A Bride for Donnigan

Chapter Fifteen

Erma

Once the door had been opened to real communication, Kathleen felt that she could not get enough. At times she wondered if she really was becoming a chattering woman, but Donnigan seemed to enjoy it. He nodded and smiled and made comments of his own, and night after night, before they knew it, the evening was gone and it was time to retire again.

“How much more quickly time goes when you have someone to talk to,” Kathleen mused.

“Is Black missing your conversations?” she teased Donnigan one evening as they sat by the fire, she with a sock to darn and he with one of his old newspapers.

He grinned. “I talk to him now and then just so he won’t feel left out,” he teased back.

Kathleen chuckled. “And I still talk to Polly when I milk her,” she admitted.

Kathleen had insisted that she be the one to milk the cow morning and night. It was good to get out of the kitchen and breathe a breath of fresh air. And Polly was milked in the barn, so it was never too cold.

They were silent while Kathleen threaded her needle. But the silence was no longer cold and threatening. They both knew they could break it if they had an idea they wished to discuss, a thought to share, or just an event of the day to tell about.

Donnigan’s eyes went back to his paper.

“What are you?” Kathleen asked suddenly, causing Donnigan’s head to lift.

“What am I?” He hesitated. “A man—I hope.”

Kathleen chuckled. “I mean—what nationality? What were your kin?”

Donnigan shrugged carelessly. “I dunno.”

“Donnigan sounds Irish,” Kathleen commented.

“You know an Irishman named Donnigan?”

Kathleen made another stitch. “No,” she admitted. “But when I first saw your name on that piece of paper, I thought maybe it was Irish.”

“Well, I’ve never met another man—or boy—in my whole life who answered to the name,” said Donnigan, his tone ironic.

“I wonder what nationality it is. Where it came from,” Kathleen said as she placed another stitch.

Donnigan shrugged again.

“Don’t you care?” asked Kathleen. “I mean, I’m an O’Malley. I’ve been told that all my life. My father made me feel proud to be Irish. And you don’t even know what you are. Doesn’t it matter at all to you?”

“Guess not. I’ve never given it much thought. What difference does it make? Men are—men. People are people. No difference.”

Kathleen glanced up at him, surprised by his attitude.

“But wouldn’t you like to know if you are French or German or British—or Irish?” she asked in mock exasperation.

“Don’t think I’m Irish,” Donnigan returned.

“Sure now, and you definitely are not,” said Kathleen pertly, her accent strengthening for the first time in a long while. “An Irishman knows what he is, and that’s the pure truth of it.”

Donnigan smiled.

“Sure now,” he tried to mimic her.

Kathleen threw the newly darned sock at him and he rose quickly from his chair, chasing her around the kitchen and stuffing the mended sock down the front of her gown.

“You can never be serious,” she accused him, though she knew it wasn’t true.

“I’m serious,” he answered, but his voice still held teasing.

“Then tell me where you ever got a name like Donnigan.”

He still held her around the waist. “I don’t know,” he replied. “My mother named me, I was told. Where she got it—or why she liked it—I’ll never know.”

“Don’t you like it?”

He released her then. “If you had any idea how many fights I had as a youngster over this name of mine—”

“But why?”

“I’ve no idea. It’s just—just different.”

“Then why haven’t you changed it? You could go by Don or—or—”

“Guess that’s the reason I fought. Fellas were always trying to call me something else. Pin a nickname on me. And I kept insisting that my name was Donnigan—and that they call me that.”

In their short time together Kathleen had heard Donnigan correct a storekeeper who didn’t call him by his full name. He had not been rude. Just simply stated, “The name is Donnigan.” At the time she had been surprised that he would make an issue of it. She was especially surprised now when he confessed he didn’t even like the name.

But Donnigan had become serious. “I lost my mother when I was very young,” he said with deep feeling. “My name is the one thing I have from her. Guess that seemed reason enough to fight for it.”

Seeing the pain in his eyes, Kathleen wished she hadn’t asked.

A rider pounded into the farmyard, a young boy from town. Kathleen and Donnigan were both surprised. Rarely did they have company and never anyone who came so obviously on a mission. Donnigan met him at the door.

“Is Mrs. Harrison in?” he asked, sounding out of breath.

Kathleen moved to the door, her eyes wide with concern. The young lad reached up to remove his cap.

“I’ve a note for you, ma’am—from Mr. Stein,” the boy said, and handed Kathleen an envelope.

Kathleen’s hand began to tremble. Whatever would Lucas have to say to her that would require courier service—and at such speed, she wondered.

By the time she had crossed to a kitchen chair and torn open the envelope, Donnigan was shutting the door. The boy was gone.

Donnigan came to stand beside her and she held the note so he could read over her shoulder.

“Dear Mrs. Harrison,” the note began.

“Please excuse my liberty in calling on you, but Erma is asking for you to come. She fears she is losing the baby.

“Lucas Stein.”

“Oh no,” sobbed Kathleen, her eyes wide with the tragedy of it.

“I’ll get the team.”

“Wouldn’t it be faster to ride?” asked Kathleen, already going toward the bedroom to change into warmer clothing.

He hesitated for only a moment, then nodded. “I’ll get the horses,” he said and reached for his Stetson.

Kathleen quickly changed her dress for one more appropriate for riding. She pinned her hair tightly and secured her bonnet. Then she reached for a warm sweater. A shawl simply would not do for riding Shee at a gallop.

Even as she hurried, her mind was in a spin. Erma might lose her baby. She would be crushed. But what could she, Kathleen, do about it? She was not a doctor. Kathleen inwardly pleaded with a God she hoped might listen that the baby and Erma would be okay.

By the time Kathleen closed the door behind her, Donnigan was bringing the horses toward the house. He helped Kathleen up into her saddle and then mounted Black. Both horses had been lacking in exercise and wanted to run.

“Hold her in check,” Donnigan couldn’t help but caution. “She hasn’t been ridden for a while.”

Kathleen nodded. But it was hard. Not only did the mare wish to run, but Kathleen wished that she could let her. It was Donnigan who kept them under control.

By the time they reached the hotel it was all over. Erma had lost the baby. Kathleen found her sobbing uncontrollably. Lucas paced the floor beside the bed. Truly this was one event totally out of his control.

A doctor had been called from Raeford, but he had not arrived until it was too late. He did give Erma something to make her sleep and gently eased Kathleen from the room as soon as Erma’s eyes became heavy.

“She needs her rest,” he whispered. “That is all that we can do for her now.”

Kathleen felt sick inside. It was so hard for Erma to lose the child—to pack away all her hopes and dreams along with the little garments in the chest at the end of the bed.

Kathleen longed to reach out with help for her friend. What could she say? What could she do? The ride back home was a silent one.

Kathleen went to see Erma often over the next weeks. Donnigan felt more and more confident with her handling of the mare and even got so he let her go alone. He may not have been quite so at ease had he known that once out of sight of the house, Kathleen often gave the mare her head. She loved the feel of the wind as it tugged at her bonnet and whipped her skirts.

Nor would he have felt at ease had Kathleen confessed that she thought—she just thought there might be a chance that she too was expecting a child.

But Donnigan knew nothing about either, and so Kathleen rode to town alone and rode at her own pace.

Each time she entered the suite of hotel rooms, she hoped with all her heart that she would find some improvement in Erma’s state of mind. But always she was disappointed.

“I don’t know what I did wrong. I don’t know,” Erma wailed again and again.

“Sure now, and you didn’t do anything wrong,” Kathleen tried to comfort her. “Sometimes those things just happen.”

“But Lucas read all the books. We did all the things they said.”

Kathleen felt impatient with Lucas and his books. It was all she could do to keep from telling Erma so.

“Lucas is so upset with me,” went on Erma. “He thinks I must have done something—something to hurt the baby.”

“Such nonsense!” Kathleen fairly exploded.

“Oh—I wanted that baby so much,” moaned Erma. “So much.”

Kathleen longed to tell her, “There will be other babies,” but she didn’t dare speak the words.

“How is she?” Donnigan asked, meeting Kathleen in the farmyard after a visit to Erma.

“Not good,” she replied, frustration in her voice. “She just continues to grieve and grieve.”

“I guess that’s understandable,” said Donnigan, taking the mare’s rein and helping Kathleen dismount. “She was so looking forward to having the child.”

“But she must stop her moaning,” said Kathleen. “After all, she can have another child. There is nothing physically wrong with her, Dr. Heggith says. She just has to get ahold of herself.”

Donnigan looked a bit surprised at Kathleen’s outburst. He turned the mare toward the barn. “Maybe she will—soon,” he said.

They walked a few paces before Donnigan broke the silence.

“Do you think it’s that easy?” he asked.

“Of course I don’t think it’s easy,” responded Kathleen in a quieter tone. “Of course not—easy—but necessary. One has to go on with life no matter how one feels. I know how she must be feeling. If I lost my baby—”

Donnigan stopped short.

“If you what?” he asked abruptly.

Kathleen flushed. She still hadn’t told him, but she was quite sure now. She had been waiting for just the right time. She took a deep breath, then another step toward the barn.

But Donnigan’s hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“What are you saying?” he asked her bluntly.

Kathleen stopped, looked at him with a flushed face, and lowered her head.

“I thought we made a promise—that we would talk to each other—tell each other everything,” Donnigan said, hurt and distance in his voice.

“I was going to tell you,” defended Kathleen.

“Then it’s true?”

Kathleen nodded her head.

She hated the pained look in Donnigan’s eyes. He looked directly at her for what seemed a terrible length of time; then he moved away to lead the mare into the barn.

Kathleen watched him go, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, then turned and went to the house.

“Donnigan—I’m sorry,” Kathleen whispered into the darkness after they had retired.

He had brushed a kiss against her cheek, said good-night in a strained manner, then turned on his side, his back to her.

Kathleen feared he might be angry that they were going to have a child. If that was so—she would also be angry right back at him. Didn’t children go with marriage?

She gathered her courage and decided to try again. As Donnigan had reminded her, they had promised to talk things out.

“Don’t you want to be a father?” she asked his back.

“Of course I do,” he responded immediately.

“Then why—”

“I think I had a right to know—without it being a—a blunder,” he said.

She knew then that she had hurt him deeply.

“I was going to tell you—soon,” she defended. “It’s just—just I’ve been so worried about Erma.”

“What about my worry?” asked Donnigan, still not turning to her.

“Your worry?” she said, puzzled.

He half-turned. “About you—about our baby,” he answered with a trembling voice.

“What do you mean? I’m fine. The baby is—is just beginning.”

“I’m worried about you, Kathleen. You said I saw you as a child. Well, I’ve changed that. I’m—I’m trying hard to change that. But even if you are a—a woman, you are still—still small. Maybe too small to—to have a child.”

Kathleen lay beside him, listening to his words. She began to understand his fears.

“I’m the same size as my mother was—and she had me,” she informed him gently. “And her mother was even smaller, so she told me, and she had seven babies, and that’s the pure truth of it.”

“Oh, Kathleen,” moaned Donnigan, and he turned over to gather her close. “If anything should happen—”

“It won’t,” she tried to assure him. “It won’t.”

Kathleen still went to see Erma as often as she could, but Donnigan now insisted upon driving her to town—slowly. The trips wasted a whole day and Kathleen chaffed with each step that the plodding team made. But she dared not argue. She could still read concern in Donnigan’s eyes each time they talked of the baby. She wanted to give him all the reason for assurance that she could.

Erma did not show any sign of improving. She was out of bed now, but she still spent her days grieving and sorrowing over what should have been the happiest summer of her life. Kathleen sensed that the loss of the baby was putting a terrible strain on Erma’s marriage. She fervently wished she could do something for her friend.