The Last Daughter (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll) (8 page)

“What?”

“I don’t understand why you’d look at that doll as if asking permission to forgive me. What’s that all about? She’s just a doll.”

Rayna stiffened. “She’s not just a doll. She’s
my
doll, from
my
childhood. She knows me and what I was like...and what happened to me when she owned...when I owned her. Can’t you understand how important that is to me?”

He took a step forward, his right knee buckling unexpectedly. He caught himself on a chair.

“Trent!” Rayna ran to his side. “Are you all right? What happened?”

Slowly, he straightened. “I’m not sure. My knee just went out. All of a sudden, I feel weak.”

“Let me help you to the sofa. You can stretch out, prop your leg up.”

He glanced at the doll, searched her face. Had her expression changed? She looked happy all of a sudden. Or was it his imagination? He shook his head. “I think I’ll go upstairs and lay down for a while. You can take the day off if you like. And don’t worry about any lunch for me. I’ve lost my appetite.”

He grabbed his laptop, gave Tiva one more look, and hobbled toward the stairs.

“Trent, I’m sorry too.”

He turned to look at her. “Believe me, Rayna. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

****

He’d slept all evening and through the night. He had a vague memory of Rayna coming in to check on him. He never slept so much. He didn’t know if it was because of the doll or if it was stress. He’d never ventured into a deal such as this without the support of his family so he had a right to be stressed.

Propped up against his headboard, Trent logged on to the Internet. He would search until he found something on the ugly doll named Tiva. Anything. First he searched “collectable dolls” and found hundreds of sites, all useless to him. He needed to be more specific. What was Tiva made out of and how old was she?

“Pretty darn old from the looks of her,” he mumbled. He hadn’t touched her, but he’d noticed the tiny hairline cracks in her face. He read several articles on collectable porcelain dolls and found a mention of dolls made of whalebone and whale ivory. He clicked a link. The more he read the more links there were to click on and read. Finally, his search took him to scrimshaw and he learned that the late President John F. Kennedy had collected scrimshaw carvings. For an hour, he was totally lost reading about JFK’s collection and the history of scrimshaw. When he realized the time, he chastised himself for getting sidetracked.

Saving the website to his favorites, he logged off, stretched, and rubbed the back of his neck. He needed to get some
real
work done. Not wanting to go back downstairs and watch the interaction between Rayna and the doll, he walked to the adjoining living area and sat down at a desk. He worked there each night before he went to sleep, brainstorming about the house and what he might do with it.

He plopped down in the leather chair and glared at the paperwork strewn across the desk. He’d vacillated between selling the place and a desire to keep it, but now...now that he had an inkling about what might have taken place in this house, how could he live here? The thought of making it a home, possibly raising a family inside these walls, sickened him.

He stood. He didn’t feel like working. He wanted to get to the bottom of Rayna’s life story, and find out who and what that crazy looking doll was all about. He returned to his laptop, the site he’d explored moments earlier. Visiting several collectors’ blogs, he read interesting testimonies and interviews. Then he found a collector linked to the scrimshaw site; an animated doll holding a sign with “cursed doll” in bright red letters jumped up and down grabbing his attention. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Not just one, several collectors mentioned a doll that carried a curse. Even though there weren’t pictures, Trent knew without a doubt that doll was Tiva. He shut down his laptop. What should he do? How should he handle it? Would Rayna listen to him? He’d force her to listen. He didn’t care how mean he sounded, or how crazy. She must know. He bounded down the stairs.

“Rayna, I need to talk with you. Rayna?”

She entered from the living area just as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

He rubbed his forehead. “I need to talk to you about that doll.”

Rayna glanced toward a chair where she’d propped her old toy. “What about her?”

He motioned. “I did some research. She’s pretty old. Actually, she’s probably quite valuable.”

“I’m not selling her if that’s what you’re getting at. Honestly, Trent.” She turned from him and entered the room where the doll sat.

“No, let me finish.” He followed. “From what I can tell she’s been sold numerous times, landed in and out of pawn shops and doll stores. There’s been some very questionable happenings surrounding her.”

“What do you mean? How do you know?”

“Things happen. According to several collectors on the Internet...it’s almost like she causes things to happen to people that don’t like her. Or maybe don’t like you—or whoever owns her at the time.”

“That’s absurd. She’s a doll.”

He rubbed his head again. “Maybe a cursed doll.”

“She’s not cursed. Nothing has ever happened to me.”

He dropped his eyes to her chest.

She clasped her hand across her blouse and stared at him. “She didn’t cause that. How could she?”

“How do you know she didn’t? You have no idea how it happened or why.”

“I just know,” she yelled. “She was—” She stopped and squinted at him. “Trent, what’s wrong? Your face is flushed. You don’t look well. You...do you have a headache?”

He gripped the back of a chair. “Yeah, and it’s getting worse. I feel dizzy.”

“You’d better take something.” She put her hand on his forehead to check for fever.

He took her hand. “I want you to be careful, Rayna. It might be a good idea if you put her away; keep her in another room while you’re down here working.”

She pulled away from him. “But I feel encouraged when I look at her.”

“I don’t. I don’t want her around me.
Owwwww
.” He grabbed his head with both hands as a sharp pain gripped him. “I’m already in trouble. She’s...she’s done something.” He stumbled through the living area and out the front door to the porch. Rayna followed.

“No. It’s not her. Trent, you need to see a doctor. Let me take you to the ER. Or tell me who to call.”

“Just let me sit.” He flopped down on the steps and put his head in his hands, massaging aggressively. His vision blurred, his heart pounded in his chest. After a while, he wasn’t sure how long, he felt normal again. He was surprised to see Rayna sitting quietly behind him. Had she been there the entire time?

She moved closer. “Are you okay now?”

“Yeah, I’ve never felt like that. I never have headaches.”

“You’re just under a lot of pressure because of the house and all the work we have yet to do. It’s not because of the doll.”

He turned to look at her. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. But I do know I don’t want another one of these attacks. Felt like the top of my head was going to blow off.”

She put her hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you relax today? I’ll go back to work. We don’t have much more to do in here, then, we can move to the next room.”

Trent looked across the yard at the houses up and down the block. He still wanted to canvass the neighborhood, try to learn all he could about the house and the people who lived there. He took a deep breath. Time to get started.

“I think I’ll take a walk and get myself back to normal.” He stood. “Thanks, Rayna.”

Chapter 7

Their strained relationship permeated the house. Rayna finished working in the living area and moved to the dining room. She took great pains with the contents of a beautiful china cabinet with intricate oak leaf and cupid designs. The center door of the sideboard was a work of art by itself with the carved basket of fruit and flowers. Both pieces were supported by claw feet, with elaborate carvings. When Rayna researched them, she found they were from circa 1900. Again she wondered how Trent could keep himself from forming an attachment to the house and furniture. She loved every massive piece—even the scarred kitchen table where they ate breakfast each morning. Their intimate meeting place. Or it had been.

Trent had joined her for breakfast and confessed that he’d visited a nearby clinic to see a doctor. After taking his blood pressure and history, the doctor suggested his headaches were stress-related. She was certain Trent hadn’t told the doctor he thought he was being tormented by a cursed doll. She smiled at the thought. She was glad Trent seemed satisfied with the diagnosis.

This morning, he’d said he didn’t feel well and was going to work in the upstairs study. Rayna suspected he didn’t want to be around Tiva. The few times he was, he claimed to have a headache. Rayna could tell they were powerful. His eyes watered and he gritted his teeth. She thought he should see the doctor again, and told him so, but he refused. He said as much as he disliked her doll, he wasn’t going to criticize it anymore because he wanted to live. Rayna told him he was being ridiculous. And that’s where they’d left it.

She stopped her work, tilted her head to the ceiling, and listened. Was he resting? Or was he staring out the window at the neighboring homes, wondering if anyone had a kid with a pellet gun? She didn’t believe for a minute someone wanted her dead. There had been no other attempts on her life. But he was so certain she was in danger. She couldn’t hear any movement upstairs. Should she check on him? She glanced at her watch. She’d give him half an hour more.

****

Trent rubbed his chin over and over again, eyeing the homes from the north window of his bedroom. Most of them looked like they were built during the nineteen forties or fifties. Surely someone around knew the original owners of Wounded Heart. The few home-owners he’d talked with knew nothing about his recent purchase or anyone who had lived there. They were either new to the neighborhood or not interested in helping him. During the next few days, he’d tackle the other side of the street. Maybe his approach didn’t work. Perhaps he sounded too inquisitive when he should be more neighborly. A knock at the open bedroom door interrupted his thoughts. He turned to face Rayna. She stood, the doll in her arms. She looked hesitant, and he hated how they’d grown apart. All because of that doll. He rubbed his head, expecting a dagger of pain. Nothing happened. He smiled at her.

“I’m breaking for lunch, want to join me?”

Trent bit his tongue. “No thanks. I’m not very hungry. I think I’ll do a little more work in here, then run over to the hardware store for some more masking tape. Want to go with me?”

“No, I may take a nap after lunch. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

He wanted to say he wasn’t surprised, that he wouldn’t be able to sleep either with that creepy doll staring at him. He didn’t dare. “Okay. Maybe we’ll be on the same page around dinner time.” He tried to grin, but the sight of her standing there holding her doll sent shivers through him.

“Okay.” She walked away.

“Rayna?” he called.

She returned to look at him. Her face was so sad, he wanted to take it in both hands and kiss her until joy bubbled in her laughter and glistened in her eyes. He wanted to hold her until she returned to the girl he’d met—fun, confident, secure in who she was, even if she didn’t
know
who she was. He wanted the real Rayna—pre-Louis, pre-gunshot and definitely pre-Tiva,

“Do you need anything? I can run any errands you have.”

She shook her head. “Don’t need a thing. Thanks though.”

He listened to her footsteps skip down the stairs. From the study on the second floor, he heard kitchen sounds. Cabinet doors opened, shut. Water turned on and off. The fridge door opened, closed. When her steps retreated up the stairs to her third floor room for a nap, he took a deep breath, put his paperwork aside, and went down to the kitchen to scrounge something to fill his own growling stomach. He was surprised to find a dish on the counter. Removing the paper towel from the top, he saw that Rayna had stacked him a ham and cheese sandwich with all the fixings—lettuce, tomato, pickles and spicy mustard—just the way he liked it. A pile of potato chips were on one side of the plate. He marveled that she had known he would enter the kitchen as soon as she left. He felt sad, guilty that he had let her eat alone—even though she hadn’t really been alone. She’d had Tiva. She always had Tiva. Their entire situation turned his stomach, but not enough to walk away from the sandwich she’d prepared. He took his plate and bottled water back to the upstairs study. He’d work while he ate.

Sitting back in the old wooden office chair, he munched his food and perused paperwork from one of the files. Why on earth would anyone leave their files and important papers behind? Everything belonged to WH Incorporated, and seemed to deal with small businesses. WH. Did that stand for Wounded Heart?

He always wondered why heirs walked away from their family’s belongings. Sometimes it looked as if they just disappeared while working one day. Like now. Maybe this guy got fed up with life and took off, started over. Trent certainly understood that feeling. Since that ugly doll showed up, he felt more and more like leaving. But he wouldn’t. He’d stick it out to the end. He wouldn’t walk away until Rayna was completely satisfied about who she was and why she was given away. He shrugged and shook his head. Mystery surrounded the place, and he couldn’t help but wonder what he’d stepped into when he bought it. One thing was certain, if he hadn’t bought the place, he would never have met Rayna. Then again, if he’d never met Rayna, he would never have met her evil toy friend.

“Thanks a lot, Rayna,” he said, using a corny imitation of a favorite TV sitcom character. His silliness caused him to upset the chair and knock the plate of chips, balanced on his outstretched leg, to the floor. Swearing, he got down on his knees to pick them up. He didn’t want greasy stains on the rug. He was certain it was a silk Kashan, worth a good sum. In fact, he should probably roll it up and stash it against the wall. Next time he went to town, he’d purchase a hand-held vacuum.