Trail of Hope (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll) (11 page)

“What’s your name?”

“Santini. Jerrod Santini.”

Martin’s weak voice rasped from behind them. “Jerrod? Is that really you?”

The stranger looked startled and, ignoring both Clay and Bryan, he moved to Martin’s prone form. Clay followed, stopping in front of Sophia. Despite the dirt and tearstains, she looked lovelier than ever. Did he dare hope she would forgive him his stupidity? Before he was ready, she looked up. His breath tightly wedged against the lump clogging his throat as her tear-filled gaze met his.

Clay cleared his throat, whispering hoarsely, “How? Where?”

She watched the emotions fly across his face. “I got lucky. The major was too concerned about bandaging his burned hand and never sealed the tunnel. I crawled around until I found the inside opening. Halfway through the tunnel, I heard voices and knew you’d found me.”

The tall, slim man knelt beside Martin and gripped the gnarled hand in his own. “Martin? Is that really you? I’d begun to give up hope of ever finding you and Klara.” His worried gaze noted the bleeding hole in the old Indian’s shoulder. “What happened? Who shot you?”

Martin coughed and waved off Jerrod’s questions. “It’s nothing. I’m fine, or will be.” Martin reached his free hand out to lay it over Jerrod’s. “Where have
you
been all these years? No one seemed to know where you disappeared to.”

Jerrod threw a frantic glance toward Bryan, his face lined with anxiety. “Please?” he begged. “I need my saddlebag back at my camp. I
need
to help him.”

Bryan met Clay’s gaze and nodded in response to whatever he read in Clay’s expression. Turning, he ran back into the woods and in a few minutes returned with the saddlebag, dropping it on the ground next to the kneeling man.

“Here, let me take care of your shoulder first, then we’ll talk.” Jerrod took the canteen from Bryan and poured the cool water over the seeping wound. He gently poked at the small hole, then felt the ragged edges of the second hole in Martin’s upper back. “You will live,” he teased. “With most of the blood washed away, your injury’s not as bad as it first looked. The bullet went all the way through your shoulder, so we won’t have to dig it out. You know I need to clean the wound and make sure part of your shirt isn’t in there.” He pulled a small flask from the bag and poured the contents into the bullet hole front and back. Ignoring Martin’s sharp intake of breath as the alcohol stung, he yanked out a folded handkerchief and pressed it against the wound to help staunch the blood flow. Once it was stopped, he shrugged out of his vest and fashioned it into a strange, if workable, sling for Martin’s arm.

Sophia sniffed back a quiet sob and gently touched the bandage. Still worried, she looked up, her thanks frozen on her lips as she met the man’s stunned gaze. He stared unblinking and, as if by its own volition, his hand reached for hers before it dropped to his knee again without touching her. A frown tugged at his brows and a hoarse whisper slipped from his quivering lips, “Water Lily?”

For a moment, she wondered if she’d heard him correctly. “What? No, my name is Sophia.”

Jerrod sat down heavily on the hard-packed ground. “You look so much like her—the same smile and the same sweet, brown eyes a man could drown himself in.”

The man’s face sagged with his grief. He looked so miserable and his sorrow for this woman he’d named felt so real. She leaned forward and laid her hand over his. “I am very sorry. Was Water Lily your wife?” He nodded, so she asked, “What happened to her?” She waited while he pulled his emotions back together, unaware of how silent everyone else had become.

“She died a long time ago, but I still miss her like it was yesterday. We didn’t even know she was sick—it happened so fast.” He sighed. “I couldn’t accept that she was never coming back.” He smiled sadly at Martin. “Martin and Klara took care of me. Kept me from falling apart. But Water Lily had taken our daughter somewhere. And I had to find her.”

When Martin struggled to sit up, Sophia—with Clay’s help—moved him closer to the wagon and propped him up against the wheel. She crisscrossed her legs, trying to squash her curiosity, wondering what it would feel like to be loved so completely by a man. She peered at Clay, but his stony face told her nothing. Could he love her the way Jerrod had loved Water Lily?

Martin stared at Jerrod. “What became of you? You sent no word. After awhile, we searched for you, but by that time, you had disappeared.”

“I backtracked Water Lily and the baby all the way to Savannah, but then lost the trail. I found no trace of Rain Blossom. My daughter had simply vanished. And I missed Water Lily with my whole heart. I couldn’t help but think I had killed her somehow. Or that she would have lived had I been at the village. I failed in my search for Rain Blossom, and I was too ashamed to return. I wandered through Savannah for a while, drowning my sorrow in a few taverns. It was there I ran into a man I once sailed with, and he offered me a job as his chief mate. I accepted. After about twelve years, he wanted to spend more time with his daughter, so he offered me his ship, to run as her captain in his stead. I took her with mixed feelings. She’s a good vessel, reliable, but at the same time she reminded me of what I had lost.” He stared at the ground, breathing heavily. Eventually, he raised his head. “The name of the ship is
Lily
of
the
Sea
.”

Sophia gasped, and the men turned to look at her. “No, that can’t be.”

“What is it, little one?” Martin reached for her but winced in pain at the movement.

“What was the name of this captain? The man you sailed with?” She pressed her hands against her stomach hoping to quell the jittering inside her.

Jerrod tilted his head, a question hovering on his tongue, but he answered her. “Aaron Deveraux. He was one of the best men I have ever known. I returned from a run to the Antilles only to discover he and his wife had been murdered and their daughter was missing. I didn’t want to work for another man, so I left.” He took Martin’s hand in both of his. “I came to find you, you and Klara, only to discover you’d been sent on this horrible march. I followed in the hopes of finding you. I finally gave up and decided to keep going west, to see this new land where the government was sending the Indians.”

Sophia pressed her hands to her mouth. Aaron Deveraux. Her father. “It’s true then, what Major Todd said.” The words, strangled by her constricting throat, sounded raspy. She tried to breathe around the heartache. “Aaron Deveraux was my father. And he
was
a good man.” A tear left a streak down her face. She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. She had no time for tears right now. Martin was hurt. Todd was dead. There was much to do before she could mourn her father. She glanced up, startled by the intensity of Jerrod’s stare.

“You look so much like her. Like my Water Lily. But you say Captain Deveraux was your father?”

Sophia felt every eye on her, and she flushed. “Yes.”

“Forgive me, Miss Deveraux, but you look nothing like him. Did you favor your mother?”

Surprised, she considered the question. Jerrod was right. Her father and mother had both been fair. Her heavy black hair and eyes were far different. “I… No, actually. I didn’t, come to think of it.”

Martin and Jerrod exchanged a long look, and she narrowed her eyes in consternation. “What are you not telling me?”

“Is it possible, Martin? Could she have been so close under my nose?” The pain in Jerrod’s voice tore at Sophia’s heart.

Her fist bunched in her skirt, but Martin reached over to pat her clenched fingers with gentle concern. “I suspected she might be, the first time I saw her, when Major Todd brought her to the stockade. She looked so much like Water Lily. Even my Klara, as sick as she was, saw her daughter’s face in this young girl. I am convinced it is true. You spoke of sailing with Captain Deveraux so often. I think Water Lily took Rain Blossom to him. I think she asked him to look after your child until you came for her. But he decided to keep the baby for himself.”

Sophia couldn’t breathe. Emotions bubbled up from deep inside her, and she thought she might explode. “I was adopted?” That would explain so much. “No wonder my mother hated me.” The admission flew out of her mouth, and she couldn’t call it back.

“Did she hurt you?” Jerrod hissed.

Frightened by the intensity in his voice, she shook her head vehemently. “No, no. My parents—I mean, the Deverauxs—were very nice. Papa was very kind. Mama was…distant, but she never harmed me.”

Jerrod looked downcast when she called Aaron Deveraux her papa. She touched his hand, a tentative gesture. “I’m sorry. He was the man who raised me. But I would like the chance to know you, now that we have found each other.” At that moment, the import of the whole situation burst upon her. She turned to stare at Martin and had to stifle a little squeal of excitement. “But…but…that means you really are my grandfather!”

The old man smiled and patted her cheek. “Yes. You wrapped yourself around my heart almost from the moment we met, and now I understand what my heart has been telling me,
u-we-tsi
. My granddaughter,” he breathed.

Sophia glanced up to share her joy with Clay, but only Bryan stood there, fidgeting and rocking from foot to foot. “Bryan? Where’s Clay?”

Chapter Eighteen

The young soldier’s handsome face scrunched up as he rocked uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“Bryan?”

“I’m right sorry, Miss Sophia. He left.”

Her eyebrows bunched together in confusion. “Well…where did he go?”

Bryan’s shoulders slouched, and he dug the toe of one boot into the dirt. “I’m not too sure, ma’am. He was right here as we listened to you folks, and then the next thing I knew, he was gone.” He thrust something at her, and his face turned pink. “I found your doll, Miss Sophia. In the wagon. I thought you might want it back.”

She took the doll and cradled it in her arms. “He was right.”

Martin touched her shoulder. “Who was right, Granddaughter?”

She stared at the ground. “Papa. The night he gave her to me, he made me promise to always keep her with me. I thought his request strange, but he said the lady who gave him the doll insisted she wasn’t just another plaything but something special. She told Papa the doll would protect me.” She raised her eyes and looked at the three men one by one. “She did protect me. Each time the doll was near when Major Todd tried to harm me, something happened to him.” She gazed at her newfound father and grandfather. A tentative smile spread across her lips. “And I believe this doll brought us all together again.”

Jerrod nodded. He reached over and touched the doll’s chest where the beautiful rose was carved, and the hint of a smile appeared. “She did. There is a legend passed down from generation to generation in my family. My mother told me that before our family left Italy, the patriarch of our family had a gypsy spell placed on the doll, and whoever betrays the doll’s owner will suffer.” He met Sophia’s gaze and chuckled. “Momma also said only one thing could break the spell—true love.”

“Did she ever protect you from harm?” Sophia whispered.

Jerrod nodded. “I met your mother because of her. I was engaged to marry the daughter of my father’s best friend. She was a spoiled child and told her father I had taken her in a manner unbecoming to a gentleman. He wouldn’t listen to reason and sent the sheriff after me. They caught up with me close to the Cherokee village.” He shrugged. “You know the rest of the story. I think the doll protected me until I found Water Lily.”

“What happened to the girl?” Martin asked.

“When I returned to Savannah in search of Rain Blossom, I learned that she’d fallen from a bedroom terrace and broken her neck.”

Sophia gazed down at the doll, amazed that such a wonderful yet terrible power actually existed. “Thank you, Rose, for taking such good care of us and making everything right. Well…but for…” Her voice trailed off as she stared into the forest, hoping Clay was merely hiding there. “Why did he leave, Martin?” She blushed a little. “I mean, Grandfather.” Confusion clouded her mind. She’d believed Clay had feelings for her, the same feelings she had for him. Had she been wrong about what was happening between them? She glanced over at Martin, pleading for an explanation.

The older man cupped her cheek. “Go after him,
u-we-tsi
. You are good for him. For many years, his heart held nothing but hatred and revenge.” He smiled, but it reflected his sadness, as well. “You have changed his heart, and he feels lost, guilty for not honoring his vow.”

She frowned. “But what if…”

Martin shook his head. “You hold his heart, little one. Go to him. Take my horse. Follow your own heart, for it will lead you straight to him.”

She leaned in and kissed his wrinkled cheek. Her father was already on his feet, his hand extended to help her up. On impulse, she kissed his cheeks, as well, then turned and ran to the horses. Bryan was already there, holding the reins. He offered her a boost, and she settled onto the saddle.

“His trail leads that way, Miss Sophia. His horse and this one are herd mates. Trust this one to find the other.” Sophia smiled her thanks and clucked to the horse. Using her heels, she urged the animal into a trot.

She rode through the darkness, thankful she could see the trail and her mount seemed to know where he was headed. To the east, the horizon lightened. Dawn couldn’t be far away, but while she should have been exhausted, she only felt exhilarated. She was doing the right thing. Her newfound family would be only partially complete without Clay. She loved him with her whole heart, and she had every intention of telling him so.