A/N: Long time, no see, eh? I've finally found my muse again. This story takes place immediately after Of New Beginnings, and contains references to episodes like Murdoch Au Naturel and Lillian's story arc. Keep in mind that in this universe, George does go to prison, but Lillian doesn't die. Instead...something else happens. But as Emily implies, that's for another day. I'm taking several pieces of advice and moving backwards, filling in the blanks

Please don't read if you are averse to alternative lifestyles. I really don't need your negativity!

On a separate note...I'm turning nineteen this Friday! My boyfriend and I just celebrated eight months together, so I'm in the mood for festivities. Anyway...unbetaed, complete as published. Common Life AU series. You know the drill.

About Sage

"I'm going to give you one more minute to get out of this washroom before I find something I could use as a battering ram!" Rose hollered from the other side of the door, punctuating her threat with a kick to the baseboard.

There was the sound of a door opening from the opposite end of the hallway, and then Holly could be heard to say: "For heaven's sake, you two have been under the same roof for only two days!"

"What's your point? There's plenty I've got to get done today. In case you've forgotten, last night I got engaged."

"We were all there," Violet's distinctive enunciation came from the adjacent bedroom. "And you've got the rest of your life to plan for your wedding, I don't know why you and Felix insist on making preparations immediately. If you ask me-"

"It's a good thing I didn't," the newly appointed bride to be fired back, and soon the three of them were squabbling like girls of considerably less maturity.

From within the bathroom, Sage sighed and at last gave up on applying her makeup. It was a futile exercise, for today of all days her hands shook so hard that she nearly drew a line of lipstick on her chin. Her return to Toronto was supposed to have been a pleasurable one, but it had only served to churn up the dredges of undesirable memories from childhood.

At only seventeen years old, Sage Azalea Crabtree was living independently five hundred miles from home, with half a dozen other shop girls employed by Sears and Roebuck. As ferry rides were largely dependent on the weather and the subsequent ice coverage of Lake Michigan, not to mention several days of rail passage through the wilderness of western Ontario, this was the first time she'd seen her family in over a year. As her health and the condition of her apartment deteriorated, the letters she wrote home only grew in optimism. The girls she'd once ventured to call her friends had sticky fingers, divesting her of every scrap of finery and being so bold to sport her grandmother's pearls on the shop floor. Her boss was a brash male chauvinist who took indecent liberties with his employees, twice slapping Sage on the rear as she passed him behind the counter. Wages were continually docked for minor infractions, such as taking an extra minute for the midday break or having to use the restroom during a shift.

And yet there were a few bright spots between all of the dark moments-on Christmas morning, she'd telephoned home from the main concourse in Union Station. The wave of emotion that hit her at hearing her father's Newfoundland drawl once again weakened her knees, and she had to sit down as her mother recounted the festivities they'd shared with the Murdochs and Higgenses the night before. Coughing into her sleeve to hide the telltale sounds of her sobs, Sage had made a half-hearted joke about the considerable cost of the telephone call. Her sisters had begun to heckle her from the end of the line, their voices merging together in an indecipherable babble of familiarity. There was a noted omission, however: her youngest sister Aster, who had lost her life to diphtheria a few months earlier. She remembered receiving the telegram to that effect, and briefly entertained the possibility of quitting her job, packing up, and being home in time for the funeral. But that notion was very far away, and her pallet at that moment was incredibly comfortable, and she'd wept until sleep overtook her in the wee hours of the morning.

A week after their telephone call, Sage had received an envelope with the evening post. Uprighting it on her desk, she found it to be filled with a dollar's worth of spare change, just enough to cover the aforementioned cost. Affixed to the inside of the mailing placard was a copy of a family photograph that had been taken in their sitting room almost a decade ago. Noting how dour they often appeared in pictures, the girls had fought to keep their smiles broad throughout the entire process. Their eyes watering and cheeks strained, they formed a ring around the back of the couch where their parents sat. Father's arm was slung almost casually around the cushion, bracketing his wife's shoulders, while the other hand bounced a newborn Aster on his knee. And there Sage was in the corner, sporting the same straw hat as Holly; being only eleven months apart in age, they had almost been raised as twins. On the back of the photograph stock lay an inscription in her mother's careful cursive: Your Uncle William plans to retire in the spring. Let me know when you'll be arriving.

Sage could read between the lines to know that it wasn't up for discussion. So she had replied promptly, and placed all of her savings towards the passage home. Although her parents had offered to alleviate the cost, she'd refused immediately, saying they had enough on their minds. The opposite was probably true, and she felt out of place even as she'd been welcomed back into the fold of the family. She sported the finest of fashions and jewels as the result of her occupation; staring into the mirror in the washroom that night, she'd asked herself, wasn't that enough?

Her sisters already knew of the double life she'd been leading as the result of a series of letters she'd written to them, when the weight of her personal secrets threatened to overwhelm her. They had been accepting of her decision, even enthusiastic to hear that she was now liberated of the false guise she'd worn as a youth. And Sage had every intention of coming clean-and yet, in the heat of the moment, she'd told Mr. Murdoch that she'd been receiving plenty of attention in Chicago! Male, even! It was almost too much.

Lying sleepless in her childhood bed, she had formed a plan. It was her mother's wont to take a walk in the early morning on a Saturday, while her husband honed his skills on the stove. By the time she returned, the table would be set for a luxurious breakfast, and then the family would go their separate ways for the day. If she acted quickly, she'd be able to catch mother before one of her other sisters caught up to her; the privilege of accompanying Dr. Grace was often reserved for the girl that awoke first, for it was typically the only time of the week they could hold her attention alone. It had been a vital resource to Sage during the confounding age of her early adolescence, and most certainly would be now.

She exited the washroom and strode headlong into Rose, whose dusky curls were sticking out in all directions. The remains of last night's makeup still ghosted her features, giving her a clownish appearance. With a hushed exclamation of relief, the bookstore clerk rushed past her and slammed the door.

At that moment, Emily came out of the master bedroom, struggling to balance her fascinator under her arm. While five years ago she might have chastised her girls for arguing, the doctor now knew such reprimands got them nowhere. "Good morning," she quipped cheerfully, lips bent around several hatpins.

Almost immediately, Violet poked her head out, saying, "Let me get my coat, mother. I'll join you."

The door that led to the room she once shared with Holly came open, and the girl in question hissed, "No!"

"Don't tell me you were planning on taking a walk, little miss she-who-sleeps-until-noon," Violet interjected. Her younger sister responded by shaking her head furiously, all the while returning Sage's grateful look with a gentle smile. Thank goodness for midnight talks.

"Oh," the medical student sputtered, finally catching on. After a moment of awkward silence, she continued, "Actually, I think I'll do a bit more studying for my examination next week. You two go right on ahead." And then the two doors shut almost simultaneously, leaving Sage quite alone with her mother.

Emily raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as to the cryptic behavior of her daughters. The two of them descended the staircase and entered the foyer, where she asked, "Did you sleep well, dear?"

"No, mother," Sage replied bluntly, setting to arrange her hair before the mirror. Dr. Grace had taken a liking to the hairstyles she read about in fashion magazines, and it seemed only one person in the family could replicate them.

As she fashioned her parent's hair into a low chignon, Sage's gaze drifted to her lesser features, the way she carried her hands crossed before her, eyes bright with expectation. Her mother was incredibly poised, eternally graceful, and she simply couldn't imagine that she'd gone through anything like this when she was her age.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything troubling you?" She prompted once she was done, slipping out into the bright spring mid-morning with her arm sympathetically entwined about her elbow.

And although it pained Sage to see her mother waiting expectantly for her response, a tiny wrinkle of worry unfurling itself between her eyebrows, she did not say anything until they were some distance from the house. While she had been living under the roof of their home on Gerrard Street, this had been atypical of her. At last, as they crossed over into the sprawling greens of the park, she began, "Have you ever felt as if something was amiss, and you could place what it was, but didn't exactly want to confront it?"

The doctor nodded and squeezed her daughter's arm encouragingly, having some idea of where this was heading. "Well, the longer I've been living in Chicago, and the more I've been thinking of it, I've decided...oh, Lord...well, the truth is…"

Gingerly, her companion eased the two of them down onto a bench before the pond, where in the age of her childhood it had been her distinct pleasure to feed the ducks and wade among the reeds. There, she was determined to wait as long as possible for whatever this was to be hashed out. "Sage, you know you can tell me anything. I wouldn't be a very good mother if I judged you for the person you are, considering I raised you as such," Emily assured her.

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, abdomen clenched with anxiety. Exhaling slowly, she pretended as if all of her worries were being expelled thusly. Finally, she confessed, "I believe I might be a sapphist."

For a moment her mother appeared so faint that the slightest breeze might have knocked her over. Then her eyes lit up and she pitched forward, shaking ever so slightly.

This was it-the worst case scenario. Would she cry? Have a fit? Swear off all contact with her flesh and blood? Tentatively, Sage reached forward and stroked her shoulders. "Are you alright, mother? I upset you, didn't I?" Her own tears were building up in her throat, causing her words to be stifled with emotion.

At last it occurred to her that the good doctor wasn't overcome with shame, but actually quite amused. She leaned back, laughter escaping from her lips in a series of short barks. When nearby pedestrians turned an eye to her, however, Emily clamped the lid tight on her amusement, wrapping her daughter into a bruising embrace. Sage yipped in surprise and returned the gesture, involuntarily digging her fingernails into the sleeves of her dress.

"Sweetheart, I already knew that," she confided, as if it had been common knowledge for some time.

Sage was perfectly dumbfounded, then suspicious. "Which one of them told you? Was it Violet? That girl cannot keep a secret to save her life! When I get home, I'm going to-"

"I've always known," Emily interrupted. "Ever since you became a woman, and you danced the waltz with that girl from your class at school."

There's those vague memories of her sixteenth birthday party, complete with wailing strings and a brass trumpeter. "Her name was Annalise," she said wistfully, remembering that, however unconsciously, she'd been drawn to the girl's thick blonde locks and shining blue eyes. Together they'd stepped around the perimeter of the floor, Sage leading, giggling blithely and tripping over each other's feet.

"That's right. She moved to Buffalo to attend nursing school, if I recall," Emily frowned, eyes cast on the cloudless sky. "It was high time you realized it, although I would have supported you no matter what; you know that. Just like your Aunt Julia did with me."

That vague indication hits Sage with all the force of a punch to the gut. "How do you mean? Were you-I mean, are you still-"

"Oh, dear." Her hand came down to clasp hers, as a shadow of doubt encroached over the doctor's features. "I've never told you about Lillian?"

At her daughter's confused expression, Emily continued, "I kept the company of a female lover for some time, and was quite happy with her. But I soon realized my heart belonged to your father, and the split was amicable. I now know there is a third party, some sort of nebulous attraction to both women and men. I grew to identify with that."

Sage's mind was struggling to process all of this, and suddenly she managed to place a name with a face. In her mother's photo albums, there's several photographs taken with a tall, somewhat gaunt woman, in various poses and locales. In every one, their smiles can only be described as radiant. Until now, she'd assumed that the mystery woman was a colleague, or a forgotten member of the suffrage society. Now, it all made sense. But…

"If the two of you ended the relationship under such good terms, how come I've never heard her name until now?"

Her mother's guise clouded unexpectedly, and she withdrew from contact. "That's a story for another day." And her words were so firmly spoken that she had to know this was true.

"Aren't you going to tell me about her?" She changed the subject abruptly, standing and taking her daughter's hand.

The tingling sensation that so often accompanied a blush began to spread across her cheeks. Together, the two of them continued into the shade of the trees, far from prying eyes and ears.

"Her name is Millicent, although I call her Millie," Sage began, counting her steps inside her head. "One day, she came into the store, and insisted on having me wait upon her. She seemed to love everything I chose for her, and purchased it all. The next day she was back."

Emily whistled. "A woman of means, then."

"She's come into a bit of an inheritance," the shop girl acknowledged, the gifted baubles around her wrist and neck suddenly feeling a thousand times heavier. "You know how the Chicago society women are. After a week, she was asking me to share the midday meal, and after a month, I worked up the courage to say yes."

What wasn't spoken of was a whirlwind courtship in which Sage had fallen head over heels with what was perhaps the least likely candidate for her affections. Millicent had become, at the tender age of eighteen, a socialite by trade. She was endlessly charmed by what she perceived as her girlfriend's small town attitudes, however many times she insisted that Toronto was a bustling metropolis of almost a quarter million people. The two of them made tracks uptown and downtown, dancing away the weekends in jazz clubs and the spending evenings in secluded tea houses where the waitress would turn a blind eye to two women cuddled up in the same booth. And when her housemates used her secret as leverage to get their way, threatening to expose Sage to their boss and have her employment terminated, Millie hadn't hesitated to stand up for her. She'd arrived at their Pilsen tenement driven in one of the finest automobiles money could buy and stated, in no uncertain terms, that she possessed enough sway to have them blacklisted from every department store in the city. And that had been the end of it.

"Does she make you happy, dear?" Emily asked rather suddenly as they rounded the corner back onto their street. There were mere moments until she had to return to reality to face the rest of the family, namely her father. And heaven knew what he would have to say about the entire ordeal.

Sage came to a halt on their front stoop, one hand holding the screen door open a fraction of an inch. This was a legitimate query-behind the initial physical attraction, what else was there? Perhaps it was the way they laughed and carried on while they were with each other, and how she always felt safe in her lover's arms. Stepping across the threshold, she proclaimed, "More than I can tell you in words."

The two of them crossed paths with none other than the newly promoted Inspector George Crabtree in the dining room, who currently sported an apron and oven mitts like a badge of honor. The table was laden with their typical feast, but every plate was presently empty.

"Finally," Rose huffed, reaching for the heaping plate of sausage in the center. "We thought you might never return."

A glance to the clock in the hall confirmed her suspicions: they had, indeed, been gone nearly an hour. Muttering her apologies, Sage shed her coat and went to join her sisters.

Her mother, however, hooked an arm about her husband's waist and forcibly turned him to face their assembled children, saying, "Honey, Sage has something to tell you."

Violet's fork paused halfway to her mouth, and then was slammed down abruptly. She clumsily sought her sister's hand under the table, searching her face for any indication as to how her talk might have gone.

Now a hundred times more confident, she stated calmly, "She's right. Father, I'm a sapphist."

All of the tension immediately fled his features, and his shoulders slumped forward in relief. "Good gracious," he harrumphed, taking his place at the head of table. "Thank heavens it's only that."

The atmosphere in the room noticeably brightened. Holly's anxious laughter filled her ears; Rose took a prolonged swig of her strawberry cordial and strived mightily to hide her smile.

"And just what do you mean by that?" Sage interjected, pointing her fork in his direction.

George passed the platter of deviled eggs to his wife, who only shook her head and strongly resisted the urge to hit him in the shoulder. "For a moment, I thought you were going to tell me she was with child."

In spite of herself, Sage began to cackle. She now knew to fear her parents' reaction had been foolish. They loved her now, and they always would.

Rose made a contemplative sound in the back of her throat. "Perhaps this would be a good time to mention I plan on having my entire torso covered in tattoos. Wouldn't want to miss out on an opportunity to scandalize the pastor, would I?"

Feeding off of her sister's facetiousness and their father's potential open-mindedness, Holly chimed in, "Yes, and I was going to run away and join a nudist colony."

To his credit, George maintained a straight face, staring dead ahead as he replied, "That's quite alright. Just be sure not to run into anyone you know."

Now that was a story the girls never tired of hearing. To be fair, it really was their mother who hadn't yet tired of capitalizing off her husband's discomfort at running into their good friend Julia on a riverbank, with nothing but his shoulder bag to hide his nether regions. Emily cackled over the rim of her teacup, while George simply glowered.

"Anyhow, back to the matter at hand," he interrupted their laughter, reaching for Sage's hand across the table. "I've suspected it for a few years now, because I've seen the signs in other people."

He cut a rueful glance to his wife, whose eyes were for the moment as big as saucers. "Women are more perceptive and kind than men, so I can understand. That's what I told your Uncle William whenever your mother's preference was revealed."

This time Emily read did sock him in the shoulder, causing him to yelp in pain. Immediately, her sisters began to talk over one another, each desperate to have their questions answered. Reaching forward, Sage refilled her glass of orange juice. It was going to be one long meal.

The End