Wealth Beyond Riches

by Vickie McDonough

  Sasha slid to her feet and walked toward the door. “I’ll go make us some dinner, and then we can go check the cabin—and maybe the barn, too.”

  Jim sighed as she exited the room, wishing he could help her more. What would happen to her if they couldn’t find the will? Would Sasha return to New York?

  He stood and swung the chair back into the corner, knowing his heart would break if that happened. He shoved his hands into his back pockets, and his fingers rattled some paper.

  The letter.

  In all the commotion of the funeral, the confrontation with the three men, and burying Dewey, he’d forgotten about the letter from his uncle that he’d picked up at the post office earlier. Jim pulled the envelope from his pocket and tore it open with his finger.

  Dear Jimmy,

  I can’t tell you how happy it made me to hear that you are satisfied with your job. Dewey Hummingbird sounds like a fine man, and I’m glad that he’s been an encouragement in your walk with the Lord. I had my doubts when you left the farm last, but God was directing you to where you needed to be.

  I have some news. My father died. He left me his plantation in Georgia, but I don’t yet know what I’ll do with it. I have no desire to ever live there again. Only bad memories surface when I think of that place.

  I know I should grieve over my father’s death, but the truth is, he was a cruel man, and my only grief comes from knowing he didn’t walk with God.

  Father sent me a letter last year when he learned he was dying. I’ve wrestled with whether to share his deathbed confession with you or not. But given your circumstances and surroundings, I thought you’d want to know.

  All my life, I was told that my grandmother, my father’s mother, had come from France. She had fine, dark features and looked like a porcelain doll. I never questioned that, but it seems our family sheltered a secret—grandmother was in truth a full-blooded Creek Indian. Back in those days you were a pariah if you married an Indian. It’s amazing the secret was kept for so long.

  I hope this information doesn’t dishearten you. I admit it was a shock at first, but there are many fine people who are of mixed blood. And to God, we are all the same anyhow.

  Come back home when you can. We all miss you. Dusty and Katie are doing fine, and Joey is getting big. Bet you miss playing with him. Being an uncle is a fun job, isn’t it?

  Yours always,

  Uncle Mason

  Jim’s arms fell to his lap as if they bore lead weights. He blinked as he tried to absorb his uncle’s letter. Here he’d wrestled with being attracted to a half-breed woman, and he was himself at least one-eighth Creek Indian.

  He let out a laugh at the irony of it all.

  ❧

  Sasha watched Jim pace off the outline of the rooms he was going to build for Mary and Rita. Long, lean legs ate up the distance in short measure. Jim glanced her way. She’d struggled with what to do, but Jim had encouraged her to move ahead and not let their problems change things. He believed with all his heart they’d find the will and that God would work everything out. And she wanted to believe that, too.

  “Are you sure you want two rooms for each worker?”

  She nodded. “Originally, I just thought to build one room, but both women have children. They need a place to call home, and one room just isn’t enough.”

  He pushed his hat off his forehead. “Honestly, I think it might work better if we build some cabins out in those trees, rather than adding on to the house.” He pointed to a cluster of pine trees.

  Sasha pushed away from the house and followed him. “That’s not a bad idea. It would give them some privacy. Although, in bad weather, they’d have to brave the elements to get to the big house.”

  “True.” He walked around, studying the area. “Well, what if we put them here?” He stood in a spot halfway between the pine trees and the house.

  Sasha considered it, glancing at the house and then the trees. “No, I think it would work better if you build the cabins near the pines. It’s really not all that far—”

  She spun around at the sound of hoofbeats. Roman rode along the east side of the house on a pretty roan. Sasha wasn’t sure if she was happy to see him or not. The time alone with Jim was special, and Roman seemed like an intruder. As long as she and Jim stayed busy, she didn’t grieve as deeply as when she just sat around thinking.

  Roman scowled when he saw Jim but reined his horse to a stop and vaulted off. When his gaze landed on her, his smile turned charming. He approached her with bold, confident steps. “How are you doing, my dear?”

  She glanced at Jim and could tell he wasn’t happy to see Roman or to hear his casual address. “I’m all right,” she said, turning her attention back to her guest.

  “I’m glad to hear that. I know your uncle’s death was a terrible shock.”

  In spite of her resolve not to cry anymore, tears pooled in her eyes. She studied Roman’s fancy alligator-skin boots for a moment until she regained her composure. He reached out, using his index finger to lift her chin.

  “I came to see if you still want to have dinner with me this weekend.”

  Sasha felt as if she’d been slapped. Her uncle was barely buried, and Roman was concerned about their dinner engagement?

  “I’m sorry, but I’m still mourning my uncle. I’m afraid I must decline.”

  Roman glanced at Jim, his brows dipping down, lips pursed. “Is it because of him that you won’t dine with me?”

  “What?” Sasha blinked.

  “Every time I see you you’re with him. Is there something going on between the two of you?” He glared at her with black, beady eyes.

  Sasha felt suddenly weak. How could Roman turn on her so quickly? Was he truly jealous?

  Jim stepped forward, his arms crossed. “I think you’d better leave.”

  “I don’t take orders from hired hands.” Though Roman huffed, he backed up a step when Jim moved closer.

  Jim clenched his fist, and Sasha knew she needed to intervene. “Please, Roman, this isn’t the time. I’ve just buried my uncle. I can’t think about having dinner with you now.”

  He hiked up his chin when Jim sidled up beside her. “Maybe you just prefer white men to being with your own kind.”

  Sasha gasped. Jim rushed forward and shoved Roman against his horse.

  “It’s time you left.”

  The spooked horse jerked its head and sidestepped, causing Roman to fumble for his footing. Roman glared at Jim as he regained his balance. Then anger twisted his handsome features. He mounted his horse and yanked on the reins, making the mare squeal. After a final glare, he kicked the poor beast in the side, urging it into a run.

  Seventeen

  Sasha rinsed the last plate from breakfast and dried it with a towel, then set it in the cabinet. She shut the door and ran her hand over the smooth wood. Such a lovely home. . .but how much longer would she live here?

  If they didn’t find her uncle’s will, she might be on her way back to New York in another week.

  Even if she wanted to continue living here, could she do so without her uncle? She’d decorated the home for him, and not having him here to enjoy it stole her pleasure in the house. Tears stung her eyes, and she swiped the back of her hand across them.

  The sound of voices outside lured her to the back door. She pushed opened the screen and stepped out into the warm sunshine, the air nearly stealing her breath. With New York being so much cooler, she’d not yet gotten used to the heat here. Using her hand, she fanned her face and looked to see who had arrived. Her heart jolted when she saw Mary and Rita. This was the day they were to begin working, and she’d completely forgotten. Should she tell the women they no longer had employment?

  Mary glanced up from talking with Jim, her eyes dancing with excitement. “This is a fine house you have here. I’m delighted to be able to take care of it.”

  Sasha winced and glanced at Jim, who gave a slight shrug. She couldn’t disappoint these women. Even if they only wo
rked for a week, they’d probably make more money than they normally would in a month. She looked past Mary and Rita to see an adolescent boy leading a pitiful donkey pulling a cart. Behind him, an older girl held a toddler boy, and Mary’s two children squirmed around the girl’s skirt.

  “That’s Rita’s boy, Timmy. He borrowed a neighbor’s cart and brung our tents. You said we could set them up here until our room is done. It’s a far piece to walk every day.”

  Sasha smiled, hoping to relieve Mary’s concern. “Oh, yes, that would be fine. Why don’t you have Timmy set your tents up over there?” She pointed to a bare area behind the house that was sheltered by a large oak tree.

  The thin woman stepped forward and curtsied. “I’m Rita Lancaster, ma’am. I’ll be doing the cooking for ya. I thank ya for the job.” Her pale cheeks turned a rosy shade.

  Sasha smiled, thinking Rita could stand to eat a few solid meals. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Lancaster. This is Jim Conners.” She waved her hand at him. “He’s the one who built this lovely house, and he helps with other things, too. I’m sure if you ever need his assistance he’d be happy to help out.”

  The women turned toward Jim, and he tipped his hat. “Nice to make your acquaintance.”

  Both women smiled and nodded, then turned back to Sasha.

  Mary pointed to the children behind the cart. “That there’s my two children, Leah and Phillip, and Rita’s girl, Angie, and little Christopher. Angie’s gonna watch over the young’uns while we work.”

  Sasha nodded a greeting at the children, feeling a tingle of apprehension snake down her spine. She’d never been around children much.

  “What would you like for us to do first, ma’am?” Mary asked.

  “Why don’t you go ahead and take today to get settled?”

  A worried look passed between Mary and Rita. “We’d just as soon get to work, if that’s all right with you. Timmy can set up the tents, and Angie and the children can unpack our belongings.”

  Timmy guided the donkey over to the spot Sasha had indicated and started unloading. Jim crossed the yard and helped him lift the tents from the cart.

  “The children are welcome to play, but it might be a good idea if they stay out of the barn. Oh, and there’s a pond that the little ones will need to steer clear of.” Sasha hoped she wasn’t being too bossy, but she didn’t want the youngsters to get hurt.

  Mary and Rita nodded and glanced at Angie, who also tipped her head in agreement.

  “All right then”—Sasha clapped her hands—“I guess we should all get busy.”

  The women followed her into the house, and she gave them a tour, appreciating their oohs and aahs at her decorating talents. Sasha enjoyed sharing the house with the women and hoped deep within that they all could become friends.

  “I should probably get started in the kitchen, iffen we’re to have dinner by noon.” At Sasha’s nod, Rita busied herself in the kitchen.

  Sasha left Mary upstairs to straighten Dewey’s room and to pack up his clothing so Timmy could take it back to Rag Town and distribute the items when he returned the cart and donkey.

  Sasha hurried down the steps. They had to locate Dewey’s will. It was no longer just her well-being that depended on finding it, but Mary’s, Rita’s, and the children’s, as well.

  ❧

  Sasha slammed shut the tack room door, sending a cloud of dust and hay particles dancing on the dappled light of the barn. Her pretty mouth sagged with disappointment, and Jim wanted nothing more than to kiss away all her problems. But that would be no solution at all, because after kissing her, the problems would still be there.

  “I don’t know where else to look.” Leaning against the barn, she crossed her arms over her chest. “What are we going to do?”

  Jim shook his head. “I don’t know. There’s still the cabin. The remains should be cool enough by now that I can sift through them.”

  Sasha pushed away from the wall. “I can help.”

  He took a stance, knowing she’d object, but he didn’t want her long skirts anywhere near those ashes, just in case some were still smoldering. “You’d better go back to the house and check on your workers.”

  “I trust them to work without me watching over them.”

  Jim moved closer. “That’s not the point. Rita is probably fine in the kitchen, but Mary may not know what you want her to do.”

  “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. I guess I could have her wash Uncle Dewey’s bedding.” Her shoulders sagged, like she bore an ox yoke all by herself.

  He brushed his hand over her cheek, wishing he could take away her troubles just like the streak of dirt he wiped off her face. “We’ll get through this. I can’t believe God would bring you here only to see you lose your uncle and your home.”

  Her lower lip trembled, and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Oh, Jim, I miss him so much. I barely had a chance to get to know him before he was taken away.”

  “I know, I know.” He cupped her face in his hands. “You’re not in this alone. I’m here, and God’s still here, even if it doesn’t always seem that way.”

  “Why would God allow hoodlums to kill a sweet man like my uncle?”

  Jim shook his head. He’d asked the same thing, but there was no answer for such a question. “I don’t know, but I do know that God is still in control—and we have to believe that. All right?”

  Sasha’s lips quivered again, but she nodded.

  “That’s my girl.”

  Her mouth turned up in a shy smile. “Well. . .I guess I need to get back to the house. I probably should make a trip into town and stock up on some more food and supplies since we have so many mouths to feed now.”

  “Want me to hitch up the wagon?”

  “That would be very nice of you.” She beamed a pleased smile, and it took every ounce of self-control not to pull her into his arms and kiss her. But this wasn’t the time. He needed to guard his heart, because if Sasha returned to New York, he feared it might just crack in two.

  Down at the cabin, Jim used a rake and sifted through the dirt and ashes for an hour. Having moved his belongings into the cabin the day before the fire, he’d lost everything except his tent, which he had stowed in the barn. Thankfully, his money was safe in the Keaton bank.

  He sighed in frustration. Nothing remained from the fire except a tin cup and the cast iron skillet. He threw the rake to the ground, stirring up a cloud of ash, and shoved his hands in his back pockets. This was just a waste of time.

  Glancing heavenward, he watched some clouds, gray with moisture, drift along, threatening to drop their precious cargo any minute. He needed to finish sorting through this mess before that happened, or he’d look like he’d been tarred and feathered with ash.

  He glanced heavenward again. “Father God, I need some help here. I’m at a loss as to what to do. If we don’t find that will, Sasha will lose everything. I can’t believe Dewey would build that big house, even though he never knew if Sasha and her mother would ever visit, only to leave it to the town. I know he’d want Sasha to have his property, even if she’d never come here. Dewey would have wanted to keep his land in the family. Help us find that will, Lord. And help me be the encouragement Sasha needs.

  “Lord, help me also to come to grips with being part Indian. I don’t like to think I’m prejudiced, but I must be. You formed me before I was born. As Your Word says, help me to be the man You want me to be and accept my heritage. It doesn’t change who I am.”

  He heaved a sigh, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. Stepping forward to retrieve the rake, his foot collided with something hard. The dull thunk indicated a container of some sort. With renewed fervor, he dropped to the ground and dug through the ashes. A blackened box began to take shape, and his hopes soared like an eagle taking flight.

  Grabbing the box, he shook it free of the ashes, then he stood and carried it over to the chopping block. Sitting down, Jim held his breath. This had to be it. He used his knife to
pry open the latch, misshapen from the heat of the fire. It clinked off and flipped to the ground.

  Jim’s heart felt like a bronc trying to bust out of a chute. “Please, Lord.”

  With a shaking hand, he lifted the lid and saw a leather pouch smelling strongly of smoke. He loosened the tie and pulled out a roll of papers. His heart quickened even more as he unrolled the thick sheaf.

  The will!

  His gaze swiftly scanned the papers, which left everything Dewey owned to Sasha, except for his saddle horse and five thousand dollars, which he left to Jim.

  He gasped. That much money was far more than he needed to buy his land. He could even build a nice house and furnish it—not fancy like Dewey’s—but simple, like a farmer needed. He glanced at the date and the attorney’s signature. This will was dated just a week before Dewey’s death, and Jim knew in his heart that it was the most current version.

  He jumped up, running for the house. He had to tell Sasha that her home was safe.

  Eighteen

  Anxious to get to town and back, Sasha gave Mary a list of things to do, then headed for the barn. She’d told Rita not to worry about her being back in time for dinner, but that she’d be looking forward to their first supper together. She hoped it didn’t hurt Rita’s feelings that she wasn’t there for the first meal that the woman was making, but the sky was clouding up. Sasha wanted to get the food supplies home before it rained, or she might have to wait days for the road to dry out. Besides, she needed something to keep her mind occupied other than her troubles. She’d seen Jim digging through the ashes, but he’d been so deep in thought, she didn’t think he even saw her leave.

  As she walked into the mercantile an hour later, all manner of scents assailed her, from pungent spices to pickles to leather goods. The store owner glanced past the customer she was helping and flashed a smile.