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

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 to 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.
    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