to a stop.

  The sky was clear and enormous where it met the horizon. The whinny of horses carried up from a pasture on the other side of the barn. The acreage represented everything she loved about being outside the city limits. Expanse, horses, a sprinkling of trees in the distance…God’s country.

  When she caught sight of the cowboy, the vision was complete.

  She sighed. Home. How crazy. She felt like she’d come home.

  The cowboy rounded the corner of the wood-sided barn that she guessed to be sixty feet long. He loped in the loose way of a man comfortable on the back of a horse.

  And she enjoyed every step as he approached.

  He even tipped the brim of his hat. “Mornin’. You Lanae?”

  Wow was the only thing she could think to say. But she kept it to herself.

  Her mouth went dry.

  His nose was bent, just off to the right of center. He had a full bottom lip, thinner upper, all accented by what she supposed was a year-round tan. Myriad facial lines gave testimony to a life lived outdoors. She cleared her throat in order to answer. “That I am.”

  “Sage Diamond.”

  When he drew close enough, Lanae was dumbfounded at the impact of his eyes. They were an unbelievable piercing blue with a hint of lavender.

  “Did you have any trouble finding the place?” Sage spoke in an unhurried manner.

  Lanae wondered if he felt rushed about anything. She started to open the door.

&n
bsp; “You always leave your car running?” A hint of amusement tugged at his mouth.

  Oops. She turned the key. Great first impression.

  He held the door.

  Still caught in the lavender blue of his eyes, shadowed now from his hat, Lanae swallowed what felt like the chaff of an August hayfield.

  No more singles ads for me.

  His unflinching look was as direct as hers. Lanae’s whole body reacted with a whisper of sensation. The surprising zing of attraction crawled over her skin from head to toe.

  “No trouble finding me then?” He tilted his head a tad to one side.

  “Oh, your directions were exact. It’s a perfect day for such a lovely drive. And the wild turkeys topped it off.”

  “The turkeys can be a treat or a nuisance, depending on how you look at them. Hope you find the antique to be better.. It’s in dire need of fixing up. Down in the garage side of the barn. We have to walk a piece.”

  “No problem.”

  She followed him over tufts of dormant short prairie grass. They walked toward the barn, a hundred yards away. She paused a moment while he rolled open the over-sized sliding door. Lanae stretched her unused calf muscles. She hadn’t walked much since she’d been sick.

  Entering the barn, Lanae felt as though she stepped into her past. She paused on the threshold to soak in poignant reminders of life spent on the ranch with her husband. She ran her eyes over the layout of the barn.

  She inhaled. Hay, dust, horses, leather.

  She listened. The rustles and thuds of cats, horses, wind.

  She took it all in. The surroundings welcomed her.

  She longed for home. On the ranch.

  I belong in a place just like this. Why tease me now, Lord?

  What had she given up?

  Lanae shook her head to clear her muzzy thoughts, and looked around.

  The barn had two regular sized stalls and one narrower, complete with matching hitching posts for possible troublesome equines that deserved special attention. An overhead door marked an area probably used as a garage.

  Lanae didn’t know if she wanted to spend time exploring the barn and the creatures that inhabited it or the antique she had come to buy for Frivolities.

  “Something wrong?”

  His smooth voice wrapped around her, making her feel secure.

  She met his gaze with a smile. “Not at all. It’s all so familiar. I left a life like this when I moved to Platteville, and this feels so comfortable.” Like I’ve slipped into my favorite old chenille robe, which I really need to toss one of these days.

  Sage made a sound that was somewhere between a chuckle and a groan mixed in with patience. He shot her a questioning look but asked nothing. “Dresser’s this way.”

  The first sight of the vanity drew a delightful, “Ahh,” from Lanae. “It’s perfect.”

  In burl oak, the center drawer was swell-fronted and double handkerchief drawers bookended each side. Straight back legs and curved front legs added character.

  “It’s high enough for a chair to fit underneath.” He slanted a grin in her direction. “For a little gal like you.”

  Her smile was spontaneous. His compliment thrilled her.

  She drooled over the delicate piece of furniture. She ran a hand over the curved shape of the largest drawer and pulled on the glass knob. It slid right out, bringing with it combined scents of vintage perfume and faded dusting powder, familiar fragrances from her childhood.

  Construction was solid, pegged with dowels rather than nail or screw, where the drawer sat on a full-sized support board rather than slats. A decorative piece of wood rested at the base of the vanity top with mirror supports behind. Too bad the mirror wasn’t attached.

  She plopped down in the straw, paying no heed to what she might get on the seat of her faded denim jeans, and leaned underneath the vanity to have a look.

  A flash from childhood hit her as memories sometimes do. She and Geneva used to crawl under their grandmother’s round oak table in her roomy kitchen. When they were really small they crouched on the legs that supported the pedestal. One time the temptation was too much to resist, and using the fork she’d held, Lanae carved her initials in the bottom of the table leaf. Naturally, Geneva followed suit.

  “Anything interesting down there?” Sage’s voice brought her back to the present.

  “You’re right. It’s solid and well crafted.” Lanae was a little disappointed that she hadn’t found initials or some other personal markings. She slid out from underneath, took his offered hand, and stood to dust herself off. She stepped behind and found the unfinished streaks in the wood, scarred from screw holes meant for the mirror supports. “Do you have the mirror?”

  “Sorry. Haven’t run across it.”

  “The vanity’s not much without the mirror, but I still see enough charm that I want it for our shop.”

  “Since I can tell you’ll take good care of it, I’ll lop off twenty-five.”

  She offered her hand. “Deal.”

  Lanae experienced a jolt when their hands joined. It was as though she’d had a triple shot of Geneva’s flavored espresso.

  Sage slid his gaze away and let go of her hand. Fast.

  She searched for something to say. “Um, it won’t fit in my trunk, will it?”

  He chuckled, low and loose. “Platteville, you said? Got it covered. I’ll be checking on a saddle up north of Highway 34.”

  “Oh, the lady with the horse-themed strip mall, the western shops? I keep meaning to stop in and check out the competition.”

  “Lorinda Watts. Doesn’t sound to me like your businesses are of the same kind. Since the saddle maker is a short jaunt south of Platteville, I can sure bring the dresser on up in my truck.”

  She located a dark blue pickup truck, looking huge parked next to the ranch house. And she took her first look at the home. Circa 1970s, the house wore its faded cedar siding as a badge of honor.

  “The fireplace inside must be humongous judging by the size of the stone chimney dominating the north side.”

  She pictured wood everywhere inside, letting herself imagine a home similar to the one she had shared with Keith, the love of her youth.

  “It’s pretty much the same as when I first saw it when the vet lived here. Haven’t changed much at all.”

  Lanae got the impression that if interrupted, Sage would not repeat or lose his train of thought, but continue speaking at a steady pace. That mannerism matched the language of a man who listened to horses.

  And she imagined she could listen to such soothing talk for quite a spell. “Then I’ll add in some gas money.”

  “No, ma’am. Twenty extra miles is nothing if you’re used to driving in the country.”

  Men and their trucks.

  “My husband would have said the same thing.”

  “Would have?”

  Lanae stopped and gathered her thoughts. She gazed off to the east, at the hill to the right, and then scanned trees to the left where she imagined a creek flowed. She had no doubt Sage and his acreage might fulfill what was missing in her life. Impossible to know that so soon. From the south, a huge V of geese came into view.

  She caught Sage watching her. They shared a smile over the thrill nature brought.

  “My husband was killed in a ranching accident.” She blew a sigh, felt his eyes on her, and looked off into the sky again. “I’d like to have their vantage point.”

  She felt his steady gaze remain on her while he answered. “I often raise my eyes to the sky, feeling the same way. In summer, a great blue heron glides over the land. Saw a pair back in July.”

  “No way. I’ve never seen a pair of herons,” she said, in awe. “I saw one appear once in a while in the distance when I lived in the Sandhills. They’re so huge and graceful, prehistoric looking. I wondered what they thought of me on the ground.”

  Sage shook his head and grinned. “Like minds and all that. I’ve wondered the same thing, but most of the time I’m no h
igher than the back of a horse.”

  “How I miss seeing the land from horseback. I was always so relaxed when I was in the saddle. Yet sometimes it was hard to contain the sense of anticipation. You never know what’s on the trail around the bend.”

  3

  The next day, Sage kept thinking about Lanae Petersen and her comment about the trail around the bend. She was a western gal all right. Why the devil did she keep coming back to his mind? It irked him, having the woman there at the edge of his thoughts.

  Well, the devil could keep those tempting thoughts.

  Or God, for that matter, Whom he was still mad at for taking Becca from this life while in the prime of her life.

  “Oh, God, will I miss her the rest of my days?” Sage raised his eyes to the cloudless sky. “Why, why didn’t You take my life, too, when You stole my love from me?”

  His ragged voice sounded wounded to his own ears. No use talking to the heavens. He’d done enough of such wasted talk over the years.

  God had yet to answer.

  Sure bet he’d lived with his horses too long.

  As long as I don’t answer my own questions, I guess I’m still sane.

  But the picture of Ms. Lanae Petersen, petite and fit, with short salt-and-pepper hair, wouldn’t leave him in peace.

  Lanae had chosen her steps with care when she took off toward the barn, as though her muscles were sluggish. Yet she had an underlying familiarity with the roll of dirt beneath her feet. He should have asked where she used to live. Her reference to a ranch in western Nebraska made him wonder about her past. He pictured her in her denim jacket and skinny jeans. She’d even worn boots that were none too new. She had nicely defined legs, just like a good filly.

  She had downright shined in the sunlight. The sparkles and lace on her jacket over some kind of riotous-colored shirt had brought brightness and life to his day.

  Sage gave Freckles, a paint horse with only a sprinkle of white blotches across the rump, a curious look. “You can tell I’m in some kind of fine mood, can’t you?”

  The mare didn’t answer.

  Sage was comfortable with silence.

  Silence is where he liked to live.