The Last Daughter (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll)

by Ferguson, Jessica

  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.

  Picking up crumbled chips, brushing gently at the floor, he glanced at the underside of the desk’s center drawer. At the far back of it, something dangled. He crawled into the leg space. Sure enough, an envelope taped to the underside of the drawer had broken loose. His heart quickened. He tugged the envelope from its hiding place. No writing on the outside at all. He flipped it over, thumbed it open. One single sheet of paper inside. He unfolded the document. His breath caught in his throat. Certificate of Birth. Rayna’s birth. Her parents were listed as Raymond and Rosalie Mudwing. He stared at their names until his eyes burned. Rayna Mudwing. Thank God he had found it instead of Rayna.

  Trent folded the paper and put it back in its hiding place. He wanted to check this family out. He couldn’t turn this information over to Rayna until he knew these people were decent. And what are the odds of that, he thought, remembering the brand on Rayna’s chest.

  He carefully cleaned up the spilled potato chips, returned his plate to the kitchen, and left the house. He would walk the entire neighborhood, ask questions, and this time, he had a name; he would get answers.

  Two and a half hours later, he stood in front of a white brick building three blocks from Wounded Heart. He was hot and sweaty, but he wasn’t there to make a good impression. He walked across the pavement where a couple of old timers sat in the sun. He wondered if any of them could be the man he was looking for: Raymond Mudwing. The old woman he’d spoken to when he was canvassing the neighborhood told him Raymond and Rosalie had divorced more than twenty years ago. She had no idea where Rosalie had ended up, but mean old Raymond was sitting in an old folk’s home and God help the people who had to take care of him. Trent wished now he’d asked more questions, but why not get the story “from the horse’s mouth” as his mother always said.

  He wiped perspiration from his brow and gazed at an old guy perched on a bench. “You wouldn’t happen to know Raymond Mudwing, would you?”

  The old timer smirked at him. “Everyone knows the judge.”

  “Judge?” Trent asked.

  “Judge and jury if you ask me,” another chimed in. They laughed.

  “Inside.” The first one motioned toward the door. “Down the hall, last door on the left.”

  Trent eased open the tinted, glass door. The room was sterile white. Framed swamp scenes hung on the walls. Ironic, he thought, that Rayna grew up in Louisiana. Maybe this was a coincidence. Yeah, right, another coincidence. Closing the door behind him, he took in a breath, prepared for the traditional old-folks smell, but instead, got an overwhelming whiff of strawberry plug-ins. He rubbed his nose and started down the hall.

  Someone grabbed his arm. Hard. He twisted around.

  A tall woman with a gray bun wadded at the base of her neck, pointed to a desk holding pen and paper. Obviously, he needed to sign in. “Sorry about that. Didn’t notice.”

  The woman said nothing. She glared at him as if he’d wronged her in some way. After hurriedly jotting his name, he raised his head to ask her if that was all, but she was gone. He shrugged and eased down t
he hall.

  Last door on the left, the old guy had told him. Every door he passed had some kind of faded decoration. Not the door on the left. Standing in front of it, he knocked. No one answered. Knocking again, he flinched when a gruff voice yelled, “What the hell you want?”

  Trent turned the knob and entered.

  Chapter 8

  Rayna was pouring a cup of coffee when Trent burst through the back door. She jumped. “Goodness, you scared me. Where’ve you been? What’s wrong? ”

  “Did you hear the ambulance?”

  “Yes, it sounded pretty close.” She turned to face him.

  “It was the woman I questioned yesterday.”

  “What are you talking about? What woman?”

  He looked around the kitchen. She knew he was searching for Tiva.

  “I left Tiva in my bedroom, Trent. I hate what’s happening between us. We need to get things out in the open. But first, tell me what woman and why you were questioning her.”

  He rubbed his hand across his face. “I asked around the neighborhood to learn something about who lived in this house.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “We need to talk.” His eyes looked wild, his hair was mussed. “That was one of the neighbors I spoke with. Someone broke into her house and roughed her up pretty bad. She’s unconscious.”

  “Oh no, the poor woman. I hope she’ll be okay,” Rayna answered. “Do you think it was theft? They probably didn’t know anyone was home when they broke inside.”

  “Oh, I think they did. In fact, I think it was a warning.”

  She gripped the Kensington pearl coffee mug tightly. “Trent, no. Why would you think such a thing?”

  “Because of my questions.”

  “I won’t believe it. Her beating can’t have anything to do with who lived here. Or me.”

  “I believe it does, Rayna, because I was able to give her a name...” He hesitated.

  She stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

  “I found something.” He put his hands on her arms. “Rayna, I found your birth certificate.”

  Her favorite cup with the platinum-edged band fell to the floor and shattered between them. She was barely aware of the crashing sound or the hot liquid splattering her blue-jeaned legs.

  “Where? When?” she asked.

  He maneuvered her to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. “Sit. Please.”

  She did, her body stiff and tense.

  “You’re not going to be happy with me, but I swear I did it for your own good.”

  “Did what? What did you do?” Her voice held a hint of hysteria and she tried to control herself. She swallowed, cleared her throat. “What?” she repeated.

  “When I found your birth certificate, I went to see your father.”

  She stood from the table. “You found my father?”

  “Yes. Once I had a name—”

  “You had no right, Trent. Not without me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He grabbed her arms. She yanked away from him. “I had to know and now look, an old woman has been beaten up because of it.”

  She looked at him in horror. “That’s ridiculous. It was a burglary or something. I want to see my father. I can’t believe you did this, Trent. And I can’t believe you’d think he’d hurt that old woman.”

  “I did it for you, Rayna. Now, listen to me.” He grabbed her arms again. “He’s angry; he’s bitter. In fact, he’s mean through and through.”

  She pulled away from him. “I want to see him now. Where is he?”

  “Sit down and listen or I swear I won’t tell you one more word.”

  She ground her teeth together and stubbornly sat. She crossed her arms across her mid-section and glared at him.

  “With your parents’ names, I was able to go around the neighborhood and ask questions. Mrs. Parker, the old woman in the two story brick behind us, told me your father is in a private assisted living place a few blocks from here. It’s a pretty eerie place.”

  “All places like that are sad and eerie. Pray you never end up in one.”

  He ignored her comment. “He’s in a wheel chair because of a spinal injury.”

  “Oh, no.” Tears threatened to fall. She clenched her teeth together to stifle the sob in her throat. Her poor father. Could that have been why he gave her up, sent her away? Because he had some debilitating disease? She had always suspected there’d been a good reason. Guilt speared her heart. All these years, she could have helped him. Been there for him.

  “Where’s my birth certificate? What’s my name?” Her words came out in a whisper.

  Trent left the room and came back with an envelope. He handed it to her.

  “Rayna Mudwing. I’m Rayna Mudwing. The family I lived with said Rayna wasn’t my real name. Raymond and Rosalie Mudwing. Three ’Rs. Like a real family.’”

  Trent sat down at the table. “The only reason I went to see him is because I wanted to be sure he couldn’t hurt you.”

  “That’s not your business, Trent. It never was. But are you satisfied he can’t?” Her voice held a slight edge.

  “No, I’m not. He’s a mean, uncaring man, as you’ll see for yourself. I told him about you and about the doll, and he went berserk. Started yelling for someone named Person. A big, gray-haired woman came in and forced me to leave. She’s as scary as he is.”

  She stood. “Oh, Trent, what have you done? You may have ruined it for me. Tell me where he is. I’m going.”

  He looked at his watch.

  “I don’t care what time it is. You can’t stop me. I’m going.”

  He nodded and motioned to her coffee-stained jeans. “Get changed. I’ll drive you.”

  ****

  Trent paced at the foot of the stairs. Was he doing the right thing? Should he contact someone to be with them? But who would he contact? A doctor? A cop? He had no idea. He glanced at his watch. She’d only been upstairs seconds though it felt like much longer. No sooner had he thought it than she bounded down the stairs wearing a rose-colored sundress that hit her mid-calf. A print jacket draped her shoulders. She’d twisted her dark hair at the nape of her neck, reminding Trent of the old woman at the home. Only Rayna was younger, sexy with strands falling down around her ears. Beautiful, yet vulnerable. He’d never seen her in a dress, and he’d never seen such a determined look on her face. Without speaking, they walked through the house to the back door.

  Rayna slid into the passenger side of his truck. “Where are we going? How far?”

  He backed out of the drive. “Just a few blocks away from here. On the edge of the neighborhood; probably a converted office building. The place is called Sun Meadows Assisted Living. It’s anything but sunny.”

  She shot him a disapproving look but said nothing. They didn’t speak again until he pulled into the parking lot of the sprawling building. They looked out the vehicle’s window. The same old timers that Trent had met earlier visited on the front walk. An attendant in lavender scrubs sat with them.

  “Is he out there? Is one of those men my father?” She leaned forward in the truck seat.

  “No. I doubt if he ever comes out of his room.”

  Rayna turned to look at Trent. “I’m sorry I was so angry with you, but surely you understand why.”

  He reached toward her, touched her cheek. “Of course, I do. But please understand, I don’t want anyone to ever hurt you again.”

  She gave him a half smile. “Come with me,” she said.

  They got out of the car. Trent took her hand and led her across the sidewalk and through the door. In the foyer, they signed in with a young woman sitting at a desk. The tall foreboding woman wasn’t around. Within moments they stood in front of the last room on the left, facing a closed door. Rayna shrugged out of her jacket, and Trent saw the top portion of the brand on her chest.

  “What are you doing?”

  She barely glanced at him when she answered. “If he did this to me, I’ll know by his reaction.”<
br />
  Trent clamped his teeth together and knocked on the door.

  “Yeah.” The voice was harsh.

  Trent pushed the door open then stood back so Rayna could enter first. Over her shoulder, he could see old man Mudwing’s face. The old guy arrogantly looked her from head to toe, finally letting his eyes settle on the brand. He clamped his teeth together, his eyes widened.

  “Ran you off once. Like that damn stray Person used to have, looks like you found your way back. We can fix that. Right Person?”

  Trent started toward him, but a beefy arm whipped out and stopped him. For the first time, he became aware of the tall gray-haired woman standing stiff and straight in an alcove beside them.

  Rayna turned away from her to face Mudwing again. “I’m Rayna, your daughter.”

  “I’m not your father. Never was. Never will be.” He glared at them, obviously waiting to see how they would respond.

  Rayna eased toward him but glanced toward the older woman. “According to my birth certificate you are.”

  “Lies.” The old man growled. “Knew the moment you were born you weren’t mine. That’s why I got rid of you. Like Person’s damn stray. Should have fixed you like I finally did it. Shoulda made it permanent.”

  Rayna opened her purse and pulled something out. For a second, Trent feared it might be a gun but then he recognized a heart-shaped cookie cutter. His stomach knotted. He felt sick.

  “Is this what you used on me?”

  Raymond Mudwing smirked. “You never belonged to me, but I’d be damned if I’d let either one of them have you. Your mother deserved that loser. She wanted you but not enough to fight for you. Not enough to choose you over him.”

  He burst into horrible laughter. Trent stepped closer to Rayna.

  “You’re branded. Branded like that doll he gave you.” He laughed hysterically. No matter what they said, or tried to say, he wouldn’t quit swearing and laughing.

  Tears streamed down Rayna’s face. Trent put his arm around her.