5. Sage
sage
Growing up in my grandmother’s house with my mom and brother, painting and drawing was my escape.
An escape from whenever he showed up — the outsider, the cowboy, my father — darkening our door because he felt he had a right to be there but always left my mom black and blue.
My grandmother would do what she could to protect us, herding us to the barn for hours or even days on end until he left.
We’d sleep in the hayloft, ride through the fields, and I’d draw by kerosene lamp while Loretta Lynn blared through my headphones — anything to drown out Mom’s cries.
Just as fast as he arrived, he’d disappear, and we’d be left to pick up the pieces.
Weeks and sometimes months would go by without any sign of him, until he’d reappear.
The last time he showed up, tribal police — and the man who would become my stepfather — were there to greet him.
It was the last time I ever saw the cowboy I shared DNA with.
It wasn’t until I was a teenager begging to go off the Rez, that my mother warned me of wasi’chu, the white guy.
With the memories of my childhood still fresh, I heeded her warning, vowing I’d never let a man use and abuse me the way that man treated my mother.
I didn’t think any of it would happen to me.
I thought I was safe with Clayton Creed — respected tribal leader, council member overseeing the casino, multi-millionaire rancher — until I wasn’t.
My shame and his emotional manipulation made it so easy to isolate myself from my family and disconnect from my people.
I watched my brother go off the Rez and pursue his bull riding dream, convincing myself he was better off not knowing who I’d become.
Through it all though, I always had my art.
My escape. The only way I could process my feelings without anyone knowing the truth.
I could hide the damage and scars beneath brush strokes and no one would be the wiser.
Although he threatened it often, it was the one thing Clayton never took away from me.
It was just another way he controlled me.
After months sequestered in the little cabin on the Riggses’ farm — when I eventually felt brave enough to venture out to the rodeo and into town — I walked down Main Street.
There were cute little Western boutique shops, a restaurant, a coffee shop, a burger shack, and a bar.
I immediately felt a sense of belonging I hadn’t felt in a long time.
At the end of the street was a shop front and apartment for lease.
I told Agatha Riggs about it, the potential of opening an art gallery — something the little town of Willows lacked — and that I was ready to start living again.
She offered to pay the deposit, but I refused to take their money.
I needed to do this on my own. I had just enough to buy a used Jeep and put a little money toward the lease, but not enough to pay month to month.
I would need a job. It turned out Marty and Marine, who owned the building, also owned The Rooster and needed a new bartender.
As friends of the Riggses, they were happy to help.
I’d done a little bit of bartending at the casino — how Clayton met me — but I was not willing to share that on my resume.
Nothing to trace him back to me. Fortunately, they gave me a chance to prove myself, allowing me to test my bartending skills for an evening. Marty hired me on the spot.
Looking around at the progress I’d made on the gallery, there was still a lot to be done.
I still needed to paint, but the drywall and recess lighting was in.
A built-in front desk was set up by the entrance where I could collect payments and schedule classes in the connected studio space.
In addition to wine and paint nights, I planned on holding lessons.
I’d connected with other local artists who were willing to display their art on consignment.
I was hoping to open with a soft launch, hosting classes for locals to drum up interest and business before the grand opening in early spring.
I dusted my hands off on my paint splattered apron and pushed the stray waves that were falling from my messy bun behind my ears. I blew out a breath.
“Well, Arlo …” His ears pricked up at his name from where he was gnawing on a rawhide at my feet. He was always at my feet. Unless Christian was around, then he was his shadow. “We still have a lot to do, buddy.”
I’d spent the morning procrastinating, painting instead of sweeping the drywall dust from the wood floors. Frustrated when I’d painted yet another landscape with trees the same shade as a certain bull rider’s eyes, I’d covered the whole thing in black and walked away.
Just as I picked up the broom and started sweeping, the little brass bell I’d installed at the top of the door chimed.
Thinking I’d see Lina and Penn walk in — she often stopped by after picking her up from kindergarten at the elementary school — I turned with a smile to see my friend and her boyfriend’s daughter.
Instead, I froze.
Arlo let out a warning bark.
Goosebumps scattered across my skin with the brief gust of cold mountain air that came through the door.
An unfamiliar woman stood there.
She was well-dressed in brown boots and jeans, a warm down coat with faux fur lining the hood pulled back.
Her black hair was covered by a knit cap and her olive skin was rosy from the cold, like she’d been outside for a while.
Her fingers were red and she wrung them like she was either nervous or attempting to warm them.
Arlo got up, lowering his head. I immediately saw his hackles rise, a low growl emitting from his throat.
“Sorry. He can be a little bit of a guard dog.” I leaned the broom against the desk and grabbed his collar before he started barking.
“It’s okay,” I heard her say over his barks, but he was so loud I knew I had to put him in the back studio if I was going to be able to talk to her.
“One second!” I called over his noise, while I pulled him into the studio. “Arlo! Quiet!” I commanded, pushing him into the room and shutting the door.
He usually only reacted that way when there was a delivery, so it was odd that he was barking at this woman.
“Sorry about that,” I apologized, returning to her. “He has a loud bark, but he’s harmless.”
“Sorry, I—I—” she stammered. “I just saw you were standing here.” She pointed out the window where she’d spotted me. “And I’m — I’m really not sure where to go.”
“Oh, are you lost?”
Her eyes darted around nervously, obviously trying to find the words.
“Um …” I started, trying to break the awkwardness while Arlo still continued to bark in the back room. “Where are you needing to go? Maybe I can help?”
Her eyes bounced to mine, big, round, and full of hope. “Thank you. If you could help me …”
“Sure. Where’re you going?”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone, opening her Notes app and positioning her thumbs ready to type. “I’m not from here and I’m needing … Well, this is a bit hard to ask. But I’m needing a women's shelter, or really any place that doesn’t cost much and is safe.”
“Oh!” My eyebrows shot up. “Of course. I’m happy to help where I can.”
I took in the woman again, who released a deep sigh, as if she’d been holding it for a long time.
I knew that feeling all too well. If I could pay it forward in any way, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
I wish I could’ve known to help Hazel when she needed it, before she ended up in prison.
If I could help any woman who was asking for it before it got bad, I’d do it.
“Honestly, I don’t know of a women’s shelter here. But if you’re willing to go a few more hours north, I could get you in touch with Sanctuary Ridge. They’re a horse rescue in Washington, but they help women who need a safe place to go, too,” I explained.
She pinched her lips together in thought and shook her head. “No, I don’t think I could drive a few more hours north. I don’t have money for gas. I did see the motel had some vacancies, but …” She paused.
“But you’re worried someone will find you there?” I finished for her.
She nodded slowly.
I knew that feeling. My whole body went hot at the reminder of that old fear he’d find me. I considered for a moment, wondering if I should get her in touch with Agatha. Knowing the kind of people Agatha and Bill were, I’d trust them to help her, just like they’d helped me.
“You know what? Here.” I took my own phone out of my pocket and pulled up Agatha’s number. “This is a good friend of mine. She and her husband own a farm a few miles east of here. You’d be safe with them, or at the very least, they’d find you a place to go.”
“Really?” the woman asked, nearly breathless with relief.
“Really. I’ll just text her to let her know you’ll be in contact.”
“That would be incredible.”
“Can I text you the contact info? And then you’d have my number too if you ever need someone to talk to? I want you to know you’re not alone and you’re safe with me.”
“Oh my God.” She doubled over, bracing her knees for a moment, before standing up straight. “Thank you so much.”
“I’m Sage.” I introduced myself.
“Alani,” she said.
“Nice to meet you, Alani.” She gave me her number and I shot her a text with Agatha’s cell.
“Alani Ash—”
“No need to tell me your last name.” I cut her off, knowing I didn’t want people to know who I was for a long time. I wouldn’t expect her to give me that kind of information either if she was on the run.
She nodded in understanding. “Sorry. I guess I’m just too quick to trust. That’s what got me in trouble in the first place.”
I shook my head. “First thing you need to tell yourself is none of this is your fault. You didn’t deserve any of this.”
My own pride swelled in my chest. I’d come a long way with therapy to get to this point, to be able to help someone like this. This was the reward for all the hard work I did to heal.
“Thank you, Sage.” She saved my contact in her phone and pocketed it. “Can I call you?”
“Absolutely, please let me know if you ever need anything. My door is always open, too.”
Alani gave me a soft smile of appreciation as she began to step back to the door.
“Thank you. Thank you. I’ll be sure to be in touch.”
She spun on her heels then, walking right back out into the cold. I watched her for a moment as her feet picked up speed. She covered her head with her hood and disappeared around the corner.
“Arlo!” I chastised as he continued to bark behind the door before quickly texting Agatha.
Me
Someone may need your help like you helped me. I hope it’s OK I gave her your number?
I watched as the three dots immediately popped up.
Agatha
It’s always OK. I’ll keep an eye out for her.
If all the pain and hurt I went through was to get to this point to help someone in the same situation, it was worth it.
Because now, getting to the other side, I finally felt safe. I’d found a place I could call home, a business that I could put my name on. It was all worth it.
Arlo was starting to scratch at the door.
“Leave it,” I told him. “You’re going to wreck the new door!”
I hurried to let him out. I’d barely opened it a crack before his lithe body wiggled his way free, rushing to the front door to continue barking.
“She’s gone, dude. You don’t have to keep it up.”
He gave a final woof as if to say “good,” and returned to plop by my feet.
“You think that was a bit overkill for just a visitor?” I asked him as I leaned down to scratch behind his ear. “She didn’t even have a package in her hand. So much for thinking you’ll be a gallery dog.”
He looked up at me with his sweet light-blue eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that. You’ll scare away business.”
His tongue darted out to lick my pant leg as if to say, “sorry, Mom.”
“I know, you’re sweet. But you probably need more time on the farm.”
He stood, nosing my hand to make me pet him. “I love you too, buddy. Now, it’s time to tackle that to-do list before we can start painting.”
With renewed motivation, I picked up my broom and got to work sweeping the dust that was left behind.