“Who’s out there?”
She jumped at the sound of a man’s voice coming from behind the door and licked her lips. “I’m, uh. . .looking for Dewey Hummingbird. Is this his cabin?”
The door opened a crack, and the barrel of a rifle slipped through the opening, pointing straight at Sasha’s chest. Her heart skipped a beat.
“Who are you and what do you want at this hour?”
Oh, if only she hadn’t been so hasty to leave New York, but it was too late to succumb to her doubts. She took a deep, straightening breath. “My name is Anastasia Di Carlo, and I’m looking for my uncle, Dewey Hummingbird. Is this the right place?”
She was certain she heard a gasp on the other side of the door. The rifle quickly disappeared, and the door opened, revealing a thin, elderly man. He studied her for a moment, then his mouth broke into a smile, revealing several missing teeth.
“I can’t believe it!” He slapped his leg several times, looked past her, and then back. “How did you get here? Where’s your mother?”
“I came by train. Alone.” She swallowed the lump in her throat.
The small oil lantern on the table by the window illuminated the side of his rugged face in dancing light. Deep lines were etched into dark skin. Though he must have been in his late fifties or sixties, his hair was still raven black. He smelled of wood smoke and stared at her as she examined his features. He shook his head and stepped back.
“Forgive me. Please come in. I just can’t believe you’re here.”
Sasha ducked away from a moth seeking the light, and he swatted it outside. “You are Dewey Hummingbird. . .my uncle?”
Lips that didn’t look as if they’d smiled much tilted upward. “I sure am. Come on in, or we’ll have half the bugs in the Creek Nation in here. Not that they’d bother me, but you. . .”
Sasha tugged her satchel inside and held it in front of her. On the seat of an old chair, she noticed a copy of Treasure Island, and a spark of surprise flickered through her. She had trouble imagining her uncle as an educated man. In New York, Indians were always classified by words like savage or primitive. But he had written the letter to her mother. And she’d overheard a man on the train who’d said that Creek Indians were considered one of the five civilized tribes, though she wasn’t sure what he meant by that.
She glanced around the small, rustic log cabin. Much of it remained hidden in the shadows, but what she saw made her shiver. What had she gotten herself into?
“I know this place isn’t much. I’m actually building a bigger house, but it’s not quite done yet.” He stared at her. “I can’t believe you’re here. It’s so good to finally see you. I’d almost given up hope of you ever coming here.”
She smiled at the delight twinkling in his dark eyes. “It’s wonderful to meet you, too.”
“Here, let me have that.” He took her satchel, disappeared into a dark room off to the side, and returned. “You’re an answer to prayer.”
Sasha blinked. “I am?” She’d never been someone’s answer to prayer before—at least not that she knew of.
Her uncle smiled. “Yes’m, you sure are. I’ve been praying for years that Myrtle would come for a visit and bring you.” His expression sobered. “Where is your mother? Is she all right?”
Sasha nodded. “Yes, she’s fine—as far as I know. She’s gone to England to get married.”
“Married! Well, that’s a good thing, I suppose. I hope she’s happy.”
“I’m sure she is.” Sasha pressed her lips together. She didn’t want to be reminded of her mother’s desertion.
He hurried over to the chair and picked up his book. “Have a seat. You must be tired. How did you get here from town?”
“I walked.” She dropped down in the chair, realizing just how exhausted she truly was.
“That’s a fair distance on foot.” He disappeared into the dim shadows across the room and returned carrying a glass. “Want a drink? The water here is good and cold.”
She nodded. He handed her a glass with a chipped top, and she gulped down the refreshing liquid.
Her uncle pulled a wooden chair away from the small table and sat across from her. His face burst into a smile again. “Thank the good Lord. I just can’t believe you’re really here. You look much like your mother did when she was young, Anastasia.”
“Please call me Sasha. Anastasia is so formal.”
He nodded. “And you may call me Dewey—or Uncle—or whatever you’d like.
Never having met anyone who’d known Cybil when she was young before, Sasha considered his comment about her looking like her mother when she was younger. There was something special about it.
“How long can you stay?”
Sasha tightened her grasp on the wooden arms of the chair, unsure how to respond. The trip to Tulsa had cost much more than she’d anticipated, and unless she found some work she could do, she was stranded.
“I. . .uh, I don’t know. How long would you like me to stay?”
His gaze darted around the cabin. “This ain’t what you’re used to, what with your having lived in those fancy places in New York and all, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. Or at least as long as you think you can stand it.” He chuckled as if he’d made a joke.
“I would like to stay awhile and get to know you, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”
“You’re welcome to stay forever if you want.” He smiled. “I’m just happy to finally get to meet you and have family here again. But you look all tuckered out. How about you get some rest, and we can talk more in the morning? Unless you’d rather have something to eat first.”
“I am a bit hungry, but I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”
“No trouble.” He stood. “You like peaches?”
Sasha nodded. “Yes, that sounds good. Thank you.”
He shuffled toward her with a twig in his hand and stuck it in the lantern. It flamed to life, and he used it to light another lamp on the other side of the room. The insides of the primitive cabin shocked her. How could anyone live with so little? Two small pots hung below a wooden rack that held several plates and cups. A tiny table rested against the far wall. The mate to the chair her uncle had used looked lonely sitting there by itself.
“I don’t have company too often. Just my workman. He and I take most meals together. Hey, can you cook?”
She shook her head. “Not really. I always wanted to learn, but I never got the opportunity, living in hotels most of my life.”
“That’s too bad. I’m not much of a cook myself.”
He opened a jar of peaches, spooned out several, then handed her a bowl and sat back down in the chair. Though elderly, he seemed to get around well and was able to take care of himself.
The sweet, yet tart, juice of the peach teased her tongue, and she stuffed the slice the rest of the way in her mouth. “Mmm. . .these are delicious. New York’s peaches don’t taste anything like this.”
“Your grandma planted our peach trees when she was young. I share the harvest with a neighbor lady, and she cans them for me.”
Sasha looked up. Surprise zinged through her insides at the mention of her grandmother. “Tell me about my grandmother.”
He grinned. “I can do that. Her name was Adele Hummingbird, and she was my brother’s wife.”
“Your brother? My grandfather?”
“James was his name. He was my older brother by four years, but he passed away several years ago. We had a much younger sister named Kizzie.” He rubbed his chin and looked away for a moment. “She died last year.”
A deep sense of losing something precious left Sasha weak. If she’d only known about her family sooner, she could have met her aunt. “I’m sorry.”
He waved aside her concern. “Kizzie lived a good life. It’s because of a promise I made her that I’m building a new house.”
Sasha finished the peaches and handed the bowl to her uncle.
“I reckon we ought to get you settled fo
r the night.” He pushed up from his chair, set the bowl on the table, and returned for the lantern.
Sasha yawned, not wanting to move. She’d barely slept any the night before for fear the two men would find her. When she had fallen asleep, she’d dreamed about the handsome cowboy saving her. Finally, she forced her exhausted body up and followed her uncle into the tiny bedroom. She longed to hear more about her family, but it could wait until morning.
Her uncle set the lantern on a small table next to a single bed. On the far wall were several pegs that she imagined held all of her uncle’s clothes. He grabbed a plaid shirt off one peg and a blanket that was lying over the back of the only chair in the room.
“Make yourself at home. There’s an outhouse back of the cabin. . .if’n you’ve need of it.”
Sasha was sure her uncle’s cheeks had darkened a shade. Suddenly, she realized he was offering her his room. “Oh no, I can’t take your bed. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor. Truly.”
She reached for the blanket, but he tugged it away.
“No, I’ll bed down in my workman’s tent with him. He won’t mind at all.”
“But—”
“No buts. You’re my guest, and I’m happy you’re here. Have a good rest. I’ll see you in the morning after the cock crows.”
He turned and left before she could argue. Exhausted, she untied her shoes and tossed them under the chair. She blew out the lamp and flopped on the bed, thinking about her ancestors. Her grandparents had names now—James and Adele Hummingbird.
Smiling in the dim lighting, she thought about her talkative uncle. She liked him, but she couldn’t help feeling thankful that she hadn’t been raised in such rugged circumstances.
But what about now? Could she handle living like he did?
The truth suddenly hit her—she truly was of Indian blood. She might never know about her father’s side of the family, unless maybe Uncle Dewey knew something, but at least she now had a heritage. If only she could embrace it.
Five
Sasha held her uncle’s arm as they left the family grave plot where her grandparents and aunt and uncle Arbuckle were buried. It saddened her to think she had family she could have gotten to know if only her mother had brought her for a visit.
“Yes’m, Kizzie led a good life. Her only regret was not having children.” He patted Sasha’s hand. “She’d have loved you and mothered you half to death.”
She smiled. “I would have liked that. May I ask how she died?”
“The doctor said her heart just gave out. Folks around here loved Kizzie. She was always doing something nice for someone.”
Dewey led her past the cabin and up a hill. Off to her right she heard a whack, followed by a pause, and then another whack. Her uncle glanced past her as the pattern of sounds continued.
“That’s my workman chopping wood. He’s a fine boy. You’ll like him.”
Sasha wasn’t so sure of that. Any boys she’d been around had always been ornery troublemakers.
“Kizzie struck oil on her land. She died a wealthy woman.” Dewey shook his head. “I didn’t want her money, but she left it and her land to me. Made me promise to build a nice house for myself. Said to make it big enough just on the chance you and your mother might come back some day.”
Sasha turned her head and stared at him. “She actually said that?”
“Yes’m, she sure did.”
With an uncommon lightheartedness warming her chest, she lifted her skirts with her free hand and allowed her uncle to propel her up the hill. As they reached the top, she gasped out loud. The rising sun, hidden directly behind the large house, made it look as if the structure had a shiny golden halo. The two-story brick home, in the final stages of completion, would rival anything in New York, but it looked so out of place here in the wilds of Indian Territory.
“It’s too fancy for my blood, but I promised Kizzie—and now that you’re here, I’m glad I did.” Dewey glanced at her, and for the first time, he looked shy—hesitant. “You like it?”
“Oh, yes! It’s lovely. Can we go in?”
“I don’t see why not. The workers should be here anytime, but we’ll stay out of their way.
The double doors opened into a tall foyer, which included a beautiful curved staircase. Sasha’s mouth hung open, but she couldn’t help it. She felt as if she’d walked into Cinderella’s castle.
The scent of fresh wood tickled her nose, and her footsteps echoed in the empty structure. Elegant dark wood rose three feet from the wide baseboards and was topped by a delicate wainscoting. Above that, all the walls were plain. Her mind raced with ideas. She envisioned a lovely floral wallpaper in the foyer. . .
Some time later, they stood in the room she’d picked for her own at her uncle’s request. They opened the double doors and walked out on the wide balcony overlooking a small lake. Ducks quacked to one another as they splashed in the pristine water. Far off to her right, she could see the tips of several derricks, but no other oil equipment obliterated the view.
“It’s so lovely here.”
Dewey moved to her side. “Yes’m, it is. I’ve had plenty of those oilmen out here wanting me to lease them my land for drilling, but I want to keep it the way God made it. I don’t need the money, but I need for the land to stay the way it was when our people first came here.”
“I’m glad you feel that way. I know oil has made many people wealthy and the country needs it, but I saw how it ruins the land.”
He nodded, and they stood together in silence, enjoying the view and the cool breeze. In spite of the rustic setting, Sasha felt as if she’d finally come home. Was it possible to find her roots in this place?
“I used to farm mostly, but now I run a couple hundred head of cattle. Those oilmen like their beef.” Dewey turned to face her. In the daylight his wrinkles were magnified, but his eyes reflected the kindness she heard in his voice. He was no savage, just a man with Indian heritage.
As much as she ached to belong to someone or some place, she still couldn’t reconcile with the fact that she was a half-breed. She may not ever have met her father, but it was evident by her lighter skin tone that she wasn’t full-blooded Creek. Would she be welcomed into the Creek Nation or considered a despised outcast?
“Did you know my father?”
Dewey shook his head. “No. You’re mother must have met him after she left here.” He stretched and turned to face her. “So, what do you think? Could you stay and furnish this house for me? I might know building materials, but I know nothing about home furnishings and all the fripperies a fancy house like this needs.”
She shook off her disappointment that Dewey didn’t know her father and allowed excitement to soar through her at all the possibilities for the house.
“I’ve more money than I could spend in a lifetime, so you can do whatever suits your fancy.”
A wave of apprehension washed over her. Would it be taking advantage of her uncle in some way to spend his money?
He flapped his hand in the air. “I see your mind working, missy. This is your home, too. I want you to feel you can stay as long as you like, and if you need to leave, you’ll always have a place to return to. And when I’m gone, this will be yours. You and your mom are the only kin I’ve got left.”
Unshed tears stung Sasha’s eyes at her uncle’s surprising kindness, and she looked at the lake so she wouldn’t embarrass him. Even her own mother had never treated her as lovingly as this man she’d only met twelve hours ago.
A loud whistle broke the natural quiet, and Sasha searched for the source. She could see someone walking toward the house in the shadows of the trees, but he was too far away to tell much about him. It must be her uncle’s worker.
Dewey tapped his watch. “Yep, right on time. C’mon, I want you to meet my boy. He’s like a son to me.”
They reached the bottom of the curved stairs just as the front door opened. Sasha sucked in a breath. The man who’d come to her rescue twice walked into the
room. A good six-feet tall, he wore a blue chambray shirt and dusty jeans. This was certainly no boy, but a handsome, well-built man. Jim Conners, her champion.
Her mouth went dry as she stood on the bottom step and watched him set down his crate of tools. He removed his hat, and his thick thatch of ebony hair flopped back down, giving him a roguish air. Her heart skittered as his dark, surprised gaze landed on her. His eyes were nearly as black as her uncle’s, but his skin was a healthy sun-kissed tan, lacking the red tones that Dewey’s had.
“Lookee here, Jimmy boy. We’ve got us a guest.”
❧
Jim’s mouth felt dry as a desert as shock rippled through him. The last thing he expected to see in his boss’s new house was a beautiful woman. As he continued to stare, her cheeks turned a dark rose, and she finally glanced away.
“Jimmy, this is my niece, Anastasia Di Carlo. She’s from New York City.”
Unaccustomed to being taken off guard, Jimmy struggled to gather his composure and stepped forward, hat in hand. He crinkled the brim and licked his lips, hoping to find his voice. He held out his hand. “Jim Conners. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
Her eyes sparkled, and she reached out, shaking his hand. “It’s my pleasure, Mr. Conners.”
Jim’s gaze collided with hers. There was something familiar about her saddle brown eyes. His mouth opened, then he slammed it shut. This was the woman from the hotel! He was certain.
She cleared her throat, and Dewey chuckled. Jim realized he was staring and still held her hand. He released it as if it were a rattler and stepped back.
“She’s a sight to behold, ain’t she?” Dewey waggled his eyebrows.
Jim nodded, searching his mind for any conversation he’d had with Dewey about a niece. He drew a blank. All the times they’d worked together and ridden to church or town, Dewey had never mentioned having family outside of Indian Territory. In fact, as far as he knew, all of Dewey’s family had already passed on. But now Dewey’s niece had arrived, and Jim had a feeling his life would never be the same.
His heart stampeded as he looked at Miss Di Carlo again. She had to be one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. She studied him, as he did her. She’d tied her long brown hair back with a ribbon, but rebellious waves that refused to be tamed wafted around her face. His eyes followed her narrow nose down to lips that looked soft and kissable.
Wealth Beyond Riches Page 4
