Red Fork Roots: Tulsa Series, #5

By Norma Jean Lutz

By 1933, the Great Depression has reached its tentacles into the small town of Red Fork, Oklahoma. There, following her oil-magnate father's fortune-loss and subsequent suicide, Lucie Patton is struggling to discover who she is and where she fits. Wesley, her airplane-flying brother, has no such problem.

 

The purchase of a combination store and filling station thrust them into a new world of commercial enterprise. Meanwhile, the folks of Red Fork aren't sure what these two former rich kids are up to.

 

Readers of the Tulsa Series books will recognize characters who, in this sequel, surround Lucie and Wesley with friendship and encouragement as they transition from millionaire status to slogging it out with the rest of the country.

 

When a hobo, named Nathan Anderson, chooses to cease "riding the rails," and remain in Red Fork, interesting past connections to the town begin to weave him tightly into the lives of the Patton siblings.

 

That's when things start popping for Lucie.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Norma Jean Lutz
• Release date: May 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9781947397040

Book preview

Introduction

The Tulsa Series

Readers of the original four titles in the Tulsa Series will instantly recognize the names of characters from those stories. Namely: Tessa (Jurgen) and Gaven MacIntyre, Clarette (Fortier), and Erik Torsten

If you’ve not read the Tulsa Series books, this is the perfect time to do so. Red Fork Roots will hold a deeper, clearer meaning once you’re aware of the background of these fascinating characters.

{See list on the last pages.}

Disclaimer

As any fiction author might do, I took the liberty of altering the history of Red Fork to create a substantial foundation for the story line. Actually, Red Fork was brought into the Tulsa city limits October 16, 1927. Engulfed by Tulsa, it maintained its identity solely in the heart and minds of those whose roots were already sunk deep into the community.

The juxtaposition of the rich girl from Tulsa, attempting to become accepted as a member of this close-knit community is not an easy task. Thus, the basis for the story.

The town name of Red Fork has always fascinated me. It was the juncture where the reddish fork of the Arkansas River joined the normally blue-green Verdigris River that caught the attention of early explorers, thus resulting in the name Red Fork. When casting about for a setting for the sequel to my 4-title Tulsa Series, it turned out to be the perfect fit. As you read Lucie’s story, I trust you will agree.

Prologue

May 1930

The streets of Tulsa were deserted giving it a dejected appearance. Dawn was still a few hours off. Sadella Patton steered her red Stutz Roadster slowly toward Riverside Drive.

She’d chosen a meandering route from Kiefer, trying to take as much time as possible, dreading to go home. Merry Mae's, the Choc Joint outside Kiefer, had at one time in the not-too-distant past, been a lively place where she could go to dance, drink, and have a little fun. Now everything felt different. For a time, she assumed it was just her imagination. But that assumption had fled. People were angry. Upset. No one even wanted to dance with her.

Mae, the buxom owner, fitted out her jukebox with the best ever dance selections. But Sadella had sat all evening in a corner booth, behind a haze of smoke, and drank the god-awful choc beer. She knew how to drink it and how to hold it. She’d had plenty of practice. And she seemed to be the only one dropping coins into the slot to bring the gaily-lit jukebox to life. But even the best songs were depressing tonight.

The regulars—both black and white—by midnight were normally whooping it up and dancing all over that sawdust-coated floor in the center of the room. But not tonight.

The stock market chaos last fall had drastically changed everything. It sure as heck changed everything in the Patton family.

With each passing day, her longing to leave Tulsa for Hollywood grew stronger inside of her. Wesley could fly her there. She still had a little money tucked away. And heckfire, Wesley had more money than all of them, what with flying all those rich oil people crisscrossing the country. He had enough to loan her some dough and fly her out there.

She’d asked him last year, but he just laughed at her. Sis, I know you think you’re beautiful and all, but you’d starve out there in Hollywood within two weeks.

That was before. Back when they were still among the rich and elite of Tulsa. Before the nose dive.

Wesley was right on one thing. Sadella didn’t just think she was beautiful—she knew she was beautiful. She’s been told so by many men. Even some of her father’s oil tycoon buddies. Well, use-to-be buddies. She wasn’t sure he had any friends by this point. He’d gone begging to most of them for help when everything hit the skids. Needless to say, with no positive results.

But most especially, Shelby Harland had never ceased to tell her how beautiful he thought she was. Her shoulders slumped at the thought of Shel. It’d been almost ten years since he died. And his death had been mostly her fault. What would her life have been like had he lived and she’d become his wife?

Strangely, Shelby’s father, E.V. Harland, head of the massive Harland Oil Company, did not lose all his holdings in the crash. He’d been clever enough to not sink his oil money in the stock market. Henry Patton had not been that clever.

The effect of the booze on Sadella was, as usual, evolving from the giddy to the slump. Where she cried easily and hated the world.

The refineries along Riverside Drive shimmered in their usual glow. Flames of natural gas flickered in the night sky. Electric lights lit them up like metal Christmas trees, with the reflections sparkling in the waters of the Arkansas River. The site used to thrill her, knowing that that black gold had created their wealth. Now the lights only taunted her.

The Patton house sat on the crest of a hill above Riverside Drive. As she approached, she could see it was mostly dark. So depressing. Recently, she’d been sleeping in the apartment above the garage in back of the house, just to get away from the noisy arguments of her parents.

Sadella had to laugh at the thought that her mother had that very afternoon, taken the train to Kansas City for a shopping trip. Trevalene Patton still could not believe the money had run out. Poor Trevalene. She’d become addicted to being rich. Sadella’s mother was another one who scoffed at her dreams of being a movie star. She had no one who believed in her.

Maybe Sadella could get Lucie to go to bat for her. Lucie and Wesley had always been tight. Chances were good that Lucie could persuade Wesley to fly her out to Hollywood. But first, she’d have to think of a way to con Lucie. Not an easy task. Younger sister, Lucie, was a sharp one.

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Henry Patton stood at the window of his upstairs office in the Patton mansion and gazed across Riverside Drive, and across the Arkansas River, to the massive refineries glowing there. Those refineries, once his submissive, obliging mistress, now his cunning enemy. Everything that had once been real and vibrant, was now a vapor. Overnight. All lost.

It was never about the money. Henry Patton had repeatedly told himself that all through the years. It was true—for the most part.

It had especially been true in the early days. Red Fork had been a wild, untamed place. The speculation. The hunt. The thrill of the chase. He had feasted on it all. It made his blood run hot. The negotiations. The deals. Many of those million-dollar deals took place in the lobby of the Tulsa Hotel.

He and E.V. learned to saunter in like they owned the place—even though the two of them must have looked like babies to the veteran oilmen. Several of those oilmen had come all the way from Pennsylvania where they’d been working the wells for years.

Those Yankees may have known about oil, but what they didn’t know was Indian Territory and how to deal with the Territorial regulations. Head rights. Mineral rights. And they had no idea who was the final authority with the say-so of who could drill where and not be shut down by the officials.

E.V. Harland knew more people in Red Fork than most anyone in the territory. And he knew the details about that parcel of land in the area the big boys were salivating over. And, best of all, he knew that the landowner’s wife’s father was Chief Leovy.

E.V., only a few years older than Henry, seemed to have an intuitive sense about the oil business. The two met shortly after E.V. arrived in Tulsa. He came into Patton Hardware, located on Denver Avenue, asking Henry about where to find the best drilling equipment company.

You fixing to get into wildcatting? They don’t joke when they call it wild.

E.V., who hated his name Elmore Vince, and felt that initials sounded distinguished, took off his hat and leaned his elbows onto Henry’s front counter.

I left Indian Territory a few years ago chasing oil. I been to Pennsylvania, Illinois, Indiana, even down to Texas. Now everybody and their dog is talking about this place. So, I’m back. I’m sensing something big is about to blow.

Henry’s hardware store was located right in the middle of town and so he heard lots of oilfield gossip. But none of it had interested him. But now as E.V. talked, Henry felt his heart racing. He put the Out to Lunch sign on the door and personally walked E.V. over to the Brennan Brothers oil field equipment warehouse.

Within a week, the two of them formed a loosely configured partnership. So began a long friendship. Then came the strike. The gusher. The money. More money than he’d ever seen in his young life.

The boredom came later. For a time, it was unrecognizable. But the truth was, being disgustingly wealthy had never lit his fire. Unlike Trevalene who learned to wear the wealth like a mink stole. She loved the prestige and her place in Tulsa society. Even the Garden Club, as dull as that was to Henry, moved her to great animation. She’d been president for more years that Henry cared to count. Then there was the Literary Club, and the Ladies’ Society Group. She could even hold sway at city council meetings, sitting right by Henry’s side.

Henry stepped back to his desk, picked up his gold cigarette case, flipped up the lid, took out a cigarette and lit it with the matching gold lighter. He’d bought the set at a quaint shop in Paris during their last European holiday.

Blowing a cloud of blue smoke in the air, he thought back to that night in 1905, when he first laid eyes on Trevalene. It had been lightly raining. Strange for the Indian Territory where rain most always came in sideways and with a vengeance.

He and E.V. were whiling away the night in a Negro Choc Joint just outside Greenwood, drinking and talking business. A pastime that consumed most of their waking hours. The rain pattered against the tin roof mixing with the sounds of the raucous music played by a few Negro musicians seated on a raised platform. Couples were dancing in a space in the center of the room where tables had been cleared. Dark-skinned bodies glistened with sweat in the dim light, as they danced with electric energy.

All of Indian Territory was dry, which meant the Choc Joints were among the few places where a man could sit down a get a decent drink.

Because the place was crowded, the two men had chosen a table near the back door. Suddenly, the door opened a bit and a Negro boy stuck his head in and looked around. Spying Henry and E.V., he quietly closed the door and approached them. His young face was clouded with fear.

Can you help us? His soft little voice could barely be heard above the music and the rain.

Henry was closer to him and heard his words. Help? How? What’s wrong?

They’s a white girl at my Grandma Teppy’s house. She need help. Befo’ she gets us all in a heap o’ trouble.

Henry looked over at his friend. Did you hear what he said? E.V. shook his head. Henry then leaned over and whispered in E.V.’s ear.

E.V. scowled. No sir. Not me. I don’t wanna get messed up in that kind of stuff.

Henry turned back to the boy. What kind of help?

She done had a baby. We finds her in our barn. Mos’ close to being dead.

Henry drained the last of his beer, flipped a few coins onto the table, and stood to his feet. Come on, E.V. Let’s get this taken care of.

With a deep sigh to express his reluctance, E.V. grabbed his hat and mashed it on his head.

As quietly as the boy had slipped in, the three of them slipped out into the rain.

Is it far? My buckboard’s here. E.V. pointed to his wagon among about a dozen others.

The boy shook his head. This way. And he took off running. The two men had a devil of a time keeping up.

It was a small but neat little house, actually quite a way from the Choc Joint. The boy jumped up on the porch and slammed through the front door. I’se found help, he hollered. They’s white.From the kitchen they heard a woman’s voice say, For the sake of all that’s good, chile. Keep your voice down. She’s sleeping.

Into the tiny living room a Negro woman appeared, dressed in a cotton dress covered with a flower-patterned, ruffled apron. Henry was sure he’d seen her before in his hardware store.

Charlie, now you git on over to Aunt Hazel’s. You done good. I’se mighty proud of you. She stepped over and hugged the boy and then gave him a little push. He sped past the men who nearly filled the living room, and out the front door back out into the rain.

That’s my grandbaby. She nodded toward the door. They calls me Teppy. I thank y’all for coming. We don’t know what to do. Don’t want nobody blaming us for doing something wrong. She smoothed her hands down her apron. Henry could tell she was edgy about having them in her house.

Where is she? he asked.

Teppy pointed to door on the other side of the room. The back bedroom.

Your grandson said there’s a baby. Did you deliver the baby?

She lowered her head. A little catch sounded in her voice as she answered. She was bleeding awful bad. So we gots our doctor.

Now E.V. who had been hanging back close to the door spoke up. A Nigra doctor? He couldn’t keep the shock out of his voice.

Teppy nodded very slightly.

Henry waved his hand to dismiss E.V. misgivings. Don’t matter. He probably saved her life. And the kid’s. Stepping toward the doorway, he turned back to E.V. You coming?

E.V. shook his head. I’ll just wait out on the porch. And he was gone.

Even after all she’d suffered, when Henry first laid eyes on her, he thought Trevalene was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Her skin was a soft ivory and her hair as black as a raven’s. Her black lashes lay in stark contrast against her pale cheeks. In her arms lay a snuggled, sleeping baby wrapped in a clean blanket. There was no evidence of the bleeding they mentioned. They had taken good care of this girl.

Teppy stood at the door to the bedroom. Will y’all take her? She gots to leave here.

Have you tried to get hold of the father?

She say they’s nobody. A hired man at their farm hurt her and her folks done put her out.

Henry wondered where she’d been all these months leading up to the birth. What a sad state of affairs.

We’ll get our wagon.

Teppy stepped out of the way as he moved out of the bedroom.

We’ll need more blankets, he told her on his way out.

We gots plenty. And canvas from our old wagon.

Within hours Trevalene was safe in Henry’s small house behind the hardware store. And within a few days he’d become a husband and a father. When he offered her his home and his life, she had said yes. They were married in the house with a local preacher officiating and E.V. and his fiancé, Flora, as witnesses.

The early years were bliss. Even though their daughter, Sadella, was a headstrong, difficult child, Henry loved her like his own. He was thrilled beyond words when son, Wesley, arrived. Then sweet Lucie came on the scene. But after Lucie was born, Trevalene began to change, choosing to leave their bed for her own bed and her own bedroom. Her own suite she called it. By then, they were ensconced in the Patton mansion. Devasted was an understatement for how it affected Henry. He desperately missed their intimate times.

From his office pinnacle in his mansion, the forlorn moaning of a train whistle sounded in the distance, and drew him down a dark corridor of the past. Back in the day, freight cars filled with giant culverts for Patton oil wells raced along the rails. Freight cars filled with countless pieces of equipment, headed in all four points of the compass making deliveries to the Patton refineries. And many were the occasions he, as the successful oil baron, rented a private train car in which his family traveled around the country.

Now he crushed out the half-smoked cigarette in the etched, lead-glass ashtray, yet another purchase from their European tour two years ago. From off the desk he picked up the framed photograph showing the two of them a year or so before Wesley was born. He stared at it for a few moments. Even then, Trevalene’s beauty made men turn their heads wherever they went.

Within the same year of their marriage, the Red Fork well came in. Because E.V. knew the Osage Chief, and because of his finesse and ability to smooth talk and finagle a deal, they brought in partners who had the capital to build the rig and start the drilling. It all came to pass and never once raised the eyebrows of the Indian agents. Agents—those men who worked for the government to protect the poor Indians. Yeah. What a joke that was. Many other hopeful wildcatters were forced out of the picture for a year or so. The competition had been squelched.

They were both on the scene the night the well came in. As they slept in their open wagon near the rig, Henry felt it first. Just a slight rumbling and vibration. The other workers were asleep in the shack a few yards away.

Henry gave E.V.’s shoulder a rough shake. Wake up! Can you feel that?

E.V. sat straight up, paused for a few seconds, then said, Hey! I do. Come on!

Leaping out of the wagon they ran toward the rig and stepped up on the platform. The vibration got louder. Stronger. It became a bubbling, rumbling sound, then a whoosh. Black gold gushed up over the top of the derrick. The other workers were now awake and running their direction. Such yelling, shouting, and carrying on. No one had been drinking, but they were all intoxicated with excitement, plus a smidgeon of bewilderment.

When you work and work and work. And pray. And hope. And watch. And wait. When it finally happens, it’s beyond belief.

From that day forward, life was never the same.

And now, once again, life would never be the same.

He stepped across the room to where three massive waist-high Chinese vases stood. He guessed they were called vases. Or urns. Or some stupid name. He hated those things with a passion. Two more were stationed in the front entryway to the house. Never a day went by that he didn’t regret ever taking Trevalene to the Orient. She practically bought the place out. He hated it all, and especially hated those blue-patterned, hideous monstrosities that she insisted be placed in his office. She rattled on and on about Ming dynasty nonsense.

Then there was one smaller one that she kept in the safe in the dressing room closet in her suite. That one, she told him was Qing Dynasty. Rarer than all the others. Priceless.

If that weren’t enough, the sunroom was overflowing in rattan that she’d insisted on purchasing and bringing home. Rattan furniture, wall coverings. Even rattan on the floor.

Why? he’d asked. We have a heck of a lot better stuff in the good old U.S. of A.

He quickly learned not to ask why—about much of anything. Now it didn’t matter anyway. The auction, scheduled for day after tomorrow, would close the chapter. Then where would he go? What would he do? If only he’d stayed in oil—stayed with what he knew—and kept out of the stock market... If only. Several people close to him tried to warn him. He refused to listen.

Too late now.

That morning, after putting his wife on the train to Kansas City, he was suddenly hit with a realization. That Qing Dynasty vase was still in Trevalene’s wall safe. Who knew what it was worth? Priceless was how she once described it. He hurried back into the house and ran up the stairs and into the dressing room, removed a heavy, gold-framed painting off the wall. With shaking fingers, he turned the dial on the combination lock. She’d also kept some of her better jewelry in the safe as well. This could be the answer. Starting over twice, he continued to turn the dial until the door finally opened. Peering in, he viewed a dark, empty safe. Nothing. He stood there in front of the small cavern unable to move. Had she sold everything off without his knowledge? She had developed such a hunger for things. Her many furs alone attested to that fact. Not to mention her countless pieces of uniquely-designed jewelry.

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