Free The Last Daughter (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll) by Jessica Ferguson

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