Sage
Miriam Minger
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No part of this publication may be sold, copied, distributed, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or digital, including photocopying and recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of both the publisher, Oliver Heber Books and the author, Miriam Minger, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
PUBLISHER'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
COPYRIGHT © Miriam Minger
Published by Oliver-Heber Books
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Also by Miriam Minger
About the Author
Series Bibliography
WALKER CREEK BRIDES
Kari
Ingrid
Lily
Pearl
Sage
Anita
Chapter One
Late January, 1888; Walker Creek, Texas
“A blessed Sunday to you, Mr. Hagen. You remember my daughter, Winnifred Winchell, don’t you? Winnie, dear, say hello to Andreas Hagen.”
“G-good morning, Mr. Hagen,” stuttered the bashful young woman as her stout, double-chinned mother fairly pushed her toward Andreas.
Groaning inside, he nevertheless nodded gallantly, which made the tongue-tied miss blush to her auburn roots while Mrs. Gladys Winchell beamed with satisfaction. Yet, no sooner had the woman angled Winnifred even closer to Andreas, when several other mothers bustled toward them with their unmarried daughters in tow.
He groaned aloud this time, realizing, as the church emptied after Sunday service that he would soon be surrounded three-deep if he didn’t beat a hasty retreat from all the unwanted attention.
“There you are, brother! Escort me to the carriage, will you?”
Relief filled Andreas as his eighteen-year-old twin sister, Anita, came up behind him and looped her arm through his with a dramatic flourish.
“Forgive him, ladies, but I must steal him away. As you can see, our family is waiting for us to join them so we can go to luncheon. I’m sure you understand.”
A collective sigh of disappointment greeted Anita’s pronouncement—Winnifred looking crestfallen while Mrs. Winchell frowned with frustration. His sister only laughed as she steered him toward the surrey carriages where their family and other invited guests had congregated.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Andreas Hagen, holding court like that right outside the church door!” Anita teased him, though Andreas saw little humor in it.
“Court? The woman blocked my path and thrust her daughter at me. It’s growing worse with each passing day!”
“Of course it is, silly! Since our dear Pearl married Dr. Daniel Grant on Christmas Eve, you’ve become the most eligible bachelor in town again—tall, handsome, a solid business owner—”
“I’m a blacksmith,” Andreas countered with mounting irritation. “Nothing distinguished there.”
“Perhaps, but your social circle is impeccable. Your eldest sister, Kari, is the daughter of Walker Creek’s richest citizen, Caleb Walker. Her husband, Seth Davis, is the foreman of one of the largest ranches in Texas, Walker Creek Ranch. Caleb’s wife, Lily, is one of the most renowned actresses of our day. Your sister Ingrid is married to Mayor Joshua Logan. Need I go on?”
Andreas sensed Anita was waiting for him to mention her aspirations of following in Lily’s footsteps to become a famous actress in her own right, but he merely gritted his teeth.
He didn’t want all that feminine attention and he’d done absolutely nothing to encourage it. Not a smile. Not a glance. Not a teasing word. He had kept to himself at his shop and stayed busy all day long and well into the night, hiding out as best he could until the upcoming event that had all the ladies atwitter was over and done!
The St. Valentine’s Day ball.
Even his married sisters were all abuzz and helping to make decorations for the occasion now a little over two weeks away: paper cut-out cupids and flowers and red hearts trimmed with lace. Yet the very thought of inviting anyone but the prettiest young woman he’d ever seen, who would never be welcome to set foot upon that exalted dance floor at the Frederick Hotel—
“Oh, Andreas, you’re becoming way too serious!” Anita blurted, withdrawing her arm in a pout that left her fair cheeks flushed and her blue eyes flashing. “What’s come over you these past weeks? You used to smile and laugh! I feel like I don’t even know you anymore!”
With that she flounced away from him toward the nearest carriage in an agitated rustle of pink silk and swirling velvet cape, while other members of his family gestured for him to hurry.
Their eagerness to be on their way to their traditional Sunday luncheon at the Frederick Hotel only darkened his mood further.
He glanced over his shoulder at the white clapboard church where she would never be welcome to attend worship, and then he realized his mistake. The mothers and daughters who had accosted him stared quizzically in his direction and started toward him.
Their overeager smiles and frantic waving propelled him to set out with long, determined strides toward Main Street, Andreas ignoring fresh outcries of disappointment. He ignored, too, the calls from his family to meet them at the hotel as their carriages rumbled by.
He wanted to be alone. He needed a good walk to lighten his mood—ha! That notion was wishful thinking.
Even the crisp wintry air and cloudless blue sky did nothing to make his jaw stop working or his dark thoughts ease.
What had Reverend James Thomas invoked during his sermon today, his voice resounding from the pulpit though his body had begun to quake from age? A verse from Matthew, “Judge not, that you be not judged.”
The words rang in Andreas’s mind, yet he wondered if anyone in the congregation had taken them to heart—could take them to heart. To judge was human, to gossip, malign, to point a finger, to ostracize and exclude. If he took the step that everything inside him was screaming for him to take, he would be judged, too.
But what of it? What did he care? Ever since he had nearly run into her on the street a few weeks before Christmas, her eyes downcast, her head covered with a shawl as if she sought to be invisible in the late afternoon sun, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.
Her soft exclamation when she’d looked up at him in surprise.
Her eyes, a clear brown with a hint of gold around the iris, that had held him riveted.
His breath caught. His heart, beating hard, leapt into his throat.
He had never known such a moment before, but over so quickly he’d wondered if he had imagined it as she sidestepped him without a word and hurried away, her head once more bowed.
He had never seen her before and didn’t know where she had come from or where she was going…until several days later, when he was walking past the mercantile and glimpsed her through the window, and immediately went inside.
She was nowhere to be seen amid the foodstuffs and other sundries, only Samuel and Mary Levinson coming
around the counter to block his path. The portly proprietors, always so friendly before, had stared at him that day with their arms folded across their prominent girth and stark disapproval on their faces.
“I’m looking for a young woman. I saw her standing near the back—”
“You have an order for us to fill, Mr. Hagen?” Samuel had interrupted him, glancing sideways at his somber-faced wife.
“No, no order.”
“Then we close up shop for the day. Ya, Mr. Levinson?”
“Ya, Mrs. Levinson. Good day to you, Mr. Hagen.”
Feeling like a raw boy as Samuel had escorted him to the door, Andreas had made one last attempt before he stepped outside. “But I saw her. I mean her no harm, truly.”
“Go home, Mr. Hagen. Leave the girl in peace. That’s all she wants, ya? Peace and to be left alone.”
Andreas swallowed hard as his firm strides carried him now past the bank and the Frederick Hotel.
He knew his family had disembarked from the carriages parked along the street and had gone inside, but he had no stomach for lunch. He’d confided to no one about the young woman, except for his brother-in-law Joshua Logan, the former sheriff of Walker Creek, thinking that he must know something about virtually everyone in town. Joshua’s response had been a startling one, and devastating.
“She’s a prostitute, Andreas—well, she used to be. When Caleb ordered the brothel at the Red Dog Saloon shut down last May, Beatrice Dubois took all of her girls to Austin except for one. As far as I can tell, she hadn’t been there long. The Levinsons gave her a place to stay above the mercantile. She helps them out, straightening up the place at night, but pretty much keeps to herself. She’s a slip of a thing and timid as a mouse, but I told her I didn’t want any trouble. She said she wanted to start a new life, and I agreed. Didn’t see any harm in it.”
Andreas must have stood there for long moments, staring at Joshua like a dumbstruck idiot, until his brother-in-law seemed to have gleaned why he had asked about her.
“Look, she’s prettier than most, but that’s not something to mix yourself up in. She’ll probably move on before long anyway. There’s been talk brewing for months from the ladies in town that they don’t want her kind around here, no matter, she rarely comes out in broad daylight. Sorry to say it, but that’s the reality of the path she chose.”
“Do you know her name?” Andreas had persisted quietly in spite of Joshua shaking his head.
“I told you, Andreas, it’s best to leave it—”
“Her name.”
“Sage Larsen. No telling if it’s real or made up.”
Sage.
Andreas glanced at the mercantile across the street, noting the white lace curtains hanging in the second-story window to the far right. The place was closed up tight. No businesses opened on Sunday except for the hotel and the telegraph office.
Was she sitting alone in that room? Not wanting to show her face outside on such a bright, sunny day for fear of the good people of the town sneering at her or calling her ugly names?
His hands clenching into fists, Andreas set his focus back on the street and his blacksmith shop a block farther down.
Work. That’s what he needed. He always had plenty to do to keep him busy. Or maybe a long, bracing ride atop his roan stallion, Thor.
That might tame his frustration, but nothing would make him forget those clear brown eyes that held no brittle edge…so unlike the painted women who had flirted with the men drinking at the Red Dog Saloon, including himself.
He had gone there for a beer a time or two, but he’d never paid for a prostitute. He hadn’t been with any woman, for that matter.
A feeling deep in his gut told him that Sage wasn’t a soiled dove, either, but how was he going to get the chance to speak to her when the Levinsons wouldn’t let him near her?
Sage Larsen drew the hood of her brown woolen cape over her head, the wind picking up along the burbling stream that bore the same name as the town.
Walker Creek.
Mr. Levinson had told her some of the county’s history, and that early settlers had built their homes along the opposite bank, as evidenced by crumbling foundation stones barely visible beneath the dense undergrowth. Yet she hadn’t hiked here at dawn nearly every Sunday because of the history, but because of the peace the place brought her.
The wintry breeze might be cold against her face, but she sat upon a rock outcropping that radiated heat from the sun beating down upon it. With her eyes closed, she breathed in the crisp air and listened to cardinals singing all around her.
There must be dozens of them, the scarlet-colored males and light brown females rustling in the thick underbrush as they busily built nests or chirped from the branches of two massive oaks nearby.
Maybe that’s why she usually found this spot so soothing to her heart and mind.
The creek. The birds. The chattering squirrels. An occasional deer strolling by, sometimes a magnificent buck. The wild creatures had grown accustomed to her and barely cast her a glance when she would settle herself upon the rock to watch them and forget about her troubles for a while.
Yet today her thoughts remained heavy, and Sage sighed brokenly. When would hardship cease to follow her?
Wasn’t it bad enough that she’d lost her family—her parents and two younger brothers—last April to influenza that had struck like a violent storm? Their modest farm sold and most of the money swallowed up to pay debts. Her reticule containing what cash remained and her train ticket to San Antonio, where she had hoped to seek employment as a nanny, stolen when she’d dozed off in her seat for only a moment.
The conductor had expressed his regret for her plight and allowed her to ride as far as Walker Creek, where he’d put her off with the somber advice that she find a job quickly to earn money to continue her journey. She’d carried her one satchel into town and inquired about employment at the first business she came to, the telegraph office.
God forgive her, if only she’d walked a block farther to the mercantile! Her life would be so different, everything different—
“What’s done is done, you can’t go backward, only onward,” Sage whispered fiercely to herself as tears bit her eyes. She shook her head, her fingers trembling as she wiped the moisture away.
Tears were useless and changed nothing. She’d wept bucketsful over these past months, but not one single tear could alter her fateful decision to inquire into the lady’s maid position at the Red Dog Saloon that the telegraph operator had told her about.
At the back of her mind, she’d thought it odd. A lady’s maid at a saloon? Yet she had desperately needed to find a job, and fast, so she’d gone to a side entrance where a burly, rough-looking man had hooked his thumb to indicate the second floor.
Oh, if only she’d followed her sudden sense of unease and never walked up those stairs! If only she hadn’t lingered when she realized she’d entered a brothel, the woman who wanted a lady’s maid the very madam herself, Beatrice Dubois! If only she’d never been enticed by wages triple that of a nanny and accepted the position, although Beatrice had devised another plan for her—a devious, horrible plan—the moment Sage had walked in the door.
“Foolish…so naïvely foolish!” Sage blamed herself for the hundredth time, rising so abruptly from the outcropping that a pair of squirrels scrambled for the nearest tree.
How could she have ever imagined in her worst nightmare that two nights later, she would be drugged to make her woozy and offered to a patron as an unspoiled virgin?
Only by the mercy of heaven had the man who paid five hundred dollars for her been too drunk to do anything more than pass out on the bed, her virtue intact but Sage branded from that moment on as a prostitute.
A strumpet.
A scarlet woman.
Deep in the night the brothel had been shut down by Sheriff Joshua Logan and several of his deputies, but too late to save her from such humiliation. Too late!
In the bedlam of male patron
s scattering like rats from a sinking ship and women screaming, Beatrice had burst into the room where Sage lay pinned by the snoring man and threatened her life if she ever mentioned what had happened. Terrified, Sage had nodded, the flame-haired madam pulling her out of the bed and throwing her clothes at her.
Moments later Beatrice and the rest of the women were ushered downstairs into wagons that would take them to a late night train bound for Austin, but Sage had refused to join them. With Beatrice glaring a warning that made her blood run cold, Sage had begged the sheriff instead to allow her to stay in Walker Creek.
She had no idea to this day why he’d agreed, and had escorted her himself to the mercantile to wake up the Levinsons and ask if they might have work for her. The only bright spot in a dark abyss of trouble!
Samuel and Mary had been so kind to her, which had made her wary at first, until she learned they were Jewish refugees who had escaped religious persecution in Poland. They understood only too well what it felt like to be shunned, the mercantile her refuge as she saved her wages for whatever the future might bring her—but now, even that compassionate sanctuary was being threatened.
Mrs. Levinson had told her last night that a group of ladies in town, headed by Mrs. Gladys Winchell, had started circulating a petition to demand that Sage leave Walker Creek at once.
Where was she to go? Not Austin, where Beatrice might find her. San Antonio was so close that Sage couldn’t risk her undeserved reputation following her there. What was she to do?
Panic filling her, Sage darted onto the dirt road that led back into town.
She should have left a half hour ago while most everyone was still in church, but there was nothing to be done about it now. At least she had a hood to cover her head, and if she kept her eyes down, hopefully few would recognize her—
Sage: A Sweet Western Historical Romance (Walker Creek Brides Book 5) Page 1