Sage and Sweetgrass

by LoRee Peery

  Lanae’s elbow caught the edge of a tattered spiral notebook and knocked it to the concrete floor. The skewed top and bottom wires reminded her of the Torn Notebook sculpture on University Campus in Lincoln. This deep blue cover was stained with who knew what. Curiosity had always gotten the best of her. She couldn’t resist. She opened the cover…just a peek. She’d only glance at a few pages.

  Most of the notes related to horses. Lanae ran a finger over the cursive writing, sometimes in blue ink, sometimes in black. The words she read, written in what she assumed to be Sage’s script, could be applied to people as well.

  It’s all in the body language.

  Horses are a flight animal. Humans are fight animals.

  Horses have personalities: friend, loyal, trustworthy, hard-working, dedicated; fearful, lazy, skittish, moody, cantankerous, ornery.

  Use your faculties when you work: awareness, compassion, forgiveness, confidence.

  Lanae pictured Sage in the saddle and the lay of the acreage. Many horse trainers use a round pen with portable gates. Sage preferred the open space and followed God’s corral—creek or contours of the land.

  The same patience he used while he rode showed in the precise handwriting.

  “Talk” to the horse with your legs.

  “Feel” the horse’s energy—back off with the pressure of calf, hand, or leg if there’s resistance.

  Reward the horse when he “listens.”

  Sage’s voice echoed through the written words.

  I need to listen when the horse “speaks.”

  The horse moves into pressure, not away from it, and a horse learns with its body. OBSERVE.

  Use the hackamore—Lanae pictured a rawhide noseband without a bit—on Freckles.

  She thumbed through the pages, wondering if Sage referred to them when he worked with the horses’ owners or with Jaxson.

  She gasped when she saw her name, any intention of controlling her curiosity flew right out the window.

  This entry wasn’t written evenly on a fine blue line, but scrawled on the page diagonally.

  Lanae’s lips taste like sweet grass to a thirsty soul.

  And lower on the same page he had written, with what looked like a trembling hand, I don’t remember what Becca tastes like. And I didn’t know I missed being close to a lovely woman.

  The words kicked Lanae in the heart.

  Back to reading, she snorted.

  That woman poked her nose where it didn’t belong, being so tenacious about the letters. I thought I was done looking back. But isn’t that what I did? Peeked at the past, every time I studied Becca’s picture?

  Lanae turned the notebook to the open page that had first caught her eye, setting it in place so as to look undisturbed, and left the barn.

  He wasn’t immune to her after all.

  She shivered. Winter’s chill seeped through her coat.

  Sage had asked that she also go through the house each evening to turn off burning lights and turn on different lights. The key was inside the garage, right where he said it would be. She left her boots at the door and stepped inside. She attended to the lights, turning on the light that shone in the main living area and then she yelped.

  Becca’s picture wasn’t on the mantle.

  She flew down the stairs and through the basement rooms, taking care to hit alternate lights as she hurried.

  She braved the master bedroom next. Inside the door, she held her breath, turned on the light. Eyes fixed on the stand next to the bed, she expected to see Becca’s image, set off by a fancy frame. She didn’t see any photos of Becca.

  There was nothing on the night stand but a lamp, a clock, and a Bible.

  A Bible?

  Lanae couldn’t resist a peek inside the front of the worn burgundy leather cover, and read: “We read to know we’re not alone.” [C.S. Lewis in Shadowlands]

  She sank onto the edge of the bed.

  Thank you, Lezlie. I assume this was Becca’s Bible.

  Well, Lord, no matter what lies ahead for he and I, Sage knows he’s not alone as long as he has Your Word.

  ****

  Christmas night

  My Dearest Sage,

  I miss you. I don’t know if you miss me, yet, but my soul is reaching out to yours. I know without a doubt you should be here by my side.

  You drew me to yourself the moment I looked into your eyes.

  Then while reading Kate’s letters to your Uncle Ted, I was so emotionally affected. At the time, I felt her yearnings, and I longed to be with a man again. Passion stirred anew.

  At this time in my life I’ve never been more certain of anything, even Frivolities, up to this point. God wants me to love you.

  He blessed us both with young love, through your Becca and my Keith.

  He carried us through our losses.

  He’s blessing us now with each other.

  I love you, Sage.

  I want to spend the rest of my days with you.

  How could you possibly love me? I’ve wondered. I’m often too outspoken for my own good. I’m opinionated and scatterbrained. I’m snoopy because I’m interested in other people.

  I used to wonder why God saved me from terminal illness. Now I believe it was ordained for me to spend the rest of my life with you. But you won’t be free to love me the way I need, until you make things right with our Lord.

  Have you let Becca go? God holds her safe, and that should be a comfort.

  And if we aren’t meant to be, I wish you enough of whatever God offers you in life–especially, enough peace to continue on to the end—so you can find contentment, as I finally have.

  Now I’ll sign off the same way Katherine did, with as manyXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX’s as I can make my fingers X.

  Loving you forever,

  Lanae

  P.S. I noticed Becca’s pictures are gone. My curiosity will wait until your return.

  Lanae mentally toured the ranch house, planning on where she’d place the letter. She decided to set it on top of Sage’s mail stack so he’d see it first thing when he walked into the kitchen after his trip.

  18

  Sage stomped sand off his boots onto the rattan mat at the beach side of the condo. He was such a cowboy. Any other guy vacationing in Florida would be wearing flip-flops. Or going barefoot.

  Vacations were supposed to be relaxing, but his mind was back in Nebraska. With Lanae. He kept picturing her, full-of-life, doing normal Christmas things with her family.

  He wanted to call her, just to hear her voice.

  Then he heard Lezlie speaking and figured she was talking to Jaxson. But through the glass at the front of the condo, he spied Jax talking to a pretty blonde girl.

  Lezlie must be on the phone. Talking to Lanae?

  “My dad’s name is Sage,” Lezlie said. “We live in Nebraska, and I think you might be my uncle.”

  He swung toward his daughter. “What in the world?”

  Lezlie turned, phone in hand, smile an ocean wide. “I looked in the telephone book. Lanae suggested it. Anyway, you wanna talk to Ted Tippin?”

  She offered the cell phone to Sage. He stood as though rooted in cement.

  Was he dreaming?

  He automatically reached for the cell and put it to his ear.

  “Hello? Hello?” came a voice from Sage’s childhood.

  His uncle Ted had to be at least seventy, but Sage recognized his voice.

  Nothing is coincidental with God. Sage’s mother’s voice echoed in the back of his mind.

  He gathered enough strength to answer, “Uh, yeah.”

  “Sage?” He heard the shaky reply. “Sage Diamond, my sis Violet’s boy?”

  “Yeah. It’s me. I guess we should get together.”

  It turned out that Ted Tippin lived on the other side of the highway, less than a mile away.

  The whole thing was mighty hard for Sage to take in.

  “I’d walk, but I might get killed like a guy from
Nebraska did one time down here on vacation. I got all kinds of questions for you, son. When did your mother die? What have you been doing with your life? You’d better be a believer, boy, or I’ll take a switch to ya.”

  They shared an uncomfortable laugh over the sick cliché, both knowing it was Earl Tippin who did the beating in the family. They agreed on a time to meet and ended the call.

  In a daze, Sage tidied up the condo for his uncle’s visit. He stacked a pack of cards and returned them to the box. He pictured Lanae handling the game in his home when the box spilled during the icy snowstorm.

  Every couple should find a game they enjoy to while away quiet time in their old age. His mother’s words revived from the past again. He hadn’t recalled anything she said to him in longer than—he didn’t know when. And that was twice in one day.

  Had his mom known something he didn’t?

  Lezlie came up from behind and gave Sage a big squeeze. “You’re nervous, aren’t you, Dad?”

  “Who wouldn’t be? It’s been a couple lifetimes since I’ve seen him. I’ve married and lost a wife. I have you and Jax. I’m hoping I’ll see the same man who used to mean the world to me.”

  “Speaking of meaning the world, I haven’t told you for a while, Dad. Thanks for all you’ve done for me. I know I was a brat more than I was a princess. And thanks for being such a terrific grandfather to Jaxson.”

  “I love him.”

  “I know, and your love means the world to me. Sorry you didn’t have the kind of grandfather Jaxson’s been blessed to have.”

  Searching for an answer that wouldn’t cloud the exciting day, Sage caught the sun glinting on a windshield. He watched his uncle pull up to the drive. “My grandfather was an angry, mean man. No reason to talk about it. Just the way it was.”

  He and Lezlie walked out to stand by Jaxson. They all waited in the heat. The foreign smell of fish and sea vegetation permeated the air where they were shaded by the overhanging roof. Some unidentifiable bird sang, but the beauty of the song was chased away by the squawk of a gull.

  No more time to reflect on their surroundings. Ted Tippin angled out of his nondescript car.

  Sage recognized his uncle with no problem. When their gazes met, the matching lavender-blue eyes glistened with unshed tears. Ted carried muscular shoulders and a spry walk. His face was lined, yet glowed with healthy color.

  “I would have known you anywhere. Uncle Ted, meet my daughter, Lezlie. And grandson, Jaxson.”

  Ted opened his arms to Lezlie and said, “Thanks for calling, young lady. I’ll be eternally grateful.”

  Ted turned and shook Jaxson’s hand before Sage got his turn.

  His hand was grasped in an iron band then Uncle Ted wrapped him in a bear hug. Lifted off his feet, Sage let the tears run unchecked. It took all he had not to let loose with a sob. After a time, muscular arms relaxed and the men stepped back, gazes reconnecting.

  By unspoken agreement, the men walked right through the condo and on out to the seashore. They walked and talked until Lezlie called them in for dinner at the same time the orange ball of sun slipped below the horizon.

  An hour later, Sage was replete, from more than nourishment.

  Ted said, “Now that was a treat. Not often I get a home cooked meal these days. Mind if we have a little music now?”

  Sage felt his eyes pool with moisture yet again. “How could I forget how you used to sing?”

  “Jaxson, could you please bring my guitar from the car?” Ted asked.

  “Sure. But, Grandpa?” Jaxson turned to Sage. “I’ve been thinking while you two have been getting to know one another again, it’s like you’re really here. You’ve been kind of far away, like a part of you was missing before. If you catch what I mean.” Jaxson stopped, turning as red as the salsa he’d just devoured with a bag of chips.

  “You’re right, son. Reality means the past is done and we have to go on living. I have been distant. Thanks for your honesty. We’re never too old to change.” Sage ruffled Jaxson’s hair. “Now, how about fetching that guitar?”

  In no time at all, Uncle Ted led them outside to the veranda. He started with “The All Day Song,” which he said he’d learned in Alaska. He sang it by himself and then taught the others.

  He went on to “This is My Father’s World” and Sage said, “How could I have forgotten one of my favorite hymns?”

  “Your grandma liked that one, too. God’s in control no matter how messed up we sinners manage to get things. All I have to do is come outside and here He is. The birds, the sun, the moon, the sea…all His, since He made them.” Ted went on to play and sing other nature songs.

  Sage longed for the nature of home, where his peace meant prairie flowers and the whisper of wind through the cottonwoods. Life in Nebraska had its own sounds, smells, rhythms. How had he even considered leaving?

  He missed Lanae, but had he not come on this trip, he would have never found his Uncle Ted. God sure made life a mystery at times.

  Jaxson grew bored with the old songs and turned in. Then Lezlie bid them goodnight after a couple more camp songs.

  Eventually, Ted stood and rested his guitar against the outside wall. “Let’s walk, unless you’re tired like the others.”

  “Naw. My mind is wide awake.”

  As they meandered, moonlight reflected off the water.

  Ted eventually asked, “How did your ma die?”

  Sage repeated the story he had told Lanae when they took their trail ride.

  “Then she went out doing what she enjoyed,” Ted said.

  “A wise lady friend said the same thing. Mom died the way she had lived. On the farm, out in the open, caring for critters.”

  Ted slanted a deep look at Sage. “Now, tell me about your wife.”

  “I didn’t pay any attention when Becca complained about how fat her belly felt to her, or the squeezing cramps that took her to her knees at times. I just figured it was a female thing, way out of my element. The malignant tumors started in the ovaries.”

  “Suppose they did surgery?”

  Sage picked up where he’d left off. “Right. But the cancer was discovered too late. They took her ovaries. Then the cancer was found in the fallopian tubes and elsewhere.”

  They jumped back from a foamy wave and staggered like a couple drunks in a lopsided circle.

  When they stopped dodging the tide, Sage continued. “Once they discovered the malignant cells had spread, I couldn’t believe how fast it went. Becca’s cancer was in the tissue. She went through radiation and started chemo. That whole time passed in a blur. It made me so mad that I couldn’t do a thing to change it.”

  He kicked driftwood out of his path. “I haven’t gotten over my mad. She didn’t want to be sick anymore, hated the treatment. So she decided no more chemo. She went pretty fast after that.”

  “Imagine it was tough for you to watch. As Christians, we don’t go through something that horrible by ourselves. When it’s sudden we can’t prepare ourselves, but it’s a whole other story to watch someone die.”

  Sage believed in the salvation Jesus offered, but he’d been broadsided by his wife’s death. And that had delayed his recovery.

  His choice, not God’s.

  God had not left Sage.

  He led their steps back the way they had come, paying no attention to their surrounding smells or sounds. “It was such a nightmare that when she got really bad, I think I blocked out reality. The days and nights just blurred together while I took care of her as long as I could on my own.”

  “The way I see it, love is threefold. No doubt it’s physical, but that craziness settles down. It’s spiritual, a calling of one soul to another. And it’s mental because the bottom line is choice. Love is a choice rather than a feeling.”

  As Ted spoke, Sage believed he could finally put Becca totally in the past, tuck her away in a corner of his heart, along with all the pictures he’d hidden away in the trunk.

  Lanae was his future. “Uncle T
ed, have you ever loved someone?”

  “I have. And I lost her. She didn’t pass from illness, though. I made a choice that separated us. I made a choice that ruined any chance with her.”

  As though Ted could read minds, he said, “Now tell me about this woman you’re so connected with now.”

  “That’s a loaded order. I came down here expecting to find a home to move to, and all I’ve done is watch time pass, waiting to get back home to her. Listening to you, I feel that tri-fold connection with one woman. Her name is Lanae Petersen, and she is something else. So full of life, it hurts to be around her sometimes. Lanae and her sister Geneva, and Geneva’s daughter Moselle, own a woman’s shop in Platteville. She’s a country gal, used to live on a ranch. I advertised the dressing table that once was Grandmother Juanita’s, and Lanae saw the dresser ad. When she started the refinishing, she found letters in a secret place.” Sage drew a breath, wishing he could see his uncle’s face clearly in the dark. He switched gears. “Do you listen to country music?”

  At Ted’s questioning nod, Sage asked, “What do you think of the song, ‘Live Like You Were Dying?’”

  “It’s loaded, but right-on. If a guy’s facing death, I mean.”

  “Right. Lanae claims it as a motto. She had a disease that could have been terminal. Says the first time she heard the lyrics, her heart felt like a hand squeezed her chest cavity.” Sage felt his heart clench, as though Lanae was holding it in her fist. “Anyway, she used that verve to search out who wrote such impassioned letters, secreted away in an old dresser. All the while Lanae strove for answers surrounding the letters, she was especially curious about finding out who Katherine and her beloved Teddy were. I grew to like her more. And I fought harder to keep the family secret.”

  And here the secret was. In the flesh. In the process of discovery, I somehow lost my connection to the memory of my Becca.

  Sage could only guess at what was going on in the older man’s mind. “Well, now’s as good a time as any to tell you another story. I hope this one’s got a happy ending.”

  Uncle Ted remained silent.

  Sage went on to tell how the Frivolities women used the family dressing table to display one of the letters. “Katherine Rawlins, now known as Kate, read the letter in the store and went all to pieces about losing her Teddy.”