Trail of Hope (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll) (5 page)

Taking care of Clay had kept her mind off her worries, but last night’s terror had brought them all rushing back. She stole a quick glance at the sleeping form, his only movements from the occasional jerk of his muscles. She met Martin’s angry gaze. With his brows bunched together, Martin’s wrinkles seemed darker, more prominent, and his lips pinched into a straight line. “I understand,” she whispered.

The constant shivers shook her too-thin shoulders. Turning in the wagon’s tight space, she retucked the threadbare army blanket around Clay’s shoulders and beneath his chin. She sighed in frustration. So many Cherokee had died, and still they did not have enough blankets for everyone. The ones they did have were little more than rags and unable to keep the cold out.

Her stomach rumbled. Just like the blanket supply, their meager rations couldn’t feed everyone. They’d come up with a plan for alternating meals so that every person ate at least once a day. She crawled back and placed the back of her hand against Clay’s forehead, making sure his fever hadn’t returned. A movement caught her attention and she watched two young children walking together, guarded on either side by their parents. A small smile touched her face when she realized their small frames didn’t look quite as skeletal as they had several weeks before. If going hungry meant saving more children, she would gladly give up some of her food.

Taking one last glance at Clay, she turned and crawled back to where Martin still sat at the end of the wagon. Several feet away, the small fire they’d been given to cook their meager breakfast of mealy flour biscuits and salt pork danced, sending out bursts of heat. She winced when she rubbed her hands together. She’d been cold for so long, even a tiny bit of heat burned.

“I am so very tired of being cold. I want my bed back home. Burrowing under the warm coverlet and enjoying the constant heat from the fireplace would feel magnificent.”

As her eyes closed from exhaustion, something hard pressed into her cupped palms. She glanced down and saw a small hardtack biscuit lying there. She frowned and raised her head to meet Martin’s worried gaze.

“You are getting too thin, Granddaughter. You spend all your time taking care of Clay and me, and you forget yourself. There was an extra biscuit this morning. Everyone agreed you should have it.” He held up his gnarled hand before she could turn him down. “Do not think I haven’t seen the many times you have given your meal to the young ones. Honor Jesse’s passing last night and eat the biscuit.”

So many deaths—the Cherokee, friends, family. Even with one more, Sophia still felt the heavy pain of grief as tears filled her eyes.

A quiet shout broke their tense silence. They looked up as Bryan stepped up to their small fire, looking tired and dirty. Sophia curled her nose, knowing what she must look and smell like. She’d give just about anything for a quick dip in a stream, although she’d probably freeze before she could get out.

They patiently waited while the young soldier squatted and took off his hat. He ran his fingers through his rather shaggy red hair. She smiled.

“Here, Miss Sophia. I saved these for you an’ Mr. Jefferson. I ‘magine he’s rightly tired of the broth you’ve been feedin’ him.” He thrust a small, wrapped bundle into her hands. “If’n he ever wakes up, he’s gonna be hungry.” Mindful of his gaze as she carefully unwrapped the parcel, her expression turned from curiosity to suspicion as her eyebrows drew together in a frown. As if knowing where her thoughts had turned, he held up a hand. “Don’t worry yerself none. I watched those two new soldiers. When they didn’t eat everthin’, I took what was left. I’d a been here sooner, but the major’s carryin’ on somethin’ fierce—all possessed like, if’n you know what I mean.”

Sophia made a very unladylike grunting sound. “Yes, I know exactly what you mean.” She paused and took a long breath. She understood the risks Bryan took on their behalf—stealing the food—and knew that if caught he would be punished. Severely. “How will we ever repay you for all you’ve done?” Even in the dimming light, she could see the red flame spreading over his face.

“Aw, shucks, Miss Sophia. My mamma would have my backside if’n I didn’ help you. It’s not right, what’s happenin’ to the Indians. Besides, you’d do the same fer me.” Bryan jumped up and jammed his hat back down onto his head. “I need t’ get back before they notice I’m gone.” After a few hurried steps away from their small camp, he returned, his face scrunched into a thoughtful frown. “I’m not rightly sure what the major’s carryin’ on about, but my gut tells me that you need t’ be careful, Miss Sophia. Stick close to Martin an’ keep yer eyes open.”

She quickly stood and laid her hand over his dirty coat sleeve. She leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. His short stubble tickled her lips. Biting back a smile, when his face flamed red again, she whispered, “Be safe, and thank you.”

He mumbled under his breath as he ducked his head and hurried away.

****

Clay felt a fierce storm of anger flood through him as he watched the beautiful woman lean forward and kiss the soldier. He slowly laid his screaming body back down. His arm was still too sore to pull the blanket up, so instead he draped it across his chest. He glared up at the purplish-pink streaks crossing the night sky as the new day dawned, oblivious to the still-glowing white stars blinking their unknown song. His thoughts spiraled.

Why had she kissed him? Who was he—a beau? He growled, shaking his head. The man looked to be about seventeen and definitely too young for her. A soft peal of laughter floated toward him. His scowl darkened more when he realized where his mind had automatically gone. Until he found the men responsible for killing his family, he had no room in his life for anything, especially a woman. He inhaled, then slowly pushed the air from his lungs, willing his aching muscles to relax.

Just as he slipped into a light sleep, he heard her scramble into the back of the wagon. He smiled as she mumbled and grunted, trying to find a comfortable position by his side. When he heard a
thud
and then a very unladylike response, a loud chuckle broke through his pinched lips.

“Oh! You’re awake.”

“Well, if that means I can feel every ache and pain shooting through my body and my stomach feels like it’s bedding down next to my spine, then, yes, I’m awake.” He chuckled again.

“Great. A comedian,” she moaned, then sighed as she sat back up.

He felt the soft touch of something against his abdomen. Even with her featherlight push, it still felt as if she’d shoved a gun butt into his middle, and he could do nothing to stop his groan of pain.

She gasped. “I am
so
sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” He felt the gentle caress of her hand against his tensed muscles, which slowly relaxed under her ministrations. “I just don’t like being caught unaware,” she whispered.

He grabbed the tiny wrist, stopping her circular motions. If she didn’t stop, it wouldn’t be sore muscles that bothered him. The longer her hands touched him, the harder another part of his body became. He moved her hand away, immediately missing her soft touch. “It’s not your fault. I startled you.”

He dropped his arm down against the floor of the wagon and felt two small, round objects there already. Lifting his other arm slowly across his body, his long fingers found the two offenders and picked them up. Still uncertain as to what they were, he asked, “Umm, by chance did you drop something earlier?”

“Your meal, I’m afraid.” He heard her small sigh. Then she continued, “The soldiers keep most of the food for themselves, so a group of us share what we do get. One of the soldiers has helped by giving us extra water and finding more food whenever he can. Somewhere around here there are two hardtack biscuits waiting to be eaten.”

“Well, you needn’t worry. I found them.” He lifted them to his nose and sniffed, wincing at their acrid scent. “Do they taste as bad as they smell?”

She laughed. “Worse. But you’ll get used to them, especially the hungrier you get. Eat those two, and if you’re still hungry, I have a few more. You can thank Bryan for your feast. He knew you’d be hungry as soon as you woke up.”

Realization dawned. “Bryan’s the young soldier I saw you kissing, isn’t he?”

“Excuse me? Just how long were you watching me—and why?”

“I wasn’t. Not really. I only wanted to see where I was.” He waited for her response, took a bite from the hard, dry bread, and winced again. They really were as bad as they smelled. He was surprised when she turned away from him and lay down without responding. Was that a good thing?

“Get some sleep. Martin and I have been taking turns watching over you, which means the one not in here is out there. Walking. For hours.”

Well, at least she didn’t sound mad. She sounded tired.

Chapter Seven

The moment Sophia woke and saw Martin’s flushed face she knew something was wrong. During the day, he never willingly climbed into the wagon. Leaning over Clay’s sleeping form, she held her hand against Martin’s cheek. He was burning up. A tight squeezing seized her insides.

He pulled her hand down but held on to the icy limb. “Do not worry so. If the Great Spirit wants me, I will have no choice but to go.”

When she replied, her voice sounded squeaky and unused. “Grandfather, you can’t leave me too. Promise me you will fight to get better. Please?” Her fear spiked a little more when she heard the rattling intake of air as he drew in a breath.

A smile broke through the many wrinkles covering his face. “I’m not going anywhere at the moment.” He patted her small hand with his larger one. “Do not worry so.”

A corner of her mouth drew up in amusement. “You already said that.” A hard shiver shook her frame. Talking was difficult as her teeth clicked together in the midday’s chill. “But I will try. I just worry…”

He gave her a halfhearted wave. “Go, Granddaughter. While everyone is stopped, get done whatever you need to do.” As she hopped to the ground, his weak voice carried a warning. “Do not go alone.”

Sophia glanced back into the wagon, searching Clay’s sleeping face. He looked rested, actually peaceful—until his eyes opened and his contentedness turned into a grimace.

“I don’t think my insides will ever feel warm again,” he said. “I think there’s a hive of bees stinging my feet and hands.”

She chuckled, then leaned against the wagon bed’s rough wood. “I know that pain well. Not only do I feel it now, but when I was five, my best friend took me creek jumping.”

His laugh was deep, its rich baritone bubbling through her. “And you fell in,” he added.

“Yes. I fell in. Being young, we didn’t know what to look out for when choosing a jumping spot. If we had, the large hive would’ve been the first thing we saw. Instead, it blended perfectly with the leaves, and I found out the hard way that bees don’t like a lot of noise. Or heat. Like people, it makes them cranky.” She paused, remembering that day with a mixture of fondness and regret. “I don’t recall ever feeling pain like that. Mamma Lou—my nanny—counted more than twenty-seven stings. Thomas had even more.”

When Clay met her gaze, she felt as if she were falling into a deep pit. This man touched her where no one else ever had—and it scared her.

“Who is Thomas?” The richness of his voice sent a wave of tingly prickles over her skin, making her want to hear him again.

“He was Mamma Lou’s oldest child. My best friend.”

One black eyebrow rose on his sharp, handsome face. “He’s dead?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. He was sold to another plantation soon after that. My mother didn’t like that I had befriended a negro boy. Said he was beneath me and that I was never to play with him again.” Disgusted with that memory, she turned and hurried toward the tree line, unsure if she was running away from memories or her growing feelings for Clay.

She pushed herself away from the tree and straightened her dress, wishing nature provided a better privy. She stepped away and looked around for her first landmark leading back to camp. Just as she found the final marker, a loud
crack
sounded behind her. She hesitated only a second, then threw herself backward against the closest tree, luckily one of the larger ones.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I should’ve listened to Martin.
It would’ve taken only five seconds to grab one of the women to go with her—but all she could do now was kick herself. Her muscles tensed when another branch cracked, nearer this time. She tried to calm the frantic beating of her heart. It sounded like a drum in her ears. The eerie silence of the woods pressed around her. Whoever was doing this meant for her to suffer—either by his actions or her own. She had just convinced herself that whoever had been there was gone when a familiar tune whistled through the air. The singsong cadence pushed at a distant memory, but she couldn’t remember where she’d heard it before. Her tensed muscles ached, and their incessant quivering increased in her arms and legs as she held her position.

As quick as a wink, she remembered where she’d heard the tune. It had been one of her father’s favorite sea shanties. There was only one person in this godforsaken wilderness who had known her father. She understood fear and how it felt, but this new surge of emotion went beyond that. Truly petrified and with no idea what to do, she whispered a prayer under her breath. The decision about what she should do was ripped from her when a hand dropped onto her shoulder. Emitting a loud
squeal,
she bolted forward and didn’t stop. Her pent-up terror propelled her through the trees and into Bryan’s arms at the edge of the clearing.