Wealth Beyond Riches

by Vickie McDonough

  She looked down at the letter in her fist. It was the only link to her family. Pressing the paper against her lap, she smoothed it. Somewhere, far away in Indian Territory, she had a relative—an uncle who wanted to meet her.

  Sasha glanced at the money strewn across her floor. Was there enough to get her to Indian Territory and back? Would Geoffrey allow her to take a leave of absence from the theater, especially since her mother had just left?

  Or maybe she should quit. There were plenty who could take her place.

  Then again, if they learned she was part Indian, they might boot her out of the troupe without even a second glance. She and her mother would most likely become pariahs.

  But she had family—family who longed to see her.

  She paced the room, wrestling with her discovery. Should she go to Indian Territory and meet her uncle and learn of her heritage? Or should she stay in New York and live a lie, doing a job that didn’t hold her heart?

  She had toured the richest cities of eastern America and Europe with her mother and other members of the acting troupe, but did she dare travel west—far past Chicago—to primitive Indian Territory?

  With a quick knock, Prissy slipped back into the room and eyed the money on the floor. Having worked several years at the hotel, she ignored the scene and set her bucket of water beside the basin. “You ready to wash up, ma’am?”

  Sasha nodded. “Did you know my mother was leaving, Prissy?”

  The maid ducked her head and fiddled with her apron. “Yes’m, but Miz Cybil threatened to have me fired if I said a word. I’m so sorry, Miz Sasha.”

  “It’s all right. I understand.”

  “Pardon me for saying, but your mama is jealous of you.”

  Sasha’s head jerked up. “Jealous? Of me? Why ever for?”

  “You’re prettier than her. She’s afraid you’d soon steal the lead from her, and she couldn’t handle that thought, so she done run off.”

  Sasha blinked in disbelief. Was that truly what her mother thought? That she’d try to take her place? The thought had never even entered Sasha’s mind and only emphasized how little Sasha knew her own mother.

  Pushing aside her disappointment, Sasha allowed an excitement that she hadn’t felt in a long time to surge through her. She had family. Family who wanted to meet her.

  She spun around. “Yes, I want to wash up, and then I need you to help me pack.”

  Prissy blinked in confusion. “But your mama’s already gone. It’s too late to join her.”

  A grin tugged at Sasha’s lips. “I’m not going with Mother. I’m going to visit my uncle.”

  Two

  Creek Nation, Indian Territory, May 1906

  Sasha stared out the window of the gently swaying train, wondering how much longer it would be before she arrived in Tulsa. They had already crossed into Indian Territory, but she’d yet to see a tepee or an Indian out the window. Though many of the passengers looked as if they might carry Native American blood, their clothing seemed nearly as modern as her own.

  Still, she couldn’t stop the chills that charged up her spine. Did Indians still go on the warpath?

  She’d heard stories of pioneers meeting up with bands of renegade Indians who shot zinging arrows and whooped eerie cries. Some adventurers had even lost their scalps and lives. She shuddered and reached up, tugging her hat forward, hoping and praying those days were past.

  But then, she was of Indian blood. A half-breed most likely. Would that make any difference if the train were attacked?

  A man across from her cleared his throat, and Sasha jumped.

  “I was wondering, ma’am, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner at our next stop? I’m rather tired of the dining car’s food and fancy something different.”

  She stifled a sigh and stared at the gentleman dressed stylishly in his gray three-piece suit. Hope sparked in his pale blue eyes. He ran a neatly manicured finger over his thin moustache.

  She’d lost count of the number of men who had offered to buy her meals and pushed their unwanted attentions her way since she’d left New York. A few men had even asked her to marry them. She now understood why most women traveled with an escort. But for her, that hadn’t been an option.

  It had been a mistake to dress in her tailored Edwardian suit. The short bolero jacket only helped to emphasize her narrow waist, but the dark blue color was perfect for traveling because it didn’t show dirt or coal dust.

  She glanced at the man, patiently awaiting her response. “I sincerely appreciate your kindness, sir, but I do not intend to disembark the train for dinner at our next stop.” No, but she would locate her trunk and fetch a change of clothing.

  “But surely you must eat.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

  Oh, how she wished these train seats didn’t face one another. She shook her head. “Thank you, but I have something leftover from my last stop.”

  He pressed his lips together and sat back. “As you wish.”

  Relieved that he acquiesced, Sasha focused her attention on the passing landscape again. Growing up the daughter of a famous and beautiful actress, she’d had her share of men’s attentions. Though her mother craved the limelight and being fawned over by adoring men, Sasha had never liked it. Somehow she felt there had to be more to a relationship between a man and a woman than physical attraction. She longed for friendship and even love. But she’d seen few examples in the theater world of happily married couples.

  Sasha could feel the man across from her staring, and she sighed, wishing she’d worn her old woman’s costume. When things in New York became more than she could bear, she’d skillfully apply some theater makeup and dress as an old woman. Incognito, she was free to ramble the streets of New York without an escort or sit in a park without disturbance. Her old woman’s costume had served her well and had given her the freedom to wander where she wanted without drawing the attention of half the men on the street.

  A half hour later, the train stopped in a small town that resembled ten others they’d passed through. In the washroom of the depot, Sasha changed out of her travel clothes and put on her costume that a kind freight conductor had helped her retrieve from her trunk. Now she shuffled down the aisle, dressed as an elderly woman. Her cane tapped out a slow rhythm as she made her way to the final seat, which faced the wall of the train. Her makeup was good at a distance but most likely wouldn’t hold up to close scrutiny.

  As she settled herself on the wooden seat, she set her cane on the bench beside her to discourage anyone from sitting there. She readjusted her fringed scarf and stared out the window with a smile tugging at her lips. Several men, including the one who’d asked her to dinner, had looked her way and tipped their hats, but not a one had pressed his attentions. Perhaps she’d have solitude for the final leg of her long trip.

  From her satchel, she dug out a hard biscuit left over from breakfast, as she eagerly anticipated her arrival. What would her uncle think when he finally saw her?

  She’d left New York so quickly that she hadn’t taken time to write a letter or send him a telegraph message. Would he be happy to see her?

  Mile after mile of low hills and wild acres of tall prairie grass sped by. The gently rolling landscape was refreshing after the flat, treeless plains of Kansas.

  Her thoughts drifted back to the big buildings of New York. Would she ever return? She wasn’t sure that she wanted to. Deep in her heart, she hoped that she’d find the family she’d always longed for. But she hadn’t yet reconciled herself to the fact that she was part Indian—Creek Indian.

  What would her theater troupe say if they learned the truth? What would life be like in an Indian village? Was it possible that her uncle live in a tepee?

  She had so many questions and nobody to answer them.

  The train slowed as it made a sluggish turn to the south. Gradually it began to pick up speed again, and the gentle swaying lulled Sasha into a relaxed state. She closed her eyes and saw a pi
cture of her mother. Had Cybil missed her yet?

  A more poignant question was, did she miss her mother?

  An ache coursed through her as she realized she did. If she stayed in Indian Territory, she’d probably never see Cybil again, and that thought made her sad, in spite of the way her mother had treated her. They’d never been close, and Cybil had made it clear on many occasions how inconvenient it was to be a famous celebrity and have to deal with the responsibility of a child. Sasha had grown up quickly and learned to depend on herself. Still, as long as her mother was around, she had never been totally alone. Until now. Unshed tears burned her eyes, and her throat tightened.

  Please, Uncle Dewey. . .please want me.

  ❧

  Two hours later, Sasha retied her scarf and picked up her satchel and handbag. There was definitely a negative side to dressing like an old woman. She’d already stopped at five of the nicer Tulsa hotels and several of the lower-class ones that people here referred to as “cowboy hotels.” Each clerk had refused to rent her a room, saying, “We don’t rent to Gypsies.”

  She’d never even seen a Gypsy before and had no idea that her costume resembled one until now.

  Sasha looked ahead and to her left to make sure no one was watching, then darted down a dark alley. Her heart pounded, and she prayed she wouldn’t run into any Indians, not that the ones she’d seen so far looked all that fierce. In fact, much to her surprise, most resembled white men with just darker skin and hair. Very few had been dressed in what she assumed was native garb. Most of the hotel clerks had even looked like they were of Indian blood.

  She found an unlocked shed behind the Whitaker Hotel and scurried into it. Leaning against the closed door, she willed her heart to slow its frantic pace. Things were so different here in Tulsa. The handful of buildings were only a few stories high, and everything seemed so rustic. The town was so small compared to New York City. She could only hope she was doing the right thing by coming here.

  Changing clothes quickly, she considered what the clerk at the train depot had told her. After she had made arrangements to store her trunk until she could return for it, the clerk confirmed that Dewey Hummingbird used to live in Keaton, near where oil was first found at the Glenn Pool strike. The man knew her uncle because Dewey had occasionally picked up freight at the Tulsa depot, but the clerk hadn’t seen him in a long time. Disappointment surged through her. Traveling across the country and buying frequent meals had cost more than she’d expected. With her funds dwindling, what would she do if her uncle no longer lived in the area?

  As she entered the Whitaker Hotel, again dressed in her stylish travel clothes and with her makeup removed, she noticed the clerk’s gaze rivet on her. His eyes sparked, and he straightened his black vest and string tie. A man on her side of the counter also turned to stare, a leering grin tilting his cheek.

  “Howdy, ma’am. What can I help you with?” The clerk’s interested gaze darted sideways toward his buddy, and he lifted his eyebrows up and down.

  Sasha never ceased to be amazed at how men could be so easily swayed by a pretty woman. No one had shown kindness to her when she was dressed as an old woman. Was there not a single man in the world who had character?

  Lifting her chin, she pinned the clerk with a stern glare. “I’d like a room for the night, please.”

  He adjusted his string tie again and cleared his throat. “I’d be happy to rent you a room, but mostly cowpokes and oil workers bunk here. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in a fancier hotel?”

  Sasha shook her head. “I’ve already been told there are no rooms available at those establishments.”

  “Well. . .” The man leaned on the counter and narrowed his eyes, “I have a room, but I can’t guarantee your safety. We don’t often get women traveling alone here—at least not of your caliber. If you know what I mean.”

  Sasha surmised what he meant but didn’t want to think about the ladies of the night. “I assure you I’m quite able to take care of myself. So, if you don’t mind, I’ve traveled a long ways and am rather tired.”

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugged one shoulder, pushed the registration book toward her, and collected her coins.

  She followed him up the stairs of the bare, wooden structure and down a dimly lit hallway toward two rugged cowboys. Their low rumbling voices halted as she drew near. One man leaned against the door jamb, and the other stood in the narrow walkway. Whiskers shaded their jaws, and they smelled strongly of cigars and cattle.

  “Whoowee! Would you look at that, Sam. A real lady, right here at Whitaker’s.”

  Sasha hugged the wall and hurried closer to the clerk as she passed the men.

  “Mmm-mmm. Sure does make your mouth water.” The taller of the two men sidestepped and blocked her path. “H’lo there, missy.”

  Sasha halted and shivered as the second man sidled up behind her. She’d had her share of run-ins with dandies in New York. These men might dress and smell differently, but they were all the same. Stroke their egos, and you could usually get what you wanted—that was one thing she’d learned from her mother. As she formulated her words, she heard footsteps stomping toward her.

  “You two leave that woman be. She’s a customer just like you. If you cause trouble, you’ll be out on the streets.” The clerk glared at the two men.

  One cowboy smirked, his gray eyes burning holes into her. “I think you’re wrong, Dwight. She ain’t nothing like me.” He tipped his hat, and the floor squeaked as he stepped aside. “Be seeing you later, ma’am.”

  The clerk opened a door several rooms past the cowboys and handed her a key. “I try to run a clean place, but with all the rough cowpokes and roustabouts who stay here, it’s difficult. I’ll bring up some fresh water. And I don’t have to tell you to stay in your room and keep the door locked, do I?”

  Sasha shook her head and hurried inside, closing and securing the door. She looked around the sparse room, so different from the nice one she’d had in New York. The bare, unpainted walls reeked of cigar smoke. The bed was simply a plain, wooden frame with a sagging mattress and worn quilt. No carpet decorated the bare, dusty floor. She dragged the ladder-back chair across the tiny room and wedged the top slat under the door handle.

  As she dropped her satchel on the narrow bed, her throat tightened. Had she made a horrible mistake coming here?

  Tulsa was so rugged, even though the effects of the recent oil boom were evident. Many of the buildings still smelled of fresh wood, and there were several new brick structures. As she’d strolled down the boardwalk, she could hear the sound of hammering in all directions. But everything was so unlike New York. Even the town’s odor was different—more like animals and dirt.

  Sasha lifted up the lone window and peered out, watching the people wandering along the boardwalk. Though it was still chilly in New York, a stiff, warm breeze blew in her window, lessening the cigar odor.

  Having used nearly all of her money to get here, going back would prove difficult. Her training as a makeup artist and intern actress wasn’t likely to do her any good in Indian Territory. Besides, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to work in theater anymore.

  A tear slipped down her cheek. Her throat burned. In New York she never cried, but this was a world away. And her mother wasn’t here to chastise her.

  Maybe just this once she’d give in to her tears.

  ❧

  Jim Conners kicked open the door of his hotel room, removed his hat, and tossed it onto the bed. He crossed the tiny room, pushed aside the dingy curtain, and stared down onto Second Street, watching the people.

  He hadn’t wanted to overnight in town, but when the load of freight he was supposed to pick up hadn’t arrived, he’d had no choice. It was too late to drive back to Keaton today and too dangerous to camp out with all the rough oil workers in the area looking for some nighttime fun. Jim heaved a sigh. He hoped his employer wouldn’t worry about him.

  A raucous laugh across the hall pulled him from his musin
g.

  “She’s a looker, that one. I say we see if she wants some company.”

  Jim tossed his hat on the bed and looked through his open door across the hall where two men in room four were talking. One man rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Yeah, she’s a fine lady, but you heard Whitaker—he said he don’t want no trouble.”

  Sensing something was amiss, Jim slipped behind his open door and peered at the men through the crack between the door and the frame.

  “Whitaker’s downstairs.” The shorter man leaned forward toward his friend and spoke softly. “What he don’t know, he cain’t object to.”

  A sickening grin tugged the second man’s lips, and he cackled a raspy laugh. “You’re right, Shorty.” He nudged his buddy in the shoulder with his elbow. “I say let’s have us some fun. Shhh, here comes Whitaker.”

  Jim’s skin crawled. These two were up to no good, and he suspected an innocent woman would pay the price. Though he had a hankering to head over to the café and get some supper before the place closed, he needed to find out what these two rabble-rousers were up to. If his sister, Katie, ever encountered trouble, he’d like to think someone would help her. How could he do any less?

  Jim heard footsteps treading down the wooden hall in his direction. They passed by, and a knock sounded several rooms away.

  “I’ve brung your water, ma’am. I’ve got customers waiting downstairs, so I’ll just leave it here outside your door.”

  Footsteps rushed in his direction, passed by again, then faded away.

  For a few seconds, nothing could be heard except the muffled sounds of outside noises—the whinny of a horse, a faint hint of laughter.

  “Dwight’s gone, and no one else is around. Now’s as good a time as any,” the tall man across the hall whispered. “Let’s just wait outside her door until she opens it for the water.”

  “Yeah. Sounds good to me.”

  The men’s spurs jingled as they shuffled into the hall toward the back of the hotel. Jim slipped around the door and peeked out, watching the shorter man’s back move away from him. He checked his gun, making sure it was fully loaded, and waited.