Trail of Hope (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll) (4 page)

She pulled her arms tight around her waist and tried to concentrate on three small rocks lying next to her moccasins. Someone watched her. She’d felt an uneasy presence since they arrived in Nashville. Unseen eyes burned a trail over her body, making her feel exposed. Dirty. A hard shiver traveled through her body and caught Martin’s perceptive gaze.

This wonderful man had attached himself to her heart. The last thing she wanted was for him to worry about her too. She smiled and forced the corners of her mouth to turn upward. “Only a shiver. I think the weather is getting colder, if that’s possible.”

He nodded. “Very possible, unfortunately.” He pointed to the darkening skyline and the thick layer of billowing clouds. “The sky grows heavy. We are in for another bad storm.” She watched his eyes unfocus, glazing over as his thoughts turned inward. “I miss her. My Klara.” A wry grin split his face. “She had the warmest feet.”

Sophia slipped her hand into his large one, gnarled and rough from age and hard work, but his grip was still strong. In the evening’s waning light, the color of her skin looked almost the same as his, her olive complexion only a couple of shades lighter than his rich café au lait. A bubbly fullness burst inside her stomach. “I, too, miss my family. Well, my father, anyway. He was a ship’s captain, and when he was home, life was magic. My father was wonderful—loving and fun. My mother was not. But that’s a story for another time. I miss Mamma Lou and Sally the most. They took care of me.”

He squeezed her hand, then let it drop back into her lap. He brushed the snow from underneath the makeshift tent, clearing a space to spread their blankets. “Tell me about Sally and Mamma Lou.”

A rich chuckle slipped through her constricted throat. “Sally is younger than I by four years and is my best friend. Mamma Lou is her mother and my old nanny.” Sophia sat down on her blanket and patted the area next to her, waiting until he was down and settled before continuing. “Truthfully, she was a mother to me too. I hope they’re both safe.”

Martin cupped her chin and, with a gentle brush of his thumb across her cheek, wiped away the tears. “I won’t tell you they are, but I will keep that same hope in my heart as well. As my wise father used to tell me, ‘Know your enemy, son. Keep them close.’ How did Major Todd come into your life?”

Sophia couldn’t stop the twisting of her features as her eyebrows bunched together and her lips curled in disgust. “Unfortunately, that was my doing. I disobeyed my parents’ decision about not allowing me to attend a local ball being held at the major’s residence.” She stretched the muscles in her face, forcing them to relax, and took a deep, cleansing breath as the painful memories from that long-ago night resurfaced. “The major said he needed some air—that the air was heavy—so he led me outside to a small side garden. And then his hands were everywhere, and nothing I did helped. He had just ripped my dress when Sally hit him over the head with a small garden statue. It broke in two, but it knocked the major silly and gave us enough time to get away.”

Martin nodded. “Then what happened?”

Sophia smiled. “Mamma Lou gave us a good tongue-lashing. But even then, after she tucked me into bed that night, I remember not feeling as safe. The next day, however, everything changed. When I went downstairs for a late breakfast, instead of food I found the major with my parents. He lied, of course, and blamed me for everything he’d done. As usual, my mother was furious with me. Said my actions disgraced my father’s good name. She practically threw me into the major’s outstretched arms. Major Todd suggested we marry, and she agreed.”

“And your father? Did he also agree to this plan?”

She shook her head. “No. Later that evening, I talked with him in the library, and we had just agreed that he would talk her out of it—when she died. The doctor said she must have slipped and broken her neck. The strangest thing was where she died. She never went into that room. After losing her baby, Mamma had the room sealed off. No one was ever allowed in there.”

Her eyes filled with tears as the memories raced through her mind. “The major came for me that same night. The rest of the story, you know.” She pulled the old doll from the folds of the rolled-up blanket Martin had placed on her makeshift bed. In the fading light, her doll looked terrible. The tiny pink dress was torn in several places, and somewhere she’d lost a shoe. Sophia pulled her own tattered dress over her legs, which were tucked up against her chest. She rested her chin on her knees and held the doll against her legs, clasping her hands tightly around the doll’s midsection. “This is all I have left from my life in Savannah.” Her mouth twisted sideways together. “Not much, is it?”

He ran a gnarled finger down the doll’s cheek and twisted a fuzzy curl back into place. “You have all you need inside your heart. The memories will live, and home will always be with you.”

For the millionth time, she ran his words through her mind. “Martin?” She listened to the rustling of his body as he lay down and pulled the blanket over him, twisting a few times to find a comfortable spot on the frozen earth.

“Hmmm
?
”

“Will I see Sally again?”

“Yes, Granddaughter. If you believe.”

“Believe in what?”

“Yourself.”

****

Sophia sat in her tucked position for so long her legs tingled painfully, but she refused to move. Sleep was as elusive as a change in the cold weather. Too many doubts and fears rattled around in her head. How could she go on? She’d never had to fend for herself before, which was a daunting thought. And if Major Todd was soon to be haunting her again… She drew in an ice-cold breath—its wintry fingers poking into any warm crevice the frozen air found.

Martin placed his hand against her leg and gave her a tiny squeeze. “Don’t worry so much. We will make a good family, I think.”

A quiet sob sounded in the absolute silence of the night. “You will stay with me? I won’t be alone?”

He squeezed her leg again, the only way he could comfort her in her guarded position. “No, Granddaughter. I will not leave you. My heart tells me our paths are meant to be together. Besides, who else will nag after me? Now curl up in your blanket and sleep. Morning will be here soon enough.”

Sophia closed her eyes and listened to the night sounds. Somewhere, a wolf barked out a quiet cough. She hovered on the ledge between sleep and wakefulness when a deep, taunting voice whispered in her ear.

“Dear Sophia…”

Her eyes flew open and she bolted upright, trying to see where he was through the blanket of darkness surrounding her. Holding her breath, she waited, but the only sound greeting her was a cloak of silence. She forced herself to lie back down and pulled the blanket up to her chin as she tried to escape the freezing air along with her own apprehension. The rapid beating of her heart echoed in her head. Her breath stuttered in her chest, then stopped when her mouth was smashed by a gloved hand.

“You think the old Indian can save you? He can’t. Your future is with me, dearest Sophia.”

She tried to shake her head, tell him how wrong he was. She could never be with this man. She reached up with numb fingers and pulled at the hand clamped to her face.

The more she tugged, the harder he pressed until a sharp sting seared through her lips as the dry tissues split apart. She couldn’t stop the tiny whimper of pain when she felt him lean closer, the evil within him a physical entity hovering above her.

“Do you truly wish to lose your new Indian friends too?”

His hand pushed one last time, the back of her head grinding against the rough wood beneath her. The sound of his laughter disappeared into the echoes of his horse stepping over the frozen ground.

She forced her fingers to relax from their severe grip on the blanket. She shivered uncontrollably, unsure if it was from fear or the surrounding cold.

Chapter Five

Sophia put her doll back into the rickety wagon and readjusted the pathetic blanket around her shoulders. In the week and a half since leaving Nashville, she’d almost forgotten the major’s threats.

Almost.

They’d seen less of Bryan, as well. He’d only been able to stop once to give them food, telling them the major had been placed in charge.
No wonder,
she thought.
He didn’t have time to mess with my sanity. He had too many other problems to deal with—like not getting us lost.
The clinking of harness and the frozen huffing of horses pulled her thoughts to the present. She turned to see two wounded-looking soldiers walking toward her, their faces swollen and covered with large purple welts. One soldier’s arm was wrapped and the other, his knee. Both bandages showed blood seeping through the dirty gray cloths.

She didn’t see the man draped over one of the horses until they dumped him on the ground at her feet. A pain-filled moan drew her gaze down to the injured man’s face. She gasped. His eyes were swollen shut and sealed with blood, his nose bent to an odd angle, and more blood trailed down the side of his face from one nostril. His bloody lips had been split open several times and, through the vee of his torn shirt, dark red welts crisscrossed his upper chest.

She jerked her gaze from the severely injured man and glared at the soldiers, who had already remounted their horses. She thrust her small fists down hard onto each hip. “What have you done to him? He’s almost dead!” she yelled at the retreating figures.

Martin shuffled up behind her and glanced down. A drawn-out, strangled sound came from him, and he fell beside the injured man, frowning. His aged fingers tenderly brushed the stranger’s matted black hair from his forehead.

She knelt by Martin’s side. “Do you know this man?”

His voice was so quiet, she had to lean forward to hear him clearly, the worry evident with each word. “Yes. This is Clay.”

Her voice high and reedy, she exclaimed, “This is the man who came to see you at the stockade? This is that Clay?” When Martin nodded, she groaned, then stood. She tugged on the older man’s arm and helped him to his feet. “Come on. Help me lift him up into the wagon. I’ll see what I can do about getting him cleaned up.”

By the time they got him into the wagon, they were exhausted. They managed the feat only after several of the young boys nearby joined their struggle. As Martin sat with Clay, she pulled out their small bucket, holding what little water they had left from the last stream they’d crossed. The bucket had been a gift from Bryan after he realized they were unable to store water. Thankfully, snow was only frozen water. She ran to a nearby tree and pulled a branch down, catching as much of the falling snow in the bucket as she could. She placed it next to Clay, then ripped the hem of her old nightgown into several strips. She cleaned most of the blood from Clay’s face and chest while Martin reset his broken nose.

She gazed at his poor face. He still looked terrible. Bestirring herself, she dipped one of the cleaner strips of material into the melted snow and gently wiped the lacerated chunks of flesh that had once been lips.

She continued this routine at frequent intervals, afraid to stop but unsure what to do next. She had never taken care of someone this injured.

****

Slowly, Clay became aware of someone touching him, rubbing something ice-cold over his sensitive mouth. His body felt heavy and sore. The simple act of trying to swallow sapped any stored energy. The wet cloth touched the inflamed skin on his chest, each movement feathering over him like a gentle breeze. Calming.

He tried to talk, to ask who was helping him, but something, fingers maybe, lightly touched his lips, and a soft, sultry voice whispered near his ear.

“You are safe now. Sleep.” Her quiet admonition was the last thing he heard and, for the first time in a long time, he fell into a normal, restful asleep.

Chapter Six

Sophia jerked awake from her wonderful dream. Gone were the elegant gowns and beautiful people, and in their place—whispers. Raspy, horrible sounds she knew were meant to terrify her. It worked. This time though, something was different. The whispers came closer. She heard the familiar scraping of boots against the rocky earth.

“Sophia…”
A tiny whimper escaped from her paralyzed body.
“You’re no longer alone, dearest Sophia. Soon, you will be my wife.”
The singsong voice faded, and she let out her restrained sigh, only to choke on it again when a hand appeared from the dark shadows, hovering around the wagon’s protective walls.

Before the gloved apparition could grab her, her terrified squeal woke Martin, who jerked up into a sitting position. “Who’s there? Show yourself!” The last either one of them heard was a pair of boots scuffling away from them.

****

“So when were you going to tell me?”

She winced at the angry tone lacing each word. Morning had arrived earlier than either of them wanted, and with his accusatory glares, she knew she was in for a lecture. “I’m sorry, Martin. I thought I could handle the major on my own, but now I know I should have told you first. There’s simply something wrong with his mind.”

Martin let out a loud
grunt,
then sat down next to her on the end of the wagon. “Sophia, I thought you understood how sick the man was after what he did to you in the stockade. I have tried to watch out for you. Young Bryan is also helping. He watches the both of you, but even he can’t be everywhere.” He leaned closer and took her chilled hand in his, gently rubbing the backside with his calloused thumb. “You
must
tell us when something happens—no matter how minor you think it might be. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Granddaughter?”