The Last Daughter (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll) (7 page)

She pulled back. “Trent, you sound so frantic, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m scaring you? Someone shoots at you from the street, but I’m scaring you?”

She plopped down on the edge of a chair and crossed her arms, shrugging into them as if trying to protect herself. “Please, there has to be another way. I don’t want to go to the cops because I don’t want them involved in my life. I’m not sure what I’ll find out about my family, Trent. There may be a time...” She hesitated. “At some point, I may have to walk away from them, but only after I find out who and what they are. Can you understand that? I have to know who I am and who I came from. I have to!”

Trent didn’t answer but processed every word she said.

She looked around. “I feel like something’s watching us, waiting for us in the next room, every room and around every corner.” She shivered. “This kitchen feels so safe.”

Trent nodded. “I guess that’s why I gravitate here every morning. My family always hung out in the kitchen, at any time of day. We talked things over there with our parents. Yeah, I guess the kitchen always felt safe when I was growing up too.” He looked at her. “And maybe there is something in the other room—something evil watching us, waiting—metaphorically speaking.”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head. “Just what I said.” His eyes bored into her.

“You’re creeping me out,” she said.

Trent blew out a breath. “I’ve been creeped out all night.”

Her eyes grew big and round.

“I guess I can’t put it off any longer. Follow me.” He took her hand and led her from the kitchen to the living room, straight to the front door. He didn’t say a word, and Rayna didn’t either.

“Where are you—?

“Don’t say a word, Rayna. One wrong word might push me over the top. My gut tells me to throw you over my shoulder and head out the back door but I know I can’t do that.”

When they reached the front door, he stepped aside and motioned for her to open it. Hesitantly, looking at him suspiciously, she did.

The box was still there. Untouched. He had been hoping it would be gone, hoping someone had thought it was something of value and free for the taking. Disappointment washed over him.

“What is it? How did you know it was here?”

Her words penetrated the fog in his brain. He studied what he might say to her, running the words through his mind before he spoke them aloud. He’d have to be honest at the risk of angering her.

“Trent, do you know who brought it? What’s in it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know anything. I slept down here last night, just in case, and heard something on the porch. When I opened the door,” he motioned. “this is what I saw.”

“Then, why didn’t you bring it inside. Someone could have stolen it. There might be something of value inside...a family album with pictures.” She glared at him. “You wanted someone to take it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I wanted someone to take it!”

“Trent, how could you!” She stomped her foot looking like an outraged little girl.

“How could I? You had just been shot at. What am I supposed to think when a strange package turns up on the front steps the very same night? So yeah, I was more than hoping someone would steal it, I was praying it’d be gone this morning, but evidently it’s meant for you to have whatever it is, so bring it inside.” He walked away from her. “Regardless of what you think, Rayna, I was trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection!” she snapped. She shoved through the door and stepped onto the porch. He thought she’d come back inside, but she didn’t. She elected to sit on the steps and open her package. Fine. More power to her. But the moment he thought it, he turned around and joined her. The guy with the pellet gun could be anywhere.

“I can only protect you if you want to be protected. And you’re right—I can’t protect you from my gut feelings. I hope I’m wrong. About everything. One hundred and ten percent wrong.”

While he talked, she unwrapped. He noticed how she methodically peeled the tape away and opened each end. Slowly. Hesitantly. “You’re as leery as I am.”

“Because you’ve creeped me out,” she answered.

“A mysterious picture shows up, a questionable trash man. You’re shot at. Now this, and
I’ve
creeped
you
out. That’s a good one, Rayna.”

She yanked the paper off the box in one angry movement. “I realize I’d be a fool not to be a little nervous about this. So what’s your gut feeling telling you now? Why are these things showing up? Who knows I’m here?”

He put his hand on hers to stop her from ripping the top off the box. “I don’t know, but listen to me. Will you just remember one thing? Just one.”

“What?” she whispered.

“Promise me that no matter what’s inside; no matter what happens in the future or what you learn about your past, please promise you’ll remember I care about you; that I’m on your side.”

She sighed. “I know you are, Trent. And I promise.” A weak smile accompanied her words. When she turned her attention away from him, flipped the top off the boot box, a quiver as cold as a March wind blew through him. Staring up at him with eyes as dark and real as his worst nightmare, worn and straggly as a homeless person, except for the crisp new dress she wore, sat Tiva, Rayna’s childhood doll.

****

Rayna gasped, picked the doll up, and hugged her. Words spilled from her lips in a whisper. “It’s Tiva. Trent, it’s Tiva.”

She felt much like she did twenty-five years ago when she first got the doll. All of a sudden, she knew Tiva had come to her as a gift. From who? Her father? A family friend? Her memory didn’t take her any further than a white-sleeved arm handing her a doll. For all she knew, that white sleeve could have belonged to a woman.

Her breath came in spurts. She heard a voice. Trent was saying something. She willed herself to calm down, listen, respond normally. Pretend her heart wasn’t pounding. All she wanted to do was hug the doll to her and weep, though she didn’t know why. She made herself look at Trent. “Did you say something?”

He frowned. “I said that’s not the kind of doll a kid would play with.”

“I love—loved it,” she answered.

“How do you even know it’s the same doll?”

“There’s only one Tiva.”

“That’s ridiculous. Dolls are mass produced, of course, she’s so old and worn out. I guess back then—” He stopped to watch Rayna.

She brushed at the doll’s frizzed hair. Caressed its rouged cheek. Examined its hands and feet as if it were a newborn baby. She unbuttoned the front of its bodice and tugged the dress away from the doll’s shoulders. “This proves it’s mine,” she said, showing Trent the perfect rose carved into the doll’s chest. “It’s like the one on the front of the house.”

He shrugged. “No, it’s not. This is a flower. The other is a heart. And that etching could have been put on a thousand other dolls.”

Rayna held Tiva in the crook of her arm, stood, and moved toward the wounded heart brand beside the front door. She touched the top of her own cotton pullover, fumbled with the first four buttons then pulled it open. She turned to face him, jutted her chin toward him. “You’re right, Trent, but this one wasn’t. Tiva and I belong here.”

Chapter 6

Trent’s mouth fell open. For the first time in his life, he was speechless; he couldn’t think of anything to say. In fact, he heard a moan, an eerie drawn out whine that sounded like someone in pain. When he finally focused, he realized the sound came from him. His eyes met Rayna’s. He saw the challenge on her face.

“I know it’s not a rose; it’s a heart, but whoever did this tried to make a stem with the...so that...”

Her voice cracked. “I can’t remember,” she whispered. “I’ve tried and I just can’t remember.”

His knees threatened to buckle as torture scenarios filled his head. What kind of monster had she known? Who had done this to her? How? Why? When? Questions crashed his mind; questions without answers.

He didn’t want to think about the pain she had endured. Things that may have happened to her. Unshed tears burned behind his eyes; he widened them, fighting for control. He tried to speak, but what could he say? Nothing. Nothing would make it right. He shook his head, gave up, turned away from her, and stumbled into the house.

****

Rayna clutched the doll to her chest. Within moments, the back door slammed.

“We made him sick, Tiva. I knew that would happen.”

She’d always suspected no man would want her once he saw her branded chest. She didn’t know who disfigured her, but she knew it wasn’t done in love. The lines of the heart-shaped brand were deeply defined. Once, when she was in a craft store, she’d happened on a set of cookie cutters. She’d picked up a heart-shaped one that perfectly matched her brand. Sadistically, she’d bought it. Even packed it in her suitcase upstairs.

Sometimes she held it, wondering if her mother had lost patience with her while baking cookies in the kitchen. Or maybe some family friend or sibling was into torture? She only knew that she was marred, cursed, relegated to a life alone because men wanted soft, perfect beauty—not ugly, rough scars to caress. Didn’t Trent’s reaction prove her right?

She sat on the sofa with Tiva lying in her lap. She buttoned her blouse and wondered what her next step should be.

Would Trent deem her freakish and ask her to leave? No, she didn’t think so. He’d probably get a grip on his emotions at some point, come back and apologize to her. Beg her to forgive him for being repulsed, though she was certain he wouldn’t use that word. He’d tell her he was overcome with shock. She would believe him because she was still overcome with shock—every time she looked in the mirror.

But if he really cared about her, wouldn’t he have taken her in his arms immediately?

“He should have said something to me, something comforting,” she mumbled to the doll. “But we don’t care, do we? You’re here with me, just like before. You have answers. Now I feel like I have answers too because I have you. No matter how crazy that sounds.” She held the doll to her. “Oh, Tiva, if only you could talk.”

****

Trent had to get away. The tightness in his chest scared him. His head pounded. He swallowed at the huge lump in his throat over and over again. He’d never experienced such emotions. He wanted to scream, curse, rant that anyone,
anyone
dared hurt Rayna and live to tell about it.

If he’s still alive, I’ll kill him. I’ll force him to endure the same kind of pain.

He didn’t know what made him think a man tortured Rayna. Could have been an abusive mother. Regardless of who it was, he wanted them destroyed.

Walking through the neighborhood, finally calming himself enough to breathe in and out like a normal person, he gasped, inhaling the dry Oklahoma wind that blew against his face. Slowing his pace, he tried to piece together the strange occurrences happening since Rayna came into his life. She was being sent messages. What did they mean? The picture came out of the blue. For that matter so did the gunshot, and the doll. Looking at all three, the picture was a gift, the gunshot a threat. The doll—what? An apology? Nothing made sense.

Who knew Rayna was there? Family back in Louisiana? No doubt. Louis. Who was he really? Someone in the neighborhood that lived there for years? Yes, a possibility. He’d canvass the neighborhood to learn all he could about the house, previous owners, and maybe even Rayna herself. The seller had been anonymous—a company of some kind. He needed to look at the paperwork more carefully. Maybe get in touch with the Realtor and demand to know who was behind the company that sold him the house. It hadn’t mattered to him until now. There must be someone around who knew the family who had lived there. Wounded Heart. That’s what the Realtor had called it, as well as the ad in the magazine. Undoubtedly, that name tied to the charred heart on Rayna’s chest.

He pushed the image from his mind. Not yet. He couldn’t revisit that graphic visual just yet. He turned his thoughts to plans of action. And the next time he saw Louis...

He wouldn’t mention his plans to Rayna. In fact, he’d suggest she take a few days off. Relax. Sightsee. That would get her out of the house. He rolled his eyes. Or play with Tiva. Obviously the ugly doll meant something to her; the way she clung to it was downright creepy.

Now that he had a plan,
he felt normal again. He turned back toward the house.

****

Rayna didn’t look up or speak to him when he came through the door. She shuffled papers around in an attempt to appear busy. Tiva, propped in a chair, seemed to glare at him with her dark eyes. Yeah, creepy was the key word. And that put it mildly.

He rubbed his brow, head suddenly pounding. He’d take something as soon as he talked with Rayna.

“Rayna.” He wanted her to look at him. Her lips tightened and her movements became jerky, deliberate. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“Rayna, I’m sorry. You took me by surprise. I was shocked speechless. And honestly, I still am.”

She yanked open a drawer, crammed papers inside, slammed it shut.

“I wish you’d told me sooner about—”

She whirled. “Told you sooner? Why? Tell me how that would make a difference. Would your reaction have been any different? Explain it to me, Trent.”

He backed up a step. He couldn’t help himself. This was a Rayna he didn’t know. For just an instant, she resembled her doll. He rubbed a hand across his face and took a second look before he spoke. “I’m sorry. I can’t make it any more honest and real than that. And I don’t know how I would have reacted, but I think I would have pulled you into my arms and—and—cried. That’s what I feel like doing now.”

From the expression on her face, his words took her by surprise. She stopped her paper shuffling and looked at him. He probably resembled a man who had just been to hell and back. He prayed she recognized sincerity on his face, in his voice. For a moment, he thought she did, but then she turned her eyes to that blasted doll.
Why?

“I don’t understand that,” he said.