Wealth Beyond Riches

by Vickie McDonough

  The view triggered her memory, and she remembered the few times she had been privileged to ride in an automobile. Other than riding on a train, it had been the fastest she’d ever traveled and had nearly taken her breath away.

  “Did you go to church back in New York?” Jim surprised her with his sudden question.

  She shook her head. “Not too often. Mother rarely woke up before noon, and I didn’t like to go alone.”

  Jim’s eyes widened. “Noon! I never heard of people sleeping that late unless they were sick.”

  She couldn’t help smiling at his bewildered expression. He was a man used to a full day’s hard work. Seeing how antsy he was today during his idleness proved that.

  “I don’t know if Uncle Dewey told your or not, but Mother and I worked in the theater. She is—was—an actress, and I was a makeup artist. Mother often went out with her fans and other members of the crew after performances.”

  “I never knew anyone in the theater before.” He grinned. “I still don’t see how your ma could sleep till noon, though.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I don’t know if Dewey told you yet, but we generally ride together to church on Sundays, though he didn’t go last week since you’d just arrived and were tired from your travels. We could take the buggy this week so you can go. That is if you want to.” He stared at her as if measuring her worth.

  She hadn’t considered attending church but thought she might like it and nodded. Jim smiled and leaned back, then tilted his hat so that it covered the top half of his face. His pose looked so manly it made her insides quiver.

  During their evening devotions together, she had listened as Jim and Dewey talked about the different Bible verses they’d read. She’d never heard anyone talk about God as if He were a friend, and she longed to know if such a thing were possible. Though she was happier here in Indian Territory than she could ever remember, she still felt a void in her life.

  Was that emptiness something a husband could fill? Or would it take Someone bigger—like God?

  ❧

  Jim allowed the gentle rocking of the train to lull him into a relaxed stupor. Though tired from standing around shopping all day, he wasn’t sleepy. Other than being half bored, he’d enjoyed his time with Sasha and felt proud walking around town with such a beauty on his arm.

  Plenty of other men had noticed, and he’d stared them down, almost daring them to approach Sasha. His jaws puffed out as he sighed, knowing his behavior wasn’t very Christlike. Gazing at the inside of his hat, which covered his face, he asked God’s forgiveness for being boastful in his actions.

  He thought of the excitement twinkling in Sasha’s brown eyes and remembered her smiles and how she’d flitted from one item to the next, reminding him of a hummingbird. She had a good time today, he could tell.

  But she’d spent a whole lot of Dewey’s money. And enjoyed it. As much as he liked her and was attracted to her, he still wasn’t sure whether to trust her.

  Her timing was almost impeccable, arriving a few months after Dewey was awarded control of Kizzie Arbuckle’s property and finances.

  Still, he’d watched what she bought, though he doubted she realized that. She never once purchased the most expensive item. Instead, she’d leaned toward midlevel, yet quality items. He had to admit, she’d made wise purchases—practical versus showy—all except for that flowery rug she bought for her own room. Not that it was all that expensive, just too feminine for his taste.

  Unable to sleep with Sasha on his mind, he pushed up and set his hat back on his head. She glanced at him, and he took a moment to study her lovely face. Delicate features highlighted an oval face. Her medium brown complexion looked as soft as a horse’s muzzle. And those lips—perfect for kissing.

  Her cheeks grew rosy, and she looked away. He shouldn’t be staring. It might give her the wrong idea, but she was so beautiful that he was compelled to gaze on her face whenever he had opportunity. God sure did put some fine creatures on this earth.

  He shook his head. What he needed to do was share the gospel with her. Obviously she’d never had any Bible training. Though she seemed to listen intently when he and Dewey talked scriptures in the evenings, she rarely asked any questions.

  Maybe it was just too soon. She’d only been here a week.

  Jim leaned backed and looked out the window across the aisle. The landscape sped by.

  Lord, I pray You give me the opportunity to tell Sasha about You. Perhaps that’s the whole reason our paths crossed. You know I haven’t always walked Your path, but I am now. Help me to guide this lost lamb into the fold.

  Nine

  Dressed in her old woman’s costume, Sasha peeked out the door of the cabin, hoping Jim and Dewey were up at the new house as they’d told her they would be. Relieved not to see them, she scurried out the door and over to the buggy her uncle had hitched for her. He hadn’t liked the idea of her going to town alone but thought she’d be all right as long as she was home well before dark and stayed in the good part of town.

  She made a kissing smack and jiggled the reins, guiding the horse down the dirt road. Her hands trembled, and she tried to remember everything Dewey had taught her about driving a buggy. Knowing she had a mission she wanted to complete, she’d paid close attention to his instruction and now felt semiconfident of her skills.

  As the horse clip-clopped down the dirt road beneath a shadowy canopy of oak, pine, and elm trees, she thought about the things Jim had told her about God the day they went to Tulsa. He’d said that the Lord was a loving God. He was alive and wanted to come into her heart. That He sent His Son Jesus to die on the cross to pay her debt of sin. It had made her heart ache to think of an innocent man dying for something she’d done.

  Some of the things she’d read in the Bible made better sense now that Jim had explained them to her. She wanted the closeness with God that her uncle and Jim had, but she wasn’t sure how to get it. Just asking for God’s forgiveness as Jim told her to do seemed too simple. There had to be more.

  As she steered the horse to the right at a fork in the road, her thoughts turned to the oil widows again. They kept invading her mind, and she remembered that cute barefoot girl dressed in rags. Jim had said the widows continued living in Rag Town because they couldn’t afford to go anywhere else and that they sometimes cooked or did laundry for the oil field workers, not that it brought in much income.

  The beautiful quilts and braided rag rugs the women had made would bring high prices back East. Just the fact that they were made in Indian Territory would intrigue city folk. There had to be something she could do. As the niece of a wealthy man, she doubted the widows would let her help them—but as an old Gypsy woman. . .well, perhaps.

  As she neared Keaton, she drove the buggy around to the far side of town, so if people saw her, they wouldn’t know she’d come from Dewey’s land. On the edge of town, she parked the buggy and tied the horse to a tree. The bay gelding would be fine since her mission wouldn’t take long.

  Using a knobby branch for a cane, she shuffled toward the alley behind a row of fancy homes, wishing she hadn’t left behind her nice cane in the scuffle at Whitaker’s Hotel. Dewey had mentioned one night that some of the woman who’d gotten rich from oil threw away perfectly good clothing. They wore an item once or twice, then bought something new. He said he couldn’t tolerate such waste and was perfectly happy with his worn overalls.

  Sasha smiled at the memory. She doubted her uncle’s overalls could take many more scrubbings on the washboard. They were nearly as ragged as the urchins’ clothing.

  Holding her scarf with her free hand, she worked her way down the alley. When she noticed the shimmer of bright blue fabric near a trash barrel, excitement whizzed through her. Seeing nobody around, she quickened her steps. The blue dress had been stuffed into a wooden crate. Sasha tugged it out, and a flash of lavender caught her eyes. She shook out the colonial blue skirt, trying to imagine anyone wearing something so bright. Below it lay a nearly new lavender plai
d dress with leg-o’-mutton sleeves. Near the bottom of the crate lay a white eyelet blouse with a tiny stain.

  She lifted out the final item and gasped out loud at the pristine white Edwardian lawn and lace tea dress. Why would anyone throw away such a beautiful garment?

  After carefully folding the items, she looked around to make sure she was alone, then hoisted up the crate and hurried back to the buggy.

  An hour later, in a different alley, she found several more items, but caught up in the fun of the search, she wasn’t ready to quit. She glanced at the sun, knowing she still had plenty of time before she needed to start home.

  Up ahead, she spotted what looked like a dark green sleeve flapping in the warm afternoon breeze behind a solid brick home. She ambled over and discovered a tea gown with a pigeon bust and lavish skirt. The dark green color would look beautiful in a quilt.

  She reached for a bluish-gray item, which turned out to be a girl’s pleated dress. It reminded her of the school uniform she’d worn as a child. Allowing a smile, she caressed the slightly worn garment. Maybe the little blond urchin could wear this with some minor adjustments.

  Sasha couldn’t believe her good fortune. She hadn’t truly believed Dewey when he told her about the clothing, but she wouldn’t doubt him again. She gathered up the two dresses and looked across the street. So far, she hadn’t run into anyone, but she didn’t want to push her luck. Could she perhaps get arrested for taking people’s throw-away items? She hadn’t considered that before.

  She heard a door slam and some men’s laughter coming from the house in front of her. She was only about twenty feet away and noticed that a window near the back porch was open. Something sounded like the squeal of a chair being pulled out, and the soft rumble of men’s voices grew louder.

  She ducked behind a huge oak that shaded the small backyard as the voices grew clearer. Obviously the men had come into the room where the open window was. Peeking around the tree, she saw a man sitting sideways on the window sill.

  “I told you it was easy, didn’t I?”

  She could make out several voices but couldn’t see anybody except the one man.

  “Yes, you did, but I have to say I didn’t believe it would be so easy to cheat those Indians.”

  Sasha gasped. Cheat Indians? She glanced around for some place else to hide but saw nothing big enough. She pressed down the dresses so that they didn’t show around the wide trunk.

  A man’s boisterous laugh pierced the air. “If those dumb Creeks had bothered to learn to read English, they’d know before they signed that Chamber Oil leases are written so that landowners only get a fraction in royalties of the income from the oil.”

  A mumble of agreements flittered around the room, and she heard what sounded like someone tapping a fork against a glass.

  “Here’s to getting rich.”

  Sasha gritted her teeth in anger as glasses clinked together. These men were deliberately cheating the Indians. She had to find out who they were so she could report them.

  A narrow street passed along the right side of the home, but it would be too dangerous to attempt to go that way. The men might see her and know she’d overheard them. No, it would be far better to go down the alley and circle around. She could cross the street and wait until the men came out the front of the house, and they’d never be the wiser.

  Excited that her plan was a good one, she carefully folded the two dresses and turned to hurry back to the buggy. Her heart pounded a ferocious rhythm as she stepped away from the tree. Please don’t notice me.

  She took a step. Her foot snagged on something, and she fell forward. Her right hand darted out as she tried to grab the trash barrel to keep from falling. The rickety metal container tilted her way and clanged to the ground as the pile of dresses broke her fall, making her landing painless. Holding her breath, she glanced at the window as the barrel clattered against some rocks. A man poked his head out the window.

  “Hey! Someone’s out back.”

  Sasha had heard enough. She had to get away. Pushing herself off the ground, she reluctantly left the dresses behind and hurried down the street. Everything in her wanted to break into a run, but she tried to remain calm. If she could get past the next house, she could duck between them and cross to Main Street.

  Behind her she heard what sounded like a door being thrown open and slamming against the house.

  “There!” someone shouted.

  “Get her.”

  Sasha lifted up her skirts and rushed forward, but her legs weren’t fast enough.

  “You, there. Stop!”

  Running for her life, she cut across the corner of a yard, hoping to get away. Suddenly, a large hand latched onto her shoulder, and she felt herself being hauled backward. She twisted and kicked as visions of her previous assault swarmed her memory. A second man charged forward and grabbed her arm.

  Panting and with her heart racing, she gazed up at the sky.

  Please God, if You’re really up there, help me.

  ❧

  Jim reined his horse away from crowded Main Street and down an alley. He patted his pocket, making sure he still had his package. His goal today had been to finish painting the parlor with Dewey’s help, but the handle on his paintbrush had broken, thus he’d made an unscheduled trip to town.

  His mind drifted to Sasha, and he smiled. She was so lovely and innocent, and as they were getting to know each other better, she was opening up and sharing more of herself. Her intelligent questions about the Bible had challenged him and Dewey. If she kept seeking God, she’d soon find Him. And that would be a happy day.

  The horse jerked his head and sidestepped, making Jim look up. Several houses ahead, three people scuffled in the alley. He started to rein his horse down a different street, but his heart jolted when he realized two men were accosting a woman—the Gypsy woman!

  She pushed and shoved but couldn’t get free of her captors. Jim kicked his horse and charged ahead, knowing he had to help.

  One man looked up. His eyes widened at Jim’s approach. He released the woman and ran toward Jim. Hunkering down over his horse’s neck, Jim charged his mount into the man, sending the attacker flying. The other man let go of the Gypsy and lunged at Jim. The second man climbed to his feet and ran to his friend’s aid.

  The old woman hurried down the alley and disappeared around the corner. Jim heard a shout and saw another man running his way. One man jerked his foot from the stirrup as the other yanked on his sleeve. The horse whinnied and jumped, as rough hands pulled Jim out of the saddle.

  Ten

  Hidden in the shadows of Uncle Dewey’s small barn, Sasha quickly removed her costume and slipped on the cotton dress she’d hidden earlier. Even with it being the button-up-the-front style like most of the women in the area wore, she could barely get it fastened because of her trembling hands.

  What a close call that had been!

  If not for some man riding to her aid, who knows what would have happened. She folded up her costume and put it in the hiding place, washed off her makeup, then unhitched the horse from the buggy. Standing by the pasture fence, she watched the gelding trot over to the pond and lower its big head to the water. She felt proud that she’d learned to handle a horse and buggy, thus gaining some independence.

  But that independence had caused her to get hurt. Sasha leaned against the fence post and rubbed her bruised arm where one of the men had grabbed her. Both legs still felt as limp as spaghetti, but her mission had been a success, if only she hadn’t lost those two dresses. At last count she’d collected six dresses, three skirts, four blouses, and a nightgown. Surely they would be a big help to the widows.

  Glancing up at the lowering sun, she realized Dewey and Jim would be home soon. She needed to check on the stew her uncle had left simmering on the back of the stove and slice up some bread and tomatoes.

  Turning toward the cabin, she wondered what to do with the information she’d overheard. She hated to get her uncle involved
any more than he already was. Maybe Jim would know what to do. Or maybe that nice man who’d come to her uncle’s aid and asked her to dinner could help. He seemed kind and treated her uncle with respect. What was his name? Ro–Roman something.

  She grabbed the bucket inside the cabin door and headed to the creek for some fresh water.

  “I can do that.”

  Sasha jumped. She’d been so deep in thought she hadn’t heard her uncle’s approach.

  Dewey grinned. “You’d think you were expecting an Indian attack.”

  She handed the bucket to her uncle but couldn’t resist giving him a hug. “No, not an attack, but it wouldn’t surprise me if one asked me to dinner.”

  Dewey chuckled. “Guess that happens to you a lot, huh?”

  “Too much.”

  “It’s to be expected. You’re a beautiful woman, and there are many more males around these parts than females.”

  “I understand that, but I don’t have to like it.”

  Dewey headed toward the creek, chuckling. Sasha sliced a half dozen pieces of bread and cut up two large tomatoes, enjoying the simple domestic activities. After stirring the stew, she set the table, wondering why Jim hadn’t returned. He and Dewey usually came back from the big house together.

  Her mind drifted to thoughts of the house. Furniture should be arriving any day, and they could start decorating. Excitement made her hands tingle. It would be so much fun furnishing a whole house.

  A scuffle outside pulled her from her thoughts.

  “Sasha! Come quick.”

  Dewey’s frantic voice set her feet in motion. At first all she noticed was Jim’s saddled horse, but as the animal trotted toward the barn, she saw her uncle kneeling in the dirt. Her heart jumped as she saw Jim’s battered body lying on the ground.