Wealth Beyond Riches

by Vickie McDonough

  In a few seconds, Jim heard the click of a lock and the squeak of a door opening. A woman’s brief squeal erupted, followed by a ruckus and the thunk of a bucket being kicked.

  Jim sprang into action. He wouldn’t stand by and let an innocent woman get hurt, not when he could prevent it.

  Three

  Sasha wrestled her two attackers, smacking one across the nose with her hair brush. He howled and grabbed her right arm. The shorter man struggled to keep his grasp tight on her other arm as she tried hard to claw him with her fingernails. Her heart pounded like a frantic animal’s fighting to escape a snare. Bile burned her throat as her fear surged. Never had she been so afraid.

  She jerked and struggled, but they were too strong for her. Her worst fears were becoming a reality, and there was no one to help her. Oh, why had she come to this wretched place?

  Not yet ready to give up the fight, she kicked one man in the shin, making him curse. Her heart plummeted when another man rushed into the room.

  For a brief second, their gazes collided, and she knew instantly when she looked into those brilliant black eyes that help had arrived. He was taller than her captors and broader across the shoulders. The handsome cowboy raised his gun as the two men shoved her up against the wall, oblivious to the third man’s presence. Their rank breath and evil glares made her feel faint, but she maintained her focus on her rescuer.

  “Now we’ll have some fun—”

  The cowboy pointed his pistol at them. “Get away from that woman.”

  Her attackers froze. They glanced at each other, then looked over their shoulders.

  “Get him!” the tall man yelled.

  They tossed Sasha aside like a rag doll and charged the man, all three falling back into the hallway with a loud clamor of men knocking against walls and the scuffle of boots.

  The blast of gunfire resounded in the hallway, leaving in its wake the pungent scent of gunpowder and smoke. A man cried out. Sasha could only hope it wasn’t her champion.

  Heart throbbing, she grabbed her handbag, snatched up her satchel, and darted into the hallway, barely missing getting kicked. She glanced at the pile of thrashing bodies, unable to see who had the advantage because of the dimly lit hall and the lingering cloud of smoke. Hurrying toward the rear exit, she fled the frightening commotion.

  Behind her someone yelled, “Get the sheriff—and the doc. Looks like one of ’em is shot.”

  At least her rescuer had help now. She dearly hoped he hadn’t gotten shot or injured.

  Sasha’s stampeding heart outpaced her feet as she rushed down the stairs and out into the growing dusk. She hated abandoning her rescuer, but she had to get away. If the cowboy wasn’t successful in fighting her two attackers, then surely they’d come after her again.

  She dreaded being outside at night, not knowing what she would face. At least in New York City, she knew her way around and knew which places were safe and which weren’t. But Indian Territory was as new to her as a script she was reading for the first time.

  Ducking behind a toolshed, she took a moment to catch her breath. She pressed her hand to her chest and willed her heart to slow its frantic pace as she peered around the corner. A man ran out the back of Whitaker’s Hotel. Sasha held her breath. The faint light of the open door illuminated his back, but his face remained in the shadows.

  “Miss? Are you out there?” He leaned his hands on the porch railings and stared into the darkness. “It’s safe to come back. Those two fellows are tied up, and Mr. Whitaker’s gone to fetch the sheriff. They won’t bother you anymore.”

  She recognized the blue plaid shirt as belonging to the man who had helped her, and for a brief second, Sasha considered returning to her room. It wasn’t much, but it was paid for and better than sleeping outside with the unfamiliar. But if she could be accosted after only being at the hotel a few minutes, how would she manage staying safe overnight? No, she wasn’t going back. Hesitating, she wondered if she should thank him. But she wasn’t sure whether to trust him or not. When he stepped back inside, she inhaled a deep breath, feeling both guilty and relieved.

  She needed to don her costume to feel safe. Nobody would bother an old woman.

  ❧

  Jim clucked to the horses pulling the heavy wagon. This area was his favorite part of the drive from Tulsa to Keaton. The sandy Arkansas River meandered along on his right, and on his left, farm and ranch land rolled on as far as he could see. He was glad that Tulsa didn’t allow drilling within the city limits. Oil might make a few folks wealthy beyond their imaginations, but drilling destroyed the beauty of the land.

  He sighed and allowed his mind to drift back to last night’s events. The vision of the lovely woman he’d glimpsed invaded his thoughts again. Before his scuffle with the two men at the hotel, he’d made split-second eye contact with the frightened lady. He didn’t think he’d ever encountered such a lovely woman. She reminded him of a cross between his sister’s porcelain doll and a corralled mustang, with her saddle brown mane that hung in soft waves to her waist and brown eyes that had glistened with fear and anger. She’d wielded that hairbrush like a warrior.

  By the time he’d knocked both men out cold, the woman had skedaddled. He’d tried to find her last night but had no luck, and he had hoped to see her this morning at breakfast but was disappointed. He watched for her as he loaded his wagon and drove out of town but had failed to find her.

  Who was she? And why was she staying at a seedy place like Whitaker’s?

  Jim swatted a fly and pulled down his brim to shade his eyes. He’d be happy when the railroad was opened up to Keaton so he wouldn’t have to drive the slow-moving wagon clear to Tulsa. The track had been laid, but service wasn’t due to start for another week.

  Up ahead, he saw someone shuffling down the road. A woman. From her slumped back and grandma-style dress, he suspected she must be quite old. She lugged a satchel in one hand and leaned heavily on a knobby stick, which she used as a cane.

  Where in the world was she going? It was at least twelve miles to the Glenn Pool and even further to Keaton.

  As the horses pulled even with her, Jim tugged them to a stop and stood. The animals pawed the ground and snorted, as if they knew it wasn’t quitting time yet.

  “Mornin’, ma’am. Can I offer you a ride?”

  The woman glanced his way, shook her head, and kept walking.

  He didn’t blame her for being apprehensive, but he was the last person she needed to fear. Clucking the horses forward, he sat down, drove twenty feet, and then stopped again.

  “I don’t mean to bother you, ma’am, but it’s a good twelve miles to the next town. And with all the oil riffraff in these parts. . . Well, a woman shouldn’t travel without an escort.”

  At those words, she stopped and turned toward him but kept her eyes on the ground.

  “Would you mind telling me where you’re going?” Jim slid his hat back on his head and watched as she wrestled her carpetbag.

  “Keaton,” she muttered.

  “Keaton! Well, that’s a good fifteen miles or more. You won’t make it before dark if you walk, and you definitely don’t want to be out alone after the sun sets. Not on this road.”

  She glanced up. Something sparked in her dark eyes, and she looked away again. After a few moments, she turned toward the wagon but kept her face to the ground. “All right, if you’re sure you don’t mind, I’ll ride with you.”

  “No, ma’am. I don’t mind at all.” His boots thumped the ground as he jumped down, stirring up a cloud of dust. He set her satchel in the back and helped her up onto the seat, noticing she seemed rather spry for an old woman as she shinnied up the wheel. She was as thin as a sapling, though.

  The wagon creaked as he sat on the seat beside her. Leaving a decent gap in between them, he picked up the reins and nudged his canteen with his boot. “There’s water if you’re thirsty.”

  She glanced down, then at him, and leaned forward, picking up the canteen. “Thank
you.” She drank deeply, then laid the container back on the floor.

  He clucked the horses forward, wondering where the woman had come from. She looked a bit like a Gypsy, but her accent was different and her speech sounded as if she might even be an educated woman. In fact, her voice didn’t sound half as old as she looked.

  “My name’s Jim Conners.” He glanced sideways, hoping for a peek at her face. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Where do you hail from?”

  “Back east.”

  He wasn’t much of a talker himself and could take a hint. This woman was in no mood for conversation. Well, he knew what it was like not to want someone to poke a nose into his business.

  He glanced down, and his gaze landed on the woman’s hand, which held her scarf tight under her chin. Surprise surged through him. This hand wasn’t the wrinkled, withered limb he’d expected to see. It looked as if it belonged to a young woman—a woman with medium brown skin.

  Curiosity just about did him in, but he held his tongue. What did he know of old women’s hands? He focused his attention on the road. Soon he’d be back at the ranch and would need to get the wagon unloaded.

  He glanced at the woman again, but now her hands rested in her lap, hidden under the folds of her skirt. Jim peeked at her face but could only see the side of her scarf and wisps of brown hair, not the gray he’d expected.

  She didn’t want to talk or let him see her face. Yep, she definitely had something to hide, but it was none of his business.

  The driver looked to his left, and Sasha peeked out the corner of her eye. It was him, she was certain—the man who’d come to her rescue last night. And now he was helping her again. She turned her head to the right, just as he faced forward again.

  Used to long walks in New York, she hadn’t expected the journey to her uncle’s home to take so long and was grateful for the ride. It would probably have taken her two full days to walk it, and she hadn’t looked forward to spending another night outside.

  But would this man see through her makeup? Would he recognize her?

  Right after sunup, she’d applied her makeup, using her reflection in a window in lieu of a mirror. She’d tried her best to avoid letting the man look at her face. Though she was an expert in applying stage makeup, it was meant to be viewed at a distance, not close quarters.

  She considered the man’s kindness to her—once when she was dressed as herself and now as an old woman. She owed him her gratitude and wished that she could thank him. Perhaps there were kind people in Indian Territory after all.

  He was a nice-looking man, with his black hair and eyes. She couldn’t help wondering if he, too, was part Indian. His skin didn’t have the reddish tint that some of the men in Tulsa had but rather was a healthy tanned shade and far more appealing than the pale skin of city men.

  They rode along in companionable silence. Sasha studied the countryside, which ranged from gently rolling hills to flatlands where she could see clear to the horizon. Instead of being afraid of the open spaces, she loved the feeling of freedom that came from not being surrounded by New York’s lofty buildings and hordes of people.

  A gentle breeze teased her face, making her hold on to her scarf so it wouldn’t blow off. She’d love nothing more than to allow her hair to blow free like her spirit, but she couldn’t. Not yet, anyway.

  She fought back a yawn. The warm sun, gentle plodding of hooves, and lack of sleep the night before lulled her into a relaxed state.

  ❧

  Several hours past noon, Mr. Conners gently nudged her arm with his elbow. He nodded his chin forward, and she pushed aside her sleepiness to stare at the changed landscape. She had to physically keep her jaw from dropping.

  Tall wooden oil derricks stood out like sentinels everywhere she looked, blotching the landscape. Not a single tree was left standing, but numerous stumps testified that they once had. Ahead and to her right, the sun shimmered on a lake of some kind of greasy, greenish-black substance.

  “This whole area is the Glenn Pool. The Ida Glenn Number One was the first oil strike in these parts. Early last year this was just a cornfield and prairie grass, but now. . .well, you can see for yourself.”

  Sasha lifted her hand to her nose. “What’s that smell?”

  “Crude oil. Rather pungent, isn’t it?” His smile brightened his whole face, making him look far too handsome for his own good. “Takes a while to get used to.”

  Holding her scarf over her nose, Sasha stared with amazement at the lake of glimmering substance. “So, is that where the oil comes from? A lake like that?”

  Mr. Conners chuckled. “The oilmen wish it was that easy. These lakes of oil are actually overflows. Drillers are bringing in the oil faster than storage tanks can be built, so they resorted to building these earthen dams to hold the excess runoff.”

  As they drove through the oil field, Sasha watched grimy men scurrying around the tall derricks and working on pumps. The earth here was blackened from the oil, and nothing grew except a few sprigs of grass and obstinate wildflowers. She’d heard that the oil boom had made many people wealthy, but it saddened her to see the landscape ruined.

  “That’s Rag Town, where many of the oil workers live.” He pointed at what looked like a city of tents.

  Barefoot children ran around whooping and chasing one another while a tired-looking woman hung ragged clothing on a line. Even the cheap hotel room she’d been in yesterday was far better than this. She couldn’t imagine living in such squalor.

  “Politicians call the oil boom the next great land rush—a run for riches, a run for power, and a run for national security, but as you can see, very few people here are prospering from it.”

  She considered his words for a time as they continued their journey. Soon the small town of Keaton came into view. Her heart thudded. She’d hoped that the town her uncle lived near would have some amenities, but its mud streets and rough wooden buildings were a far cry from even Tulsa.

  Mr. Conners pulled to a stop. “You sure I can’t take you all the way to your destination?”

  Sasha shook her head. “No, thank you.” She’d used this man enough and could easily get dependent on someone as nice as Jim Conners. She’d learned at a young age that depending on others only brought disappointment. She was a grown woman now, and as her mother said, she needed to take care of herself.

  A shiver of apprehension wafted through her as he helped her to the ground. With a trembling hand, she took her satchel from him, thanked him, and said good-bye. He shook the reins, and the wagon pulled away with a soft creak. She breathed a sigh of relief. He was curious about her but hadn’t pressed her for information. She thought too late that she should have asked if he knew her uncle.

  She studied the people walking up and down the boardwalk. Could one of these men be Dewey Hummingbird? He had to be fairly old now, since he was her mother’s uncle.

  Her gaze landed on a mortician’s shop where a casket leaned up against the wall. Several men were laughing and taking turns standing inside its wooden frame. A horrible thought darted through her mind, and she stumbled on a rut in the road. She took three quick steps to right herself.

  What if her uncle were no longer alive? Could she have come all this way for nothing?

  Four

  Jim tightened the cinch and mounted his horse. He’d unloaded the wagon and worked all afternoon but still couldn’t get the old woman off his mind. Things just didn’t add up. Her voice and hands didn’t match her age and face, not that he’d gotten a good peek at her features. And when he had glanced at her, it was her brown eyes that stood out—glimmering with curiosity, but also guarded.

  He’d never been acquainted with an elderly woman beyond polite greetings. His mother died when he was six, and he’d never known his grandparents. An overwhelming urge to make sure the old woman was all right had him heading back to Keaton instead of spending an hour reading before bed like he normally did. He nudged his horse for
ward into a gallop.

  An hour later, Jim sighed as he marveled at the pink and orange sunset. The woman was nowhere to be found. He rubbed his hand across his bristly cheek and turned his horse back toward the ranch where he worked, praying the lady found shelter for the night. In May, nights in Oklahoma were usually mild, but no woman should be on the streets alone with all the riffraff around, especially an elderly one. He asked God to watch over her and keep her safe. Maybe he’d have better luck finding her tomorrow, not that he knew what he’d do if he did.

  ❧

  Sasha attempted to smooth the wrinkles from her dress, but it was useless. Too long scrunched up in her satchel, the poor garment needed a good ironing. A half hour ago, she’d slipped off the dirt road and stopped at a stream to refresh herself and change out of her costume. Now, excitement at seeing her uncle battled anxiety as she stared through the growing darkness at the silhouette of his cabin. A lone light in the window beckoned her.

  Nearby, a night creature screeched, and Sasha jumped. Darting forward, she raced toward the cabin and onto the porch, pressing her palm to her chest. She’d never been easily spooked, but all these strange noises of nature were new to her and vastly different than those of a big city. Her recent experience at the Whitaker Hotel and Mr. Conners’ warnings about not being out at night still lingered in her mind.

  Just walking along the dirt road in the daylight had made her legs tremble, but now that the sun had set and who-knew-what was out prowling in the woods. . . Well, she could only hope her uncle would be happy to see her. She didn’t want to think what she’d do if he turned her out. At least she’d learned in town that he was still living when she’d asked for directions to his place. With all the new growth because of the oil strike, she’d found her uncle’s map almost useless.

  The porch’s wooden floor creaked, and she lifted her hand to knock.