Wealth Beyond Riches

by Vickie McDonough

  Copyright

  ISBN 978-1-59789-510-1

  Copyright © 2007 by Vickie McDonough. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Turly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

  One

  New York City, April 1906

  A knock sounded on the door of Sasha Di Carlo’s hotel room, and her mother glided inside without even waiting for a “Come in.” She eyed Sasha’s evening gown, hiked her chin, and sniffed. “There’s been a change of plans.”

  Always one to make a grand entrance, Cybil Di Carlo flipped open her oriental fan and waved it back and forth, fluttering the coal black tendrils of hair around her temples. The lavender silk of her Liberty and Co. evening dress swished back and forth as she moved further into the room. The scent of expensive perfume overpowered the lemony smell of oil the maid had used earlier to polish the furniture.

  “What do you mean? What’s changed?” Sasha stared at her mother and sucked in her breath as the maid secured the back of her frilly party dress.

  Cybil waved her fan at the maid, which sent the dark-skinned servant scurrying out of the hotel room. Her mother lifted her nose in the air with a hint of disinterest. “I know it’s your birthday, dear, but Nigel just surprised me with tickets to The Earl and the Girl. You know how I’ve been dying to see the Casino Theater ever since it was rebuilt after the fire. It’s all the rage now. I can’t disappoint Nigel. Those tickets cost him a fortune and are almost impossible to acquire.”

  Disbelief clogged Sasha’s throat, and tears burned her eyes. Her mother wouldn’t dare disappoint her latest beau—a wealthy Englishman Cybil had known a mere month—but her daughter was another thing. Sasha’s frustration bubbled out. “But it’s my eighteenth birthday. We’ve planned this evening for weeks.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Anastasia, don’t be so melodramatic.” Cybil clicked her fan shut and eyed Sasha with a narrowed gaze. “You know if Nigel had an extra ticket I would drag you along with us.”

  Sasha pressed her lips together, doubting Cybil’s last statement. Her famous actress mother had never been affectionate, but she had always treated Sasha to a birthday dinner each year. It was a rare, special time that Sasha cherished. One of the few times she was certain to have her popular mother’s undivided attention. She closed her eyes and pushed aside her aching disappointment. She wouldn’t cry in front of her mother no matter how much her heart hurt. That would only bring a stern reprimand.

  “There is more.”

  With her emotional control tied together by only a thin thread, Sasha composed herself and opened her eyes.

  Her mother tugged off her white kid glove, held out her left hand, and smiled. “Nigel asked me to marry him. Don’t you just adore the ring he gave me?”

  Unable to believe Cybil had finally accepted a man’s offer of marriage, Sasha stared at the gaudy diamond ring on her mother’s finger. She imagined after wearing the huge stone for a day her mother’s wrist would be aching.

  “It’s—uh. . .large.”

  Cybil pressed her lips together in a proud gloat. Her gaze caressed the oversized rock. “Yes, it is. Quite. That snooty Thelma Crowley will be green with envy.” Her mother’s black eyes glinted.

  “I suppose congratulations are in order.” Sasha couldn’t help wondering how this change would affect her. Whenever her mother turned her back when all three were together, Nigel Grantham’s leering gaze at Sasha made her shudder. She couldn’t stand the man.

  Her mother’s painted lips tilted up in a sickly sweet smile. “Yes, well, you could be a bit more enthusiastic.” While she wrestled her hand back into her glove, Cybil’s gaze traveled the room that had been Sasha’s home for the past twelve months. “I simply can’t fathom why you’re happy staying in such quaint quarters.”

  “I don’t need all the space you require, Mother, and it’s affordable. Besides, it has the same view of the city as your suite.” Sasha stifled a sigh, wondering how her mother could consider any room at the fashionable Castleworth as quaint.

  Cybil sashayed over to the chest of drawers and fingered a small statue of the Eiffel Tower. Sasha had picked it up as a souvenir of their two-year stint in Europe, where her mother had acted in several plays while Sasha had worked as a makeup artist. Now they made their home in the Castleworth Hotel where her mother’s luxurious suite took up one-fourth of the top floor, while Sasha’s more conservative single room was on the third floor.

  Though physically she was almost an exact replica of her beautiful mother, on the inside, they were very different. Cybil craved attention and fawning from anyone who was willing, but Sasha only yearned for her mother’s love. Now it looked as if she might never achieve that dream.

  “I am quitting the theater, darling. Nigel is wealthy enough that I no longer have to work. Instead, I will content myself with sitting in his private theater box seats and being part of the adoring audience. I suppose your salary with Geoffrey’s troupe will keep you living in the style you are accustomed to.”

  Sasha blinked, confusion fogging her brain. “What do you mean?”

  Her mother snapped open the fan again. “Anastasia, you are eighteen now. It is past time you were on your own. I will no longer be supporting you.”

  All manner of emotions assaulted Sasha. Her mother hadn’t truly supported her since she was sixteen when Sasha had been hired as the head makeup artist and had also begun serving as her mother’s understudy. A measure of fear snaked up her spine. Even though she was already providing for herself, her mother had been there to fall back on if things hadn’t gone as planned. Not that it had ever happened.

  Still, she couldn’t help feeling she was losing something precious—even if it was only her dream.

  “Anyway, Nigel is downstairs waiting. I must be off. You and I will catch dinner together another time.” Cybil stared at her as if she wanted to say more, then snapped shut her fan and stuffed it in her beaded handbag.

  The door clicked shut as Cybil left, and Sasha felt more alone than she ever had. Tears blurred her eyes, but she forced them away. She’d learned long ago how hard-hearted and selfish her mother could be. But her birthday had been the one day she could count on having her mother to herself.

  Ignoring the hunger pangs rumbling in her stomach, she wandered over to the window and stared out at the busy traffic on 32nd Avenue. People on their way to dinner, others heading home from work, and still more on their way to theater shows continued on their merry ways, oblivious that her heart had just shattered.

  It had taken a lot of effort to persuade her boss, Geoffrey, to allow her and Cybil to have the evening off. Up-and-comer Lorinda Swanson had been only too happy to play the lead role, and fortunately, she was up on all the lines. But all Sasha’s efforts had been for naught.

  She continued watching the people below. How could someone feel so utterly alone in such a mass of humanity?

  Sasha clenched her fist as she remembered her mother’s coldhearted glare. The woman didn’t care one whit that she’d chosen her new fiancé over her own daughter.

  Sasha’s satin dress rustled as she c
rossed the room and flopped onto the bed. All she ever wanted was to belong. To someone. To some place.

  Her mother had always considered her a nuisance. Sasha shuddered as she thought of the times as a child when she’d sat quietly alone in the dark of a hotel’s wardrobe while her mother entertained her male friends. Sasha had learned to hide in the silky long dresses and pretend she was a fairy princess.

  She picked up the Bible on the night table beside the bed. She’d meant to return it to the desk clerk but had forgotten. Some nice organization had donated it to the hotel. She didn’t understand everything within the thick book’s pages, but certain passages warmed her heart and gave her hope.

  At eighteen, she was already tired of the theater, but it was the only life she knew—the only way she could support herself. Unshed tears burned her eyes and made her throat ache. If only she had some clue who her father was—maybe she could go to him. But her mother had always refused to talk about him. Sasha didn’t even know his name.

  A yawn forced its way out. She’d looked forward to her birthday dinner for weeks, and disappointment weighed heavily upon her. Though it was only 8:00 p.m., Sasha closed her eyes and hugged the Bible to her chest. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

  ❧

  An incessant pounding pulled Sasha from her sleep. She yawned and glanced at the window, noting the sun must have been up several hours. The Ansonia Chamberlain on the fireplace mantel read nine o’clock.

  “I’m coming. Just a minute.”

  She slipped off the bed, padded across the room in her bare feet, and unlocked the door, hoping to see her mother. The theater had been closed on Sunday and Monday, so the last time she’d seen Cybil was that disappointing Saturday evening.

  The maid’s dark eyes widened. “Mercy me, Miz Di Carlo! For such an early riser, you sho’ have been sleeping late these past few days.” The young colored woman hurried behind Sasha and flung open the drapes. Sasha squinted, for the bright light hurt her dry, gritty eyes. She’d slept late because it had taken until after 2:00 a.m. to fall asleep the past few nights. Sasha yawned and stretched, wondering if she’d see her mother today.

  Prissy opened the wardrobe, revealing the wrinkled, pale green evening dress Sasha had purchased especially for her birthday dinner. She had hoped her appearance in the fancy new gown would please her critical mother, but Cybil hadn’t even noticed.

  Disappointed again, Sasha removed her nightgown and flopped onto the Victorian sofa, dressed only in her undergarments. Today would be better than yesterday. She’d spent enough time upset, and she needed to put the past behind her.

  Prissy rummaged through the wardrobe. “What would you like to wear? Your pale blue day dress? Or perhaps the yellow one?”

  Sasha waved her hand in the air. “It doesn’t matter. You pick.” Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten much lately. She’d had little appetite. Breakfast was usually a lonely affair as her mother rarely rose before noon.

  Prissy fluffed the yellow gown. “You need something cheery today.” She laid the dress on the bed, then pivoted. “Oh, I almost forgot. Your mama gave me a package to give to you. And I have one from the hotel manager, too.”

  Hope sparked within Sasha. Had her mother perhaps sent her a birthday gift to make up for missing dinner?

  Prissy pulled two envelopes from her apron pocket and handed them to her, one bearing the hotel insignia. “I’ll just go get some fresh water whilst you read your letters.”

  The door clicked shut as the maid slipped out. Sasha turned over the thicker, plain white envelope. It didn’t look like a present.

  Business first, then hopefully pleasure. She loosened the flap on the hotel envelope and pulled out a heavy linen sheet.

  Dear Miss Di Carlo,

  We here at the Castleworth Hotel are very sorry to see your mother leave.

  As she read the short missive, her heart stumbled. Sasha crinkled her forehead. What was he talking about? Her mother wasn’t going anywhere. She still had ten months left on her contract.

  We have enjoyed having you both as our guests this past year. However, I regret that I must inform you that the rate for your room must be increased. We have graciously charged you only half price, due to the fact that your mother was also staying in one of our top-floor suites. Now that that is no longer the case, we must charge you full price for your room. The rate increase goes into effect beginning Monday.

  She lowered the letter to her lap, trying to make sense of it. If she had to pay full price, she would be forced to find a room in a less expensive hotel. But what was all this chatter about her mother leaving?

  With shaking hands, she picked up her mother’s thick envelope, loosened the flap, and peered inside. There was a folded sheet of what looked like hotel stationery and a yellowed envelope. She pulled out the paper, and a pile of money fell into her lap. Curious, she read the note.

  Sasha darling,

  By the time you read this letter, Nigel and I will have departed for England. He persuaded Geoffrey to release me from my contract, and we are getting married at Grantham Manor, his family’s two-hundred-year-old castle. This will come as a shock, but you are a capable girl and will be fine without me.

  I know you have been curious about your heritage. You certainly needled me enough with endless questions about it. I must confess that my past is a grievance to me. I couldn’t bear to voice the horrible truth out loud. You will understand when you read the enclosed letter. I will see you on our return in a year or two.

  Thinking of you,

  Cybil Angelina Di Carlo

  Stunned, Sasha stared at the letter. Her mother was gone?To England?

  Cybil must have planned this for weeks. She couldn’t simply secure passage on a ship so quickly. Her mother hadn’t even had the nerve to tell her good-bye in person. Sasha pressed her hand against her aching heart. She thought nothing could feel worse than the pain she’d encountered on her birthday, but she’d been mistaken.

  She wadded up the letter and tossed it across the room, then grabbed the dollars, slinging them aside, and watched as they spiraled down to the carpet. Penance money—that’s what it was. Money to ease her mother’s guilty conscience.

  Pressing her lips tightly together, she locked her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling.

  “Am I so worthless my own mother doesn’t want me?”

  Cybil hadn’t even had faith that her daughter could take care of herself and had to shame her by giving her money. She hadn’t even signed the letter with “Mother,” but instead used her full name.

  Well, she was truly on her own now. Sighing, Sasha took hold of the aged envelope and turned it in her hands. The letter was from a Dewey Hummingbird in Indian Territory. She closed her eyes and searched her memory to see if that name held some meaning.

  No, she’d never heard it before.

  The yellowed envelope crackled as she withdrew the paper from inside. An unfamiliar scribbling covered several pages. Sasha rubbed her eyes and began reading.

  Dearest Myrtle,

  Myrtle? She glanced at the envelope again. Who is Myrtle?

  Only one way to find out, so she continued reading.

  Or should I call you by your theater name—Cybil? How I long to see you again. I hope you and Anastasia are well. Your aunt Kizzie married Raymond Arbuckle and is living on the land next to mine. They are very happy and would love to have a whole tribe of children, but Kizzie has been unable to become with child. My Jenny is gone now. Buried her last August under the big oak on the hill behind my cabin.

  I wish you and Sasha could come visit. How old is she now? Three? Four?

  Sasha laid the letter in her lap. Confusion swirled with excitement. She had family! An aunt and this man who wrote the letter. But how could her mother have kept this correspondence for nearly fifteen years and never have mentioned it?

  I feel I should have done more to make you happy, but you were never the same after your parents were killed. I kno
w living on a farm in Indian Territory was hard for you. You always had such big dreams. Forgive me for my shortcomings. And please, if you find the time, come and bring your daughter for a visit. She deserves the chance to meet her Creek relatives and to learn about her rich ancestry.

  Always yours,

  Your uncle, Dewey Hummingbird

  Creek Nation, Indian Territory

  P.S. Things have greatly changed around here, so I’ve included directions to my home, in case you decide to visit.

  Numb, Sasha stared out the window across the room. She’d always dreamed of and longed for a heritage, but to be an Indian! People in New York referred to Indians as savages.

  Was it true?

  The man in the letter sure didn’t sound like a savage. He could even read and write.

  Did her mother never tell her about their Indian heritage because she was ashamed? Or because she thought people would treat her unkindly? She must have been ashamed since she’d changed her name and had kept the information a secret all these years.

  Sasha closed her eyes, trying to take it all in. All her life she’d thought she was Italian because of their last name. Was Di Carlo her father’s surname—or just another name her mother had made up?

  Being Indian also explained her mother’s high cheek bones and black hair and eyes. Sasha crossed the room and stared in the mirror. Her facial features were similar to her mother’s, but her complexion and hair color were quite a bit lighter.

  What would her friends say if they knew she was Indian?

  What about Geoffrey, her employer?

  Now she understood the secret burden her mother had borne all these years. Myrtle Hummingbird must have left home, changed her name, and become an actress.

  All her life Sasha had wanted to belong to a family and to settle down and live in a real house. For as long as she could remember, she wanted to quit living in hotels and have a place to put down roots. To be accepted for whom she was on the inside, not because she was pretty or had a famous mother.

  But to be an Indian—a half-breed, most likely—was more than she could comprehend. Would the theater troupe bers despise her if they learned the truth?