Trail of Hope (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll) (7 page)

After a long pause, Martin’s equally deep yet gravelly voice responded. “What is it you are not saying, Nighthawk? We have no choice but to do what the soldiers tell us.”

Nighthawk.
She’d forgotten about his Choctaw name, rightfully fitting his darker, more restless spirit. She’d often wondered why he seemed so driven. The stiff way he held himself and the frequent jaw clenching made her wonder what terrible things were going through his mind. His eyes looked haunted. Maybe one day he’d trust her enough to tell her what chewed at his insides.

“Bryan told me about Todd being placed in command when Jackson called General Scott back to Washington. Why didn’t you tell me? The man’s an idiot. He’ll get us all killed before we get near the Territory.”

When she heard Todd’s name, a strangled mewling escaped her frozen lips. She whipped a hand over her mouth and held her breath, only letting it out when Clay resumed his low-pitched conversation.

“When the Choctaw crossed this river, it was summer. We had calm weather with only a light breeze pushing the boats. Even then, one of the boats drifted off course. For days, we camped by the river’s edge, but the boat never returned. Our leader’s incompetence cost my family their lives.”

She was so enthralled with Clay’s story and the loss of so many people, she never felt the twin streams of salty tears running down her cheeks. She understood so much now and could not fault his reticence. Wrapped up in her sad thoughts, she missed the first part of Martin’s response.

“…not know why the Great Spirit calls home those we love. We cannot question his wisdom, my son. I, too, lost that day. I loved your sister as my own granddaughter. Both my girls were taken too young. You do not have to say anything right now, but the one story I’ve longed to hear has never been told.”

Clay was silent for a moment then took a deep breath. “My father’s.”

“Yes. My friend—my blood brother.”

“Father used to tell tales about the two of you.” A low chuckle sounded, but she couldn’t tell whose it was. “Said you would be a perfect Indian if only you’d been Choctaw.”

“I used to say the same about him, only the other way around. I’ve missed his jokes, his counsel.”

“It happened several days after the ship disappeared. We camped near the river to wait. Mother never gave up hope that her parents and friends would return. Ribbons of yellow and pink still decorated the morning sky when I left to get our daily rations at the army camp several miles ahead. It wasn’t safe to send my mother or sister, so I went. When I returned, I found them lying on the ground. I could see Susan’s little foot sticking out from underneath their bodies.”

Martin cleared his throat, but Sophia still heard the pain and loss in his voice. “He died a warrior. He died trying to save his family. It is what he would have wanted.”

“I vowed that day that I would find who killed them. I
will
get justice for my family.”

“It is good you want to avenge their deaths, but I think there’s more than just vengeance in your heart. Be careful, young Nighthawk, that those roots don’t grow so deep you are unable to make room for other feelings.”

She held her breath until her chest ached, but their silence continued. She crawled to the end of the rough bed and hopped to the ground. Two steps and a sharp turn around the wagon and she found herself standing between Martin’s now sleeping form and Clay, who still sat, unmoving, on the ground. He raised his head but didn’t look at her; instead, he gazed up into the darkening heavens. She glanced up as the gray clouds were quickly consumed, turning into an ominous ridge of cresting and whirling as the storm clouds gained control of the morning sky.

“Martin is the only family I have left. Because of their blood vow, I now take care of him instead of my father.”

The small distance between them didn’t dampen the waves of sadness she felt radiating from him. Seeing his vulnerability made her uncomfortable. Her own heartache was too fresh. She clenched her fists together to stop their forward movement to give him comfort.

“Martin and my father were best friends, inseparable until Martin went to school.” He lowered his head and looked over at the sleeping man.

Giving in to her heart, she leaned forward and placed a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry, Clay. I can’t imagine what you have been through.”

“Mmm.” She watched as he raised his other arm, his long fingers rubbing his eyes as the first large drops of rain began to fall. “At least my parents died with the hope that their son was still alive.”

****

Several days later, three ships arrived to carry them across the Mississippi. Getting everything loaded and ready to sail had been a trial, but this experience was worth it. Excitement coursed through Sophia as she looked out across the ice-laden water. Unfortunately, the air was even colder on the water, and land couldn’t come soon enough. Her mind wandered back to Clay and what he would do once the army left. Engrossed in her thoughts, she didn’t hear him join her at the ship’s railing.

“What are you thinking about?”

The sound of his deep voice beside her made her jump. Fist clutched to her heart, she glared at him. “You scared me half to death.” Ignoring his rich chuckle, she gripped the railing with her hands until the knuckles turned white. “I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular.”

Two large chunks of floating ice banged against each other in the moment before she continued. “My parents were killed too. My mother’s death was suspicious—a broken neck in an empty room.” She sighed. “My father? I’m not certain, but in my heart I know he’s dead too.” Her eyes filled with unshed tears. “I miss him every day. He was good to me.”

Clay looked at her with a furrowed brow. “What about your mother?”

Shrugging, she shook her head. “My mother was—different. She was the queen of tantrums. Whatever she wanted, she got.” Her sharp laugh was bitter. “We were not close.”

Clay remained silent. The boat’s rocking motion sharpened, and her stomach along with it. Not only was the rebellious organ swaying from side to side but up and down and back and forth. With each passing second, the dance grew wilder.

Before she embarrassed herself, she braced herself with straightened arms on the railing and studied the different-sized chunks of ice. She took slow, deep breaths and concentrated on the river’s wild beauty while her stomach regained its balance. The ice chunks mesmerized her, and she studied a sharp staircase pattern in the water. Her gaze had traveled farther out over the large expanse when something dark bobbed out of the water. At first she thought it was a large bird, but as the ship inched forward, she saw a face. Her horror grew when she realized she was seeing people in the icy water. Sophia’s heart fell when one of the objects turned and she could see the child’s beautiful, scared face as it came into view.

“Oh no!” she gasped. “Clay, there are people in the water!” Using the motion of the ship, her adrenalin propelled her forward. With no thoughts to her own safety, she dropped over the ship’s side and into the freezing water.

The water crashed over her like an arctic blast, stinging her skin and sucking the small reserve of oxygen from her lungs. Struggling for air, she thrashed her way up through the river’s strong pull from the ship’s forward movement. With one last, hard kick, she broke through to the surface and pulled in as much air as she could while her legs pumped furiously to keep her out of a watery grave.

A shrill cry pierced her ears. Turning her head in the direction of the sound, she swam with a few frenzied strokes toward the two heads she could see. Her limbs quickly succumbed to the ice-cold temperatures, but she knew she had to reach them before the elderly woman and child sank beneath the water. Her hand brushed against the woman’s dress, the water-soaked material swishing like silk over her skin. She stopped swimming and furiously pedaled her feet in the water like she’d learned to do as a child. The woman looked ancient, her face scrunched into a mass of wrinkles. Glazed obsidian eyes speared her own, their silent message clearly understood.

Sophia had only been in the water a few minutes, but she was already exhausted. She reached forward, trying to grab hold of them both, but the woman shoved the child in her direction and Sophia’s arm automatically wrapped around the wriggling body. As tiny hands grabbed hold of her neck, the old woman sank beneath the frigid water. The child crawled up her body, holding onto her neck with a death grip. She cradled the little one with one arm while her other pulled back and forth through the water, struggling to keep them afloat.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the boat as the giant vessel slowly cut through the water. She was running out of time. She scissored her tired legs and thrust out with her one free arm—and then something hit her in the back and snaked around her waist.

Relief washed through her when Clay’s voice shouted in her ear, “Just hold onto the boy—I’ll do the swimming!”

She tightened her grip around the frightened child and held him as tightly as she could with her numb arms. “Th-th-thank y-you!” she yelled, grateful Clay had shown up when he had. Shaking violently, her teeth chattering, she fought the thick darkness clouding her vision.

Through half-closed eyes, she tried to focus on the painted planks as someone pulled her over the side of the boat and into Martin’s outstretched arms. She couldn’t feel her body anymore, and her mind wouldn’t work. She whimpered as several of the women rubbed her arms and legs with old blankets, making her skin feel as if they were peeling it from her bones. Clay’s anxious face appeared above hers. Without saying a word, he pulled her up into his tight embrace and warmed her lips with a kiss. She was amazed at the gentleness of his kiss compared to his vise-like grip around her body. Too bad she couldn’t feel her lips to enjoy it, she thought, just before she slipped into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Eleven

Clay’s arms wrapped around her sodden form, holding onto her as firmly as he could without hurting her. As soon as she was pulled back into the safety of the boat, several women wrapped her in blankets. He pulled her into his embrace, and the child crawled into her lap and promptly fell asleep. They’d wrapped blankets around him, as well. Too bad his wet clothes kept a layer of cold next to his skin. The blankets wouldn’t do much if they kept wet clothes on.

A hard shudder tore through him when he realized how close she’d come to dying. Somehow, during the last month, she’d wormed her way into his heart. He sat in stunned silence, staring down at her beautiful face. Silky black hair framed her skin—a rich, dark cream, and perfect. His chest felt hot and swollen as a powerful emotion extinguished the doubts and disbeliefs. He loved her. Yet his vow to avenge his family came first.

As the hours passed, Martin’s and Clay’s anxiety increased. “Sophia? Aiukli? You need to wake up now.” Clay’s voice broke. He’d talked to her constantly since she’d gone limp in his arms, hoping she would hear him calling to her. She’d been unconscious for almost eight hours, and pushing back the growing panic gripping his chest was getting harder to do. Taking turns with Martin, holding her and trying to warm her icy skin, helped. Somewhat. The child slept as well, tightly wrapped in her arms.

Clay caught Martin’s steady gaze and for the hundredth time asked, “She will be fine, right?”

Martin nodded once. His eyes narrowed but never left her pale face. Clay waited while the older man worked out whatever was bothering him.

Martin cleared his throat a couple of times. “I heard you talking…just before she rescued the little one.” Clay kept his mouth shut and waited for Martin to continue. “Did I ever tell you about my daughter?” he asked in a tired voice. Clay shook his head. He vaguely remembered hearing his father speak about her, but she’d died when Clay was young, so he hadn’t paid much attention.

“My Water Lily was beautiful, like her mother. The earth was happy when she smiled. We still lived together as a tribe while she grew up. By the time Water Lily was a beautiful woman, most tribe members had moved off to their own farms.” He paused. Clay noted the faraway glint in the old man’s eyes. He could almost see the lifetime of memories as they tumbled over one another. He glanced down when Sophia twitched.

“When my daughter, Water Lily, found an injured white man, she brought him to our home. The man healed and they fell in love. Almost one year later, they had a child of their own. A beautiful daughter. My Klara and I never knew such peace. Just after Rain Blossom turned one, Water Lily took her to Savannah and gave our granddaughter to a white family for them to raise. Our daughter died very soon after, without telling us who they were. Her husband, Jerrod, returned from his hunt to find his wife dead and his daughter gone. He was devastated.” Martin’s red eyes rose from Sophia’s face to stare out across the ship’s deck. “We never found our Rain Blossom—in less than one week, we lost all three.”

A band tightened across Clay’s chest as the old man’s pain became his. He knew what being alone was like—a hollowness deep inside that nothing could fill. He looked down at the beauty in his lap.
Until her
. An idea crept into his mind as he mulled over what he’d just learned. “How did Water Lily know she was dying? Could she have been worried about what the Cherokee would do after she was gone?”

Martin shrugged. “I don’t know how she knew or even what she was thinking. We would never have turned either one away. Jerrod had become one of us—he was Cherokee in all but skin.”