****
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, Tre
nt.”
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.
“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 t
o 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.
The Last Daughter (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll) Page 6