Free Trail of Hope (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll) by Heidi Vanlandingham Page A

life. He is the perfect grandfather.”
    She closed her eyes and let her thoughts go. Her mind drifted like a slow-moving river, lazily winding and twisting around sandy bends and rocky outcroppings. That is, until the current picked up and she found herself plunging over a waterfall and crashing into the rocks below with one single thought.
    Clay .
    She turned over on her side and moved the doll from beneath her ribcage, drawing comfort from her only link to home. Arm curled beneath her head, she whispered into the tiny ear, “I like him so very much. My heart aches when I’m not near him and hurts more when I am. The closer we get to the Territory, the angrier he gets—not so much in his words or actions but in his eyes—and he won’t say what’s wrong.” She sniffed in aggravation, and her thoughts darkened. “I’m tired of being so scared of Major Todd.” She pulled the doll in front of her face and pursed her lips at her. “I don’t think I want much from life—family, friends, and someone to love me as much as I love him.” She hugged the doll to her again in frustration. “No, it’s not too much.”
    She listened to the nightly noises of the settling camp, now familiar. Comforting. Her mind turned back to Clay and his handsome face, burned forever into her mind.
    ****
    Clay knew he was hurting Sophia, but he didn’t know how else to push her away. His mind warred with the stupid lump pounding in his chest. He knew he had to leave soon. If not, he would never have the strength to leave her, and his vow would remain undone. Nightmares still plagued him—waking and sleeping—of Sophia jumping into the river. He hadn’t been fast enough to stop her. What if she had died? He absently rubbed his chest, trying to massage away the sharp pain. He’d talk to Martin tonight. Maybe if they put their heads together, he would find his answer.
    ****
    Voices edged into her dreams, shifting from fun-filled days and innocence to more mature, pressing thoughts. She recognized both Martin’s and Clay’s voices, but when a third deep voice began to argue, she woke up completely. Bryan. She hadn’t seen him in more than a week, which had worried her. Major Todd was a harsh taskmaster and never satisfied. Her mouth opened so wide in a yawn she thought her jaws would pop apart, and her whole body shook with the effort. Will I ever feel rested again? She tuned in again on their conversation.
    “The Major decided this? Even more Cherokee will die if they aren’t given food.” Clay’s clipped, low voice sounded angry and dangerous. Drawing shallow breaths, she found their words cleared and she understood their conversation so much better.
    “I know. A few of us stole as much food as we dared from the supply wagons.”
    For a few seconds, the only sounds came from the nearby evergreens, as cicadas chirped to the last remnants of the day. As the silence continued, she wondered if their conversation had ended. Then Clay spoke.
    “Bryan, we need your help watching over her. The major’s not completely healed yet from falling while disembarking at the river. That whole situation was odd. The rumors now bother me more. I heard two soldiers laughing about Todd bragging nothing will stop him from taking her.”
    Sophia scrambled to the ground. If she hadn’t been in such a panic, she would have been embarrassed when she fell to her knees between the two men. Clay’s hand reached out to steady her as he pulled her to his side, his hand wrapping around the back of her neck and gently squeezing. Her skin burned under his touch as fiery tingles raced across her shoulders, unraveling the knots.
    She took a calming breath, then blurted, “What has Major Todd said? About me?” She fidgeted with a crease in Clay’s trousers—unmindful of the reaction it caused him—while she waited for someone to respond. When no one did, she pleaded, “Please. Somebody better start talking. I have a right to know.”
    She heard the