A Bride for Donnigan

Chapter Ten

Confused Beginnings

As promised, there was a knock on Kathleen’s door shortly before seven. She was ready and feeling somewhat refreshed, though she did wish she could have rested much longer.

But it was exciting to be off to Erma’s wedding—even with the disappointment that Mr. Donnigan Harrison had chosen to stall concerning theirs. What if he continued to put it off? What if he didn’t plan to marry at all? Kathleen felt her stomach churn.

He offered his arm, but because of the anger and confusion that still twisted her thoughts, she chose to refuse it. With head held high she limped along beside him, ignoring him as much as it was possible to do.

“Did you rest well?” he asked kindly, and she answered with a slight nod of her head and firmly pursed lips. If he thought it odd, he did not make comment.

He led her down the steps and through the lobby, out into the warmth of the evening and toward the end of the town’s main street. Kathleen made no attempt at conversation, and he seemed to be sensitive to her mood.

She spotted the little church set back from the road before he lifted his hand to guide her down the wooden walk.

“Here we are—and on time. Lucas won’t need to pace,” said Donnigan with a hint of good-natured teasing in his voice.

They entered the church to find Lucas there ahead of them. He was resplendent in a black formal suit with a small rosebud tucked in his button hole.

The man whom Kathleen identified as the town parson stood at the front of the room, book already spread open before him. It appears that the preacher doesn’t wish to keep Lucas Stein waiting either, thought Kathleen; and in spite of herself, she felt a smile curving her lips.

Erma arrived promptly at seven. She came by carriage, even though the hotel was only a few blocks down the street. Kathleen could only stare. Erma was dressed in white with a lacy veil covering her carefully coiffed blond hair. The dress was a bit tight and Erma appeared to be holding her breath, but Kathleen wondered how the man had managed to be that close in his estimate of size for his new bride. The white-gowned bride carried a bouquet of red roses and white carnations on her arm. Kathleen had never seen anything quite so splendid.

“Your flowers,” Lucas was saying, and Kathleen looked from Erma to find Lucas offering her a small version of Erma’s bouquet. She accepted it numbly.

A total stranger stepped forward and offered his arm to lead her toward the man at the front. For one brief minute she panicked, wondering if she was being led up to marry this balding, stern-looking gentleman, and then she realized she was simply being escorted up to be a witness to Erma’s wedding. She took the offered arm and walked forward, her thoughts quickly scrambling to wonder what had become of Donnigan.

But the parson was already speaking, and Kathleen forced her attention back to his words.

“Dearly beloved—” His voice was low and carefully modulated. Kathleen wondered if Lucas had brought him in just for the event. He sounded so proper—so perfect. But she quickly reminded herself that the man belonged to the whole town. She knew Wallis and Risa had made use of his services earlier that afternoon.

With that thought, Kathleen felt her face flush again. So why hadn’t Donnigan made arrangements? Or had he—and canceled them when he saw her lameness? Maybe she was a reject—just as her stepmother had warned.

Kathleen lost total concentration. Before she knew it the man with the book was saying, “May the God of heaven bless your union with His love, joy, and peace. Amen,” and she knew that the short ceremony was over.

Donnigan was still struggling. He didn’t feel any concern about the hotel dinner hour. That he had already arranged for, and it always seemed rather easy to chat over food if one felt that talk was necessary. And he knew that Kathleen was dreadfully tired and would wish to retire early—so that would take care of the evening. But what then? They had to talk seriously—sometime. They were due at the church at ten the next morning. But that hour seemed to be approaching awfully fast. He had a lot of thinking and sorting to do in a short time. He had thought himself prepared—and he would have been—had a girl like Erma stepped forward when the stage pulled into town. But a child? What was Jenks thinking of? Surely this—this—bit of a girl should still be at home in her family’s care. So what was she doing here—ready to promise herself in marriage? Ready to take on the responsibilities of a grown woman? It didn’t make a lick of sense to Donnigan.

He mulled over the problem all the time he waited for Lucas’s ceremony to end, but he was no nearer a solution when the last Amen was spoken.

As the couple turned from the altar, Donnigan rose to his feet. He was the only one in the small church except for the parson and the wedding party. He wasn’t sure if he should move forward with his congratulations or wait for the new bride and groom to come down the aisle. He waited.

The parson came first, with Lucas and Erma close behind him. With a bit of hesitation, Donnigan stepped forward and extended his hand.

“Congratulations,” he said heartily to Lucas. The man, who was usually so composed, couldn’t hide the merry twitching of his mustache. He had pulled the whole thing off—he was a married man, his twinkling eyes seemed to say.

Donnigan let his eyes shift back to his own bride of the morrow. She came slowly down the aisle on the arm of Grant Crayford, the town’s officious banker. Donnigan had never been particularly fond of the man but had accepted him as a necessary part of the town. Now as the man placed his overly soft hand on the small hand that rested on his arm and leaned down to say something quietly to the young girl, Donnigan liked him even less. It was one thing for him to escort Kathleen, but quite another for him to be so solicitous—so possessive. Donnigan’s starched collar suddenly felt too tight. He was a bit too quick in stepping forward and taking Kathleen’s other elbow, gently easing her away from the dark-suited man.

“Our dinner is waiting,” he said in explanation, and she allowed herself to be hurried away.

As she left the church, Kathleen saw Lucas assisting Erma back into the carriage for the short ride back to the hotel. Kathleen almost felt envy—and then Erma lifted her eyes and met Kathleen’s for just one moment.

The gentle smile was still firmly in place, but the eyes shadowed briefly. She’s frightened, thought Kathleen in that one quick exchange. She’s nervous and frightened.

Kathleen wished to pull her hand free and go to the girl, but she managed a wobbly smile in return, hoping that it conveyed to Erma some measure of warmth and assurance, and then the carriage door was closed and Erma was gone.

Kathleen felt so weary she could scarcely keep herself alert to enjoy the tasty meal that was set before them. Donnigan kept talking and she hoped that she was giving sensible responses.

She was still angry and concerned about the hotel arrangements. She wasn’t quite sure how she would handle it when the time came, but she had no intention whatever of sharing a room with a man who wasn’t her wedded spouse.

I could sleep right here on this chair, she assured herself, feeling tired enough to do just that. Or I could curl up on one of those settees in the lobby.

But Donnigan was speaking again. “I know you are very tired,” he was saying, “so rather than talk wedding plans tonight, we’ll wait until morning.”

Kathleen cast him a distant glance.

“I don’t have special clothes,” Kathleen admitted, her eyes held to her plate.

Donnigan shifted uneasily.

“Nor do I,” he admitted. “Only Lucas would think of all those things.”

“Do you mind?” asked Kathleen simply.

“No.” His answer was curt. Almost sharp. Then his voice softened. “Do you?”

Kathleen shrugged her slim shoulders. Erma had looked awfully nice. But when it came to the truth, she had never even considered a wedding gown. “No,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

“What you are wearing now looks real nice,” Donnigan went on. It was the closest any man had ever come to complimenting her. Kathleen felt her cheeks warm.

The meal ended in silence. When they were finished, Donnigan rose to his feet and offered his arm to Kathleen.

“We’d better go up before you fall asleep at the table,” he teased gently.

Kathleen longed for the soft bed in the room upstairs. Yet near panic gripped her. Now she would need to stand her ground. Now she—but how—and what would she say?

Donnigan led her up the steps and down the hall and again opened the door with the key. He held it for her to enter, but Kathleen stood rooted to the spot.

“This arrangement isn’t much to my liking, sir,” she said, her head lifting and her chin thrusting forward.

Donnigan looked puzzled. “Is something wrong with the room?” he asked innocently.

Kathleen’s brogue was thick as she tipped her head and answered, “Sure, and the room is fine. It’s the company that concerns me.”

“The company?” It was clear that Donnigan was confused.

“On this journey I’ve shared a tiny closet-sized room with more women than I could count,” went on Kathleen, “an’ it didn’t cause me one troubled moment—but sharing so large a room—with a man—now that I’ve no mind to do.”

“A man?” Donnigan found himself peering around the door and into the room. His face still registered puzzlement.

“If you count yourself a man, sir,” said Kathleen, her voice edged with anger.

“Me?” he asked incredulously.

Then Donnigan began to chuckle softly. “You thought—I mean, you thought that—that … ?” He couldn’t finish the question.

“We won’t be married until tomorrow,” he reminded her.

Kathleen just stood and stared, her anger turning to confusion.

“My room is down the hall,” explained Donnigan quickly, pointing his long arm with outstretched finger.

With the words he reached out and pressed the room key into Kathleen’s hand. “Your key,” he said and pulled another key from his pocket. Then he reached up and ran a hand through his blond hair. Kathleen could see the red gradually stain his tanned cheeks. Only the white scar stayed untouched. He licked his lips nervously and fingered the hat in his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to cause you concern. I—I guess I didn’t explain. I just didn’t think. I’m—I’m sorry.”

Kathleen felt the air leave her lungs—the anger leave her eyes. She stood for one brief moment trying to get back her control, and then a slow smile began to lighten her face.

“Sure now—and I did make a bit of a scene, didn’t I?” she admitted.

He looked steadily into the dark eyes. Unexpectedly his hand lifted to touch the slim shoulder. “I—I’m glad,” he whispered. “I’m glad you’re that kind of girl.”

Kathleen felt a stirring to her very soul. She swallowed hard, managed a nod, and moved into the room.

“I’ll knock on your door in the morning,” he called softly after her, and Kathleen heard her door close firmly.