Cilla
September 17
Today we moved into our first real home. It’s an apartment on the ground floor of a farmhouse that was divided into two. And the folks upstairs don’t care if we use the dirt patch backyard to keep growing our herbs. We doubled our herb production this year and put almost every penny away till we had enough for this place. I stole stuff from the campground that could be sold quick and easy, too.
I came up with the idea to make herbal sachet bags like those I’d seen my mom use, stuffed with rice or beans and a pinch or two of herbs. Just enough to smell good. Mom would heat them in the microwave and lay them over her eyes when she had one of her headaches. So we made a pile of those and increased the revenue from our herbs by ten times more than selling them by the gram.
I feel like we could’ve stayed where we were forever and got by. But Wolf is four years old now, calling us Mamma and Grandma. We both know we have to go back to the civilized world. He’ll need to go to school. How will he make his way in this world if he doesn’t even get a basic education?
He has a birth certificate with his name on it. Wolf Travail. Sage knew a midwife, and she also knew what form to forge her name on, attesting to our boy’s home birth. We gave him the date I found him on the riverbank, September 15th, as his birthday.
For the past two months, I’ve been riding my bike to the bus station in town, and taking a bus to a different location to scope it out for our new home. Sage told me what to look for. Good schools, people who mind their own business, not too poor but not too wealthy, and on the low side of middle class, with plenty of employment nearby. A tourist town would be a plus, Sage said, but we didn’t want to live in one, just near one.
And so today, we moved into our new place on the ground floor of a friendly old farmhouse.
We sold our entire stock of dried herbs, herbal teas, eye-pillows, and stolen camping gear, everything we had left all at once, and used the proceeds to have our own fake identification custom-made for us in a border town, where you could get just about anything for a price. It was more expensive to choose our own names, rather than take on the identity of someone who’d died young, but Sage wanted no part in stealing a dead woman’s name. So she became Sage Travail, and I remained Cilla.
Our backstory was that Sage’s son, Johnny, had been my husband, but he died of pneumonia, as had Sage’s own husband only two years earlier. He’d been of Native descent, hence Wolf’s appearance.
Sage came up with that tale so easily and with so much emotion in her eyes that I think it was based on the truth. She must’ve lost a son and a husband. That explains the photo of a young Black man holding a small baby in his arms. Sage keeps it tucked inside the pages of an elaborately illustrated copy ofAlice in Wonderlandwith an embossed hard cover.
She doesn’t know I’ve seen the photo. I saw it when we were packing up to move and I flipped through the enticing book’s pages. I figure if Sage wants to talk about the young man in the picture, she will.
Now though, I think I know.
Willow
Willow stood watching the sunset, near their dwindling campfire.
She’d slipped away from everyone for a moment to reflect. It was chilly down here at night. Cooler than home, though further south, which she found odd. But home was nigh on desert and pancake flat. This place was far different. Texas wasn’t one land, but many. A geologic crazy quilt.
“Am I ever going to find you, my brother?” she whispered. And a tear slid from her eyes, trailing slowly down her cheek.
She heard the creak of a door opening, then closing again, and turned to see Drew, tiptoeing her way over the hardpack toward her. “You okay?”
“I’m okay.” She wasn’t.
“No, you’re not.” Drew ran her thumb over Willow’s cheek, absorbing the tear. “I’m on your side here, cuz.”
Willow covered Drew’s smaller hand with hers. “You don’t think I’m on a wild goose chase?”
“Maybe we are,” Drew said, and Willow appreciated her making it about all of them. “But I don’t want to go home until I’m sure we’ve found everything there is to find here. And I’m not there yet.”
“Good. That’s good,” Willow said.
“I think we might want to send Ethan back to the ranch though. He’s uneasy being four hours from Lily this late in her pregnancy. And for good reason, you know?”
“Pregnancy’s a dangerous time for a woman, I know.” She sighed. “So were you the one elected to come out and talk sense to me?”
“There was no family meeting or anything. I’m just telling you what I’m picking up on. I assume you’ve talked to Jeremiah about staying the night out here?”
Willow nodded. “He doesn’t disagree with me. Says he’s got my back, right or wrong, and he doesn’t much care which it is. Also, and this is a quote, ‘The kid and the dog and I are fine. Do whatever you need to do.’”
Drew gave an overly dramatic sigh. “I want that someday.”
“You’ll have it someday. Anything ever happen with that young sketch artist you were dating?”
“Mmm, he’s in and out of town. Travels for work and visits his fam. It’s not…solid, I guess is the word. It’s just fun. Casual.”
