Sage and Sweetgrass

by LoRee Peery

  “I’m sure the horses don’t miss them, especially deer flies.” Lanae clicked her tongue, the “kissing” sound horses responded to, and they loped off.

  Sage couldn’t pull off the grumpy personality. The sparkle in his eye softened any negative words.

  “I once worked on a Texas feedlot. For a bit. But I missed the Nebraska seasons. I don’t miss the acre-upon-acre of pipe-fenced pens or the muck and dust that went along with them.” Sage gazed off at the horizon. “Those horses, though. Gotta love ‘em. They are seasoned with cow sense, work like a calf cutter’s dream.”

  “I can’t put into words how much I miss being around horses. I don’t miss the uncertainty of ranch life. Each year is a fight with the possibility of a low cattle market, drought, and disease. But living with the big sky, the seasons, nature—I believe is living the way God intended us to.”

  A cloud shadowed Sage’s countenance. “Did He intend for you to lose your husband? For me to lose my wife?”

  “Sage, come on. You’re a Christian, aren’t you? You know God tells us in the Bible that He knows the number of our days. He has a plan for us as individuals. He’s in control. Not us.”

  Clouds hid the sun. They shared a study of the sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  “Sure thing we’re not in control of the weather.” Sage met her gaze and slanted a smile that erased his comment about their joint single status.

  “I love the rain,” they said together.

  “One time I was out on the back deck on the ranch, and I heard what sounded like rain on a tin roof. As soon as I recognized it, the sound moved.” Lanae raised her face to the sky. “It rained buckets from south to north. And I listened to the progression as it moved over the roof again.”

  “Yep. Rain has to stop and start and travel. I’ll never forget the time the sun shined in front of the house and rain fell behind the house.”

  “So a little rain isn’t going to scare us away from a good ride, right?”

  “Not if it remains a sprinkle,” he agreed. “And it’s not raining now.”

  Lanae felt right at home as she learned the rhythm of her mount. She gloried in the warm flesh beneath her and especially in the fact that she was enjoying God’s creation with a man at her side.

  She pulled Snorty up in order to follow Freckles where the path narrowed along the creek. When the path widened, Sage dropped back. His leg brushed hers while they rode side by side.

  “I’ll probably tell you every time I’m here…” Will I be here often? She pretended to concentrate on where the horse was stepping. “I really do miss the country. Sometimes I mourn outdoor living as much as I mourned losing Keith.”

  “Country living can have its drawbacks. There are pros and cons to everything in life.” Sage gave a silent command for Freckles to halt. “Every time I look at this creek bank I think of how my mother died. She bent down to look at a newborn calf, and the heifer butted her into a tree. Mom rolled twenty feet down a rough bank. She belly crawled and dragged herself back up to the top, through the meadow, under the fence, and onto the road. She was a cut up, filthy mess because of the rainstorm. I’ve often wondered how much the flashes of lightning helped her find her way to the house in the thunderstorm.” He lifted his hat, ran his fingers through his short brown hair, settled the hat in place, and then squinted as he remembered. “Anyway, she dragged herself up the long, dirty rock drive. When she got inside the house, she somehow managed to knock the phone off the wall. Hours later, the neighbor from up the road who checked on her every day, found her and called for help. Of course, it was too late. She was already gone.”

  “Sounds to me like she went out doing what gave her pleasure in life. Working on the place she loved, doing what she loved to do with her time. Outside, with animals God put in her care.”

  “That’s how I’ve always thought about it.” Sage applied leg pressure and his ride took a step. “And funny thing, I can’t help but enjoy a good rainstorm.”

  The creek bottom widened and darkened as the water gushed in a faster flow and mud swirl.

  “I’ve always had a dream to ride a burro to the bottom of the Grand Canyon.” Lanae raised her hands and face to the sky. The cool kiss of the rain heightened her experience. On her sick days, her heart had soared at the thought of living in the moment. Nothing in her imagination compared to the slickness of refreshing raindrops.

  “Well, if you aren’t careful, you’re going to fall into a small cany—“

  And just like that, Snorty started up the opposite creek bank. Lanae, surprised at the steep angle, slid off his back. She should have paid attention when the horse started to veer left. She’d failed to let Snorty know she was in control instead of him.

  For now, Lanae didn’t even try to stay on the horse’s back. She freed her boots from the stirrups and went with gravity instead. Laughter burbled up and erupted into giggles, so by the time her seat hit the mud, she plopped her shoulders onto the slick grass and gave no second thought to making a mud angel.

  Sage dismounted and reached for her, but his warm handclasp was wet, and he couldn’t get a grip. His fingers barely touched hers, yet her whole body kicked into the invigoration of being in the moment, aware of Sage.

  “What would you do if I pulled you down with me?”

  Rain dripped off the brim of his hat and plopped onto her forehead when he went for a firmer grip.

  “I would have spanked Lezlie if she stayed out in the rain like this.” Sage said it with a grin that quirked one side of his mouth. Before a full smile formed, his lips straightened. His eyes darkened to more purple than blue.

  Her heart kicked into erratic gear. “For real?” A sudden chill took her by surprise. Compared to the heat Sage put off, the difference was extreme. She imagined blood flowing as hot as lava through her system, the sizzle of ice as it evaporated.

  He drew her hand to his chest and wiped the mud against the worn denim. Without breaking eye contact, or even looking to see if her hand was clean, Sage drew her wrist close. His warm breath caressed her palm. Then, he kissed one fingertip. The barely-there touch reminded her of fish nibbling her toes in the creek on the ranch.

  Lanae swayed toward him.

  At the same time, Sage shattered the moment by letting her go. “We’re soaked to the bone. It’s past time we get back to the buildings.”

  The skies opened up, and they were, indeed, drenched by the time they walked ten paces to where the horses waited under the protection of a low-hanging cottonwood limb. At least the rain washed most of the mud and debris off their clothes as they returned.

  As soon as they dismounted in the barn, Lanae kept her hand on the horse while speaking to Sage. “Thank you for today.”

  The horse’s neck quivered where she ran her hand over the wet velvet muzzle. Snorty’s brown eyes looked upon her with trust. Used to her now, he nuzzled the side of her face.

  She crooned, continuing the gentle rub down the horse’s soft neck. “What a nice, handsome boy you are.”

  “I’ll get the horses dried off. You can’t climb in your car looking like that. Go on up to the house. Let yourself in through the garage. Lezlie keeps a pair of sweats in that cupboard by the kitchen door. You can borrow one of my jackets.”

  “I’ve got a hoodie in the car that’ll work. And thanks again, Sage. Despite the weather, I had a grand time today.”

  “Guess I’d call the rain and mud a bonus.” His smile warmed her from the inside out. She half expected steam to rise off her clothes.

  Lanae suspected he was surprised he’d had fun. It had probably been a long time since Sage enjoyed a good time with someone besides his daughter and grandson.

  At the house, Lanae resisted the temptation to take a walk-through. She couldn’t resist a peek, though. The furniture appeared to be made from pine tree trunks. The neatness and orderliness of the great room came as a surprise.

  Her first impression of the house was correct. The inviting stone fireplac
e took up most of one wall. And made her feel more at home than she knew Sage would want.

  ****

  Visions of Lanae laughing in her muddy, sopping, worn denim floated through his thoughts while Sage attempted to shake moisture off the saddle blanket.

  Lanae had looked up at him, all open and willing, inviting him in for a closer view. Her eyelashes had been darkened and spiked by the rain, accenting the stormy hazel shades of her eyes. It had taken a monstrous effort not to pull her close and protect her from a lifetime of thunder and lightning. Guess not. She thrived on the electricity of storms.

  The taste of her earthy skin tempted more exploration.

  Then a flash of betraying Becca had shot through him.

  Maybe he was attracted to Lanae because her clothes were bright and seemed an extension of her personality. A rumbling chuckle built up and escaped. Except today. She was a mess. Still, all womanly curves and hollows, despite her small form.

  Then he recalled the touch of her finger against his lips.

  “Get out of my head!” He said to the tack shelf where he kept ointments and wraps for horse injuries. The items were all there, right where they belonged, whatever he needed for muscle strain, fibrous tissue, bites or scrapes to sensitive horse skin.

  But Lanae stayed in his head.

  She didn’t belong there, horning in on Becca’s spot.

  Sage looked for a diversion, tried to concentrate on tack. The snaffle bit he used with a single rein, the bridle, head stall, cinch—all right where they were supposed to be. Too bad he couldn’t order his life in neat rows, arranging events as they struck.

  Concentrate.

  What could he teach Jax the next time he came out? Each horse’s mouth has a different level of sensitivity. A shank bit takes a little longer to get used to, but if the mouth is tougher, like a guide horse he’d worked with the year before, the outcome was a good one.

  Keep it up. Think horses. Not women.

  Rather, one particular woman.

  He turned back to equine details and tried to recall the movement of one particular horse, an unruly and bossy guide. But when he got used to Sage, the horse had followed him around like a puppy. He mentally went through the process of flexing the horse in circles from side to side, with the goal of getting the horse to look in toward the rider’s knee, while moving in a circular motion. The horse was supposed to stretch its muscles, get all loose and go with the rider.

  And just like that, Sage pictured Lanae’s hands on Snorty. She wore her nails naked or light pink. And she kept those fingers occupied with crochet hooks.

  What would have happened if he’d joined her in the mud?

  “No, man. Don’t go there!”

  But she was already there, in his head.

  Lanae was reeling him in, the way she should have reined Snorty the opposite direction before her fall.

  Sage even admired the way she enunciated her words instead of sounding like she was chewing or didn’t have the energy to finish words without dropping consonants.

  “Sage?”

  He jumped and whirled. So deep in his head, her approach took him by surprise.

  “I was up the road and finally remembered the letters.”

  He didn’t take them from her hand, rather nodded to a small ledge between stalls.

  “Well, you’re busy…”

  He didn’t contradict her. Watched her set the letters where he indicated—on a ledge close to her side.

  But contradictions writhed in his head.

  “Thanks again for a wonderful afternoon.”

  He offered nothing more.

  Her smile faded. She turned away. “See ya.”

  Sage let her take two steps. “Wait. Look, I’m sorry, but these letters are none of your business.”

  “O-K…” She mimicked his frown. “But why are you so upset?”

  “I plain don’t get your pig-headed goal to discover who wrote the letters, and what they might imply.” I’ve kept the family secret from Lezlie all her life. I’ll continue to do so with my grandson. He wasn’t going to give the boy an excuse to be mad at the world by letting him know his great-grandpa had been murdered.

  And no one had paid.

  Well, that was under dispute. It would do no good to anyone to bring what happened out in the open.

  Lanae waved once before she backed through the door. Then she was gone.

  He opened his ears to the sounds outside the barn, tuned in to her movements as she departed. After her sedan turned onto the road, and he could hear the engine no longer, he snagged the letter packet.

  Without so much as a glance, he tossed the letters into a five-gallon bucket he used for a trash can.

  There, his family secret was free from exposure.

  9

  I know where I’m going, Lord. And I plan to have as much fun as I can until You take me to be with You.

  In her favorite recliner for their Monday session, Lanae fumbled with her yarn and crochet hook, and started to count loops. She couldn’t remember the last time she dropped a stitch. “It’s just no use,” she mumbled. “I’m giving up on who wrote the letters. I found no reference, no names for who had owned the bakery years before. There were a couple of old pictures that showed only ‘Platteville Bakery’ painted on the front window.”

  “It’s pretty weird, all right, that there isn’t even a family name recorded,” Geneva agreed.

  “And it’s just killing me. I want to know who Ted is. Every instinct gnaws at me, says Sage is involved somehow. I mean, how many references, in your whole lifetime, have you ever seen to ‘eyes the color of blue flax?’”

  “None,” Geneva said at the same time Lanae answered her own question.

  Lanae continued, “Maybe it doesn’t matter who Katherine was. Or Ted. I’ve looked in the telephone directory, entry by entry. Not one Katherine is listed.” Only Kate Rawlins.

  “There’s an old picture of Main Street hanging in the library. The bakery is shown, I’m sure. I’ll bet if you asked, they’d take it out of the frame to reveal what’s written on the back,” Geneva suggested.

  “They’ll start talking about how the Frivolities lady has lost her marbles.” Lanae surmised.

  “You are really serious about this mystery, aren’t you, Aunt Lanae?” Moselle contributed.

  “What’s a mystery?” Mia piped up. Rainn’s niece was keeping the ladies company in the loft.

  Geneva explained to Mia in terms her future stepdaughter could understand. Geneva and the other adults in Mia’s life found if detailed instructions were given in a methodical manner—and not too many at a time, Mia responded well. Structure helped keep the six-year-old happy and content.

  Lanae smiled, recalling the first time Mia got tangled up in Frivolities merchandise. She contemplated the little girl. Could autistic children learn to crochet? Maybe later, when Mia was a couple years older.

  Geneva interrupted Lanae’s wandering mind. “Why are you frowning? You were so hot about ads not so long ago, have you considered putting out a lost and found notice?”

  Lanae snorted and tuned back in. “Yeah, right. I can see the bold headline: ‘Do you know Ted last-name-unknown?’ And underneath: ‘I have his letters.’”

  “Or how about writing a letter to the editor?” Moselle suggested. “Better yet, let me post something on my social media page.”

  “Hold on.” Lanae raised a hand, palm out. “Anything we do I’d better run by Sage. We’re probably talking about someone in his family.”

  “You’re right. But we can still plan. Maybe make a copy of the undated letter and put it on the counter next to the register? I could use an easel so it’s propped upright.” Geneva offered.

  “Or better yet, in the window? I could help Moselle with a display, spot-lighting the vanity. It’s dry by the way,” Lanae said as an aside, “and make something on the order of a collage, framing the letter and placing it front and center.”

  “You go, crochet queen. I lo
ve that idea!” Moselle leaned down and gave Lanae’s shoulders a jaunty twist.

  “Rainn has an antique frame that would be just the right size for the letter,” Geneva added.

  “And that big old cracked mirror in the storage room we’ve held onto?” Moselle headed for the kitchenette and tossed over her shoulder, “It’s perfect to frame the whole collage for added dimension.”

  A frame within a frame? Lanae could see it.

  Those letters are none of your business. Her subconscious brought Sage’s vehement reaction to mind.

  “Hey, Lanae, would you read one of the letters again?” Geneva prodded.

  Lanae retrieved the missive from her Frivolities apron pocket, straightened the folds with the trembling sense she was in the wrong, and read out loud.

  My Dearest,

  So much between us has never been spoken. I ache to be held in your arms.

  I feel the wind against my cheek and imagine your approach. I look at my blue flax in the garden and see your eyes. I answer a cardinal’s whistle and wonder what it would be like for you to call me as your soul mate.

  I wait and I wait to have an answer. Why have you never responded to my recent letters?

  I’ll never know why you have not returned to me.

  Were your promises of love and devotion only empty words? To what end?

  I remain devoted to the memory of our times together. And you remain in my dreams, waking or sleeping.

  Lovingly, I wait for you.

  Forever,

  Your Katherine

  Eyes like blue flax? Sage Diamond eyes. This Ted had to be family to Sage. Those eyes weren’t a garden variety blue.

  Memory of our times together.

  Memories of my times with Sage, who said the letters were none of my business.

  Two itsy kisses. One next to my ear, one on a fingertip. My whole world changed.

  Other changes have happened in seconds.

  Death.

  Life.

  Believing and being filled with the Spirit.

  I’ve faced death.

  I kept on living.