Chapter Two
Sage stretched her arms out at her sides and turned her face up to the blanket of gray clouds in the sky. The rain mingled with the tears on her face. Cool and refreshing, the early summer rain washed over her, soaking her hair, her clothing, helping to purge the heartache she had secreted in her soul so long. It seemed months since the last rains had come, months since she had been able to cry freely—to release the deep sobs of misery. She allowed emotion to wrack her body as her soul ached, surrendering to the reality of loneliness.
The clouds had gathered throughout the morning. Sage watched them collecting as she prepared breakfast for the ladies at the boarding house, and she had prayed they would bring rain. She needed it desperately—as desperately as the new crops the farmers had planted needed it. Since Eugenia’s nephew arrived, since the very moment he entered her life, Sage’s misery—her feelings of despair, hopelessness, and loneliness—had increased tenfold.
Reb Mitchell—so strong, handsome, and friendly, yet unobtainable—had brought great unrest and distress to Sage. Each time he entered a room or glanced at her, the hair on the back of her neck tickled, her arms erupting into tiny goose bumps. She was certain he had the same effect on every other woman in town, married or not, for she had seen Milly Michaels blush clear to her toes when he tipped his hat to her that very morning. Oh, certainly it helped some when he took to staying at the ranch house the day after his arrival. Yet he was in town quite often and always stopped in for a visit with his aunt and her friends before heading back.
Reb’s manner was so relaxed—so comfortable. It caused Sage to loosen her guard far too often. He was dangerous to a woman’s heart—especially a woman like Sage, still young enough to dream of romance with a handsome cowboy but too old to be blessed with it. Reb’s presence was scarring her heart, and she knew it. Visions of him haunted her dreams, both night and day. Part of her wished he would leave—or that he had never arrived. Yet he brought such joy to Eugenia and the others. His presence drew people like ants to honey, and Sage was not immune to his wiles. Only a month after his arrival, Sage Willows’s heart was already damaged—and she knew only the rain could offer comfort and reprieve.
Sage cried at her parents’ funeral, but she had never cried in front of anyone since. With the death of her parents, necessity had dictated Sage become strong, responsible, and seemingly void of deep emotion. With three young sisters to finish raising—to provide for—there had been no time for the happy drama and emotions of youth, and she took to saving up her pain, despair, and fear—secreting it within her soul—never letting it out—never crying when anyone could see. Still, Sage knew guarding too large a cache of withheld sorrow and emotion could destroy a person, and eventually she had found a way of purging her pain—the rain.
Rain sent most people indoors, leaving a world of privacy outside—especially in Ruthie’s pasture. The isolated pasture where little Ruth States rested in peace had become Sage’s venue for tears—her space of privacy where she could sob, releasing bitter tears of heartache. And on this day, her tears were plentiful as well as painful.
The drops of rain became fewer and fewer as the day wore on, and Sage hoped she had cried enough—released enough sorrow and frustration to last until the rains came again. Lifting her skirt, she tugged at a layer of dry petticoats. Raising it to her face, she wiped the last bit of moisture from her cheeks.
“Well, Ruthie,” she sniffled. Turning to the tiny grave she said, “You’ve got a few weeds croppin’ up here.” She knelt down and pulled the little sagebrush sprouts out of Ruthie States’s soil blanket. “Thank goodness for the rain. These little devils are comin’ up easy enough today.”
“Did ya know her?”
A startled scream erupted from Sage’s throat. She lost her footing and sat down flat in the wet grass. She looked up to see Reb Mitchell standing just outside the fence—rain dripping from the brim of his hat as he looked at her. What a sight she must be dripping wet and red-faced from crying.
“Um…um…no. I didn’t,” Sage stammered struggling to her feet. “I just…I just tend to her…whenever I can.” Sage pushed back the wet strands of hair sticking to her cheeks and forehead, trying to appear unruffled as she stood.
“Sorry I scared ya there,” Reb said, stepping over the fence to stand next to her. “Got caught in the rain, huh?”
“Uh huh,” Sage said. He removed his hat and studied the tiny gravestone. Sage was touched by his gesture of respect and felt a smile spread across her face.
“Ruth States,” he read. “Beloved daughter and sister. Born September 18, 1834, died October 22, 1840.” He shook his head. “Just a little one, huh.”
“Yes,” Sage said, as she nervously smoothed her drenched skirt. Oh, why had she worn a white shirtwaist? No doubt he could see clean through the light, wet cotton all the way to her corset strings!
“How’d she die?” Reb asked.
Sage felt her fingers begin to fiddle with her collar buttons. “The story goes that, after losing her husband, Ruth’s mother moved out here from Ohio, bringing her five children with her.” He looked at her and nodded—a gesture she should continue.
Drawing a deep breath, Sage continued, “It seems her mother had a sister whose husband was homesteadin’ out this way. Anyway, Ruthie’s mother had to go back to Ohio…something to do with her husband’s business, and she left the older children to care for the little ones. Little Ruth came down with typhoid. The oldest boy walked miles and miles to the nearest homestead to get help. The only person he found was a kindly older lady, and she came back with him. She tried her best to help…nursed the little girl as well as she could…but Ruth was too sick, and she died.”
Reb released a heavy sigh. “Does she have any family left ’round here?” he asked.
Sage shook her head. “No. Her mother was so devastated she loaded the rest of the children in a wagon, cursed the day she’d left Ohio, and headed back.” Sage sighed. “I used to be angry at Ruthie’s mother for leavin’ her and goin’ back to Ohio. Still, I can maybe imagine how…when the mother returned, seein’ the little grave on this lonely hill…her little six-year-old girl…how it just caused her to die inside and want to run back to the things, the places, and people familiar to her. Ruthie’s in heaven, after all. It’s just her earthly self restin’ here.”
Reb’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Sage. “Yet…ya tend this grave regular. I can tell just by lookin’ ya spend a lot of time out here with little Ruth.”
Sage was uncomfortable under his gaze. What a sight she must be! Still, she answered, “Well, it’s a pretty, peaceful little spot, and maybe Ruthie’s spirit comes along once in a while to see if anyone remembers she was here once. My guess is none of her brothers and sisters have ever been out this way, and I just want to make sure…to make sure…”
“That she don’t get lonely,” Reb finished for her.
Sage smiled. “Yes,” she admitted, mesmerized by his insight and understanding of her feelings.
Reb looked around the gravesite. He seemed to note every flower and plant. Reaching down to a space near his foot, he broke a leaf off a small plant.
“Did you plant this?” he asked, folding the leaf and putting it to his nose.
Sage nodded, delighted that he pinched the leaf and inhaled its fragrance in the same manner she always did. “To remind her of me…just in case she ever really does stop by,” she answered. Reb smiled and inhaled the scent of the sage leaf again.
“Nothin’ like a bit of sage to improve the flavor of any pan of gravy,” he chuckled.
Sage blushed. “Nothin’ like it,” she agreed, smiling. Reb tucked the sage leaf into his shirt pocket. He glanced at the gravestone for a moment before stepping over the fence and replacing his hat.
“Well,” he sighed, looking up at the sky for a moment. “I was out checkin’ the fence, and since Aunt Eugenia mentioned that Uncle Buck once rented this acreage from yer daddy…I hope ya don’t mind
me ridin’ out here to look around,” he said.
Sage left the gravesite by way of the small gate, latching it carefully behind her. “Of course not,” she said.
“I ’spect that’s yer horse down by the creek with mine,” he said.
“Mmm hmm,” Sage confirmed. She smiled and began walking toward the creek. Reb stepped aside so she could precede him.
“I was wondering…would ya consider rentin’ yer acreage out to me when my herd gets up here?” he asked.
“Oh!” Sage exclaimed. His question was quite unexpected. “I don’t see why not.”
“I think I’d want to put up another fence ’round little Ruth here, though,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to risk the cattle chewin’ up yer pretty flowers and gravy fixin’s.”
Sage smiled, again delighted by his charm. It was impossible to keep her heart from fluttering madly in his presence!
“I’d certainly appreciate you doin’ that for her,” Sage said.
“It’s a nice piece of land ya got here, Miss Willows,” he said, looking around as they walked. “Nice and peaceful.”
“Yes,” was all she could think to say.
Far too soon, or rather not soon enough, they had reached the creek. Drifter stood sheltering near a piñon tree. Sage smiled as she noticed Reb’s black gelding near another.
Again, Sage’s heart twittered as Reb took hold of Drifter’s reins and walked him over to her. He reached out, holding the stirrup steady to assist her in mounting. Smiling at him, she settled into the saddle.
“Thank you,” she said.
Reb nodded, touched the brim of his hat, and said, “Yer welcome.” As he walked to his own horse and mounted effortlessly, he said, “Aunt Eugenia invited me to supper tonight. Is that all right with you?”
In actuality, it wasn’t all right. Sage wasn’t sure she could endure any more wonderful minutes in his presence. Still, she nodded and said, “Supper’s at five thirty…roasted chicken and potatoes.”
He smiled and rode his horse over next to hers. “Any chance of there bein’ some chicken gravy with just a touch of sage in it too?” He chuckled. Taking the sage leaf from his shirt pocket, he waved it under his nose.
A sincere smile spread across Sage’s face. The feel of it surprised her. “I’m sure sage gravy can be arranged, Mr. Mitchell.”
“Reb,” he corrected, holding the sage leaf out to her. She smiled. Taking the leaf from him, she hoped he didn’t notice the way her hand trembled as her fingers brushed his.
Pinching the leaf with her fingers, Sage inhaled its familiar fragrance and said, “Very well…supper will be at five thirty, Reb.”
He smiled at her, smoothed his mustache with one index finger, touched the brim of his hat, and said, “Five thirty it is, Sage Willows.” Clicking his tongue he said, “Let’s go, Ned.”
Sage smiled. She couldn’t keep from smiling! All the way back to the boarding house she smiled. What a handsome measure of a man Reb Mitchell was! Polite and kind too. He was tougher than nails and a hard worker. The very stuff of any woman’s dreams, and Sage could not help dreaming of him. She would make him some sage gravy, all right. Cornbread stuffing too—the like he had never tasted!
Reb pulled Ned to a stop just beside Ruth States’s grave. How strange it had been to step over the hill and see Sage standing out in the rain, letting the moisture freely fall on her face and body. In those first moments she had seemed so free, yet wholly sad at the same time. Reb had watched her for a few moments, waiting until she had knelt before the tiny grave and begun plucking weeds from the soil before he had approached.
It was obvious she was startled to see him there, and he hadn’t been able to discern whether her face was red from the rain or from something else—tears perhaps. Still, Reb smiled as he thought about her. He liked this Sage Willows—this young woman who had resigned herself to spinsterhood at such a young age. For one thing, she offered no threat of pursuing him. Reb Mitchell had no time for a woman—no desire to waste his life romancing some fickle filly who would end up wanting to own him like a stray dog and treating him worse. It was one reason he chose to spend his social time with his aunt and her friends—the old ladies weren’t about to start dreaming of marriage and babies with him. Furthermore, though they were sweet little women, they held no attraction, no temptation for him. They were perfectly delightful and perfectly safe.
Still, Reb could see how their pretty, young proprietress could be a danger—if she had any intentions toward him—which she did not. In fact, she seemed rather indifferent to him at times—leaving the room when he was visiting with his aunt and the others, never talking much to him. Sage had made her own way—whether out of necessity or choice—and she seemed as resigned to a singular life as he did.
She was dang pretty, though. He thought of the way her green eyes flashed when she was amused at Rose Applewhite’s rummy antics. He wondered how long her hair was—how she would look with it down instead of strapped back in such a tight widow’s-knot at the back of her head.
Yep, Reb thought. She could be dangerous…if she had a mind to be. But she didn’t. Reb knew he could show up for supper at Willows’s Boarding House later that night and not be in danger of having to sidestep any flirtatious females. Well—any his own age, that was.
Still, for a moment as he urged Ned toward home, he was a bit bothered by Sage’s apparent disinterest in him all the same. Maybe he was getting ugly—losing his charm. Yet thinking of the way Rose and Livie lit up when he paid them any attention—the way that pestering Milly Michaels smiled and batted her eyelashes at him—well, surely not every scar his soul wore showed through on his face. Did it?
Sage quickly brushed Drifter, set a bucket of oats in his stall, and hurried toward the house, pausing at the old rain barrel by the back kitchen door. The old barrel was filled with dirt abundant with rosemary, thyme, and sage plants. Sage pinched a large branch from one of the sage plants. Folding one of the leaves and rubbing it with her fingers, she drew the herb branch up to her face, caressing her lips with the soft leaves and inhaling their wonderful aroma. Oh, how it reminded her of her mother! It always had, and she wondered if it was why she had always loved the fragrance and flavor of sage so very much. There was her kinship with the plant to be considered too—being named after it as she was. Whatever the reason, the sweet scent of sage always cheered her, and when it came to cooking with it—well, any woman Reb Mitchell had ever known before had certainly met her match in Sage Willows.
Smiling, Sage entered the house to start supper. There were a few extra things to do before Reb arrived. For the first time where the man was concerned, Sage wasn’t afraid of her happy thoughts. After all, God had His reasons for creating dreams—and who was she to deny one of heaven’s greatest gifts?
“Ya’ll catch yer death of pneumonia out in that rain, Sage,” Mary grumbled. “For Pete’s sake…yer hair isn’t dry yet!”
“Oh, hush, Mary,” Livie scolded, shuffling the deck of cards in her hand. “I think it very…very eccentric of Sage to slosh about in the rain.”
“Eccentric?” Mary exclaimed. “Runnin’ through town with a white shirtwaist on, wet to the skin? It’s pneumonia and scandal just a-waitin’ to settle in.”
Sage smiled and gathered her cards as Livie counted out seven to her. “Thank you for caring, Mary,” she said. “But I’m fine. Summer rain is warm and refreshin’.”
“I still can’t believe you saw Reb out there, Sage,” Rose said, fanning herself with the cards in her hand, plucking one out, and tucking it into a new spot in the arrangement. “How romantic!”
“Romantic?” Mary growled. “Stuff and nonsense.” Leaning toward Sage, Mary lowered her voice and said, “I could see clean through yer shirtwaist when ya come in, Sage.” Mary shook her head. “I’m sure Reb Mitchell saw more’n the pasture out there today.” Sage blushed, knowing Mary was probably correct, but hoping she was wrong.
“Oh, it’s nothin’ the boy hasn’t seen before, I reckon,” Eugenia said, rearranging her own hand of cards.
Mary was aghast. “What? Why Eugenia Smarthin’! What kinda thing is that to say?” she exclaimed.
“Reb’s plenty old enough to have seen a saloon girl or two while walkin’ down the street, Mary,” Rose told her.
“Hmmph,” Mary grunted. “He’s a-seein’ one ever’ time he comes in here.”
“Thank you, Mary,” Rose said, smiling. “I’m glad to see you can admit I’m still attractive.”
“You forgot to discard, Rose,” Livie interjected.
“Oh. Silly me,” Rose said, laying down a card. “Well, all I know is Eugenia’s nephew is the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.”
“Why, thank you, Rose,” Eugenia said, giggling. “He is rather pleasin’ to the old eyes, isn’t he?”
“Oh my, yes!” Rose said. “Don’t you think he’s the prettiest thing, Sage?”
Sage felt her cheeks begin to pink up. “Of course, Miss Rose,” she said. But Rose sighed, her shoulders sagging with disappointment.
“Oh, come on, Sage. Will you just up and admit it for once? Reb Mitchell is a walking dream!” Rose said.
Suddenly, all sets of eyes at the table were intent on Sage. “Well…well…of course he’s…he’s handsome,” she finally stammered.
“There it is, Eugenia!” Livie exclaimed. “She’s admitted it, at last!”
“I’ve admitted it before, Miss Livie,” Sage told her, giggling. “You four make me admit it every time we sit down to play cards.”
“Well, personally…I spend my time thinkin’ on what kissin’ him would be like,” Rose mumbled under her breath.
“Rose Applewhite!” Mary exclaimed. “That there’s just pure nonsense! Not to mention immoral. Reverend Tippetts would drop down dead as a rolled-over rodent if he heard ya sayin’ such a thing. Yer turn, Sage.”
The Touch of Sage Page 4