A Bride for Donnigan

Chapter Eighteen

Fiona

Wallis continued to grieve over Risa. In spite of Donnigan’s effort, there was really no way to track the woman. The man who had driven the stage said he had let her off at the Raeford station and that was the last he had seen of her—and yes, she had been carrying a fair amount of luggage.

From sorrow, Wallis eventually turned to anger. He said some nasty things to Donnigan that were not even repeated to Kathleen.

Kathleen had her own grief. Donnigan was reminded of it over and over as he saw the sadness in her eyes when she looked toward the wooden cradle in the corner or smoothed out a tiny baby garment. He noticed the clusters of fresh flowers that were placed almost daily on the little mound at the back of the yard. The little mound that was quickly sinking to take its place with the ground around it.

“We should build a little fence,” Kathleen said, and Donnigan put aside his harvest work for a day to fulfill her request.

But Kathleen’s grief was no longer voiced. Donnigan felt that it would have been better for her—for both of them—if it was. She wiped away her tears—straightened her back and lifted a stubborn chin.

But part of her seemed withdrawn—shut away—angry. Only with Sean did her old tenderness really return.

“She and Wallis seem to be dealing with the same emotions,” Donnigan told Black one day. “And I don’t know how to help either one of them.”

It was a heavy burden for Donnigan to carry.

For Sean’s first birthday, Kathleen made a cake and they invited Wallis to join them for the party. At first he declined but then changed his mind. He had shared a number of supper hours with them since Risa had left him. Kathleen did not mind the crusty old bachelor, though he was slipping back into his former way of living. Kathleen wondered if he had bathed or changed his shirt since Risa had left.

In spite of the heaviness of the hearts around the table, Sean’s birthday celebration was a joyous occasion and a success. The boy ate too much cake, stuffing it into his mouth with his fingers while his spoon was held idly in his other hand. The grown-ups laughed at his messy face and Sean responded by beaming back at them.

“He sure is one fine boy,” observed Wallis. And then his eyes filled with tears and Kathleen knew he was thinking of Risa again and of the son that he’d never have. Kathleen left the table in pretense of getting more coffee.

“It wasn’t fair of Risa,” Kathleen fumed to herself. She had made her promise before the God in heaven. She’d really had no right to break it.

“Do you believe in God?”

Donnigan’s question caught Kathleen totally off guard. Where had his thoughts been wandering to produce such a query?

“Of course,” she replied without hesitation. She didn’t see how anyone could not believe in a God.

Donnigan remained silent.

“Don’t you?” asked Kathleen, having sudden, frightening doubts about her husband.

Donnigan thought before answering. When he did speak it was with honesty. “I’ve never really given it much thought,” he said truthfully. “Not until Taryn died. Then—then I—I really wanted to believe.”

Kathleen nodded. Vivid in her own mind was her response to the sight of her small daughter. Her statement that there had to be a God in heaven. Such a tiny little miracle could not just have happened on its own.

Kathleen was still willing to concede the fact. Of course there was a God—somewhere.

But that very admission did not bring her comfort. In fact, it filled her with anger. He was there—somewhere—and if there—then powerful. A God wouldn’t be a God unless He had some power. Some authority. So why hadn’t He done something? Why had He let the lightning strike the haystack. Why hadn’t He brought the rain sooner so that she would not have had to fight so long—and so hard? No. Kathleen was annoyed with God. She wouldn’t have dared to admit it—not even to Donnigan—lest she be smitten down and made to pay for her sin. But she felt the anger, regardless.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” Donnigan went on.

Kathleen waited, but when he didn’t say anything further she prompted, “About?”

“About Sean—mostly.”

Again, silence. Kathleen felt fear tugging at her. What was wrong with Sean?

“It seems—well, it seems if there really is a God—then we ought to be learning about Him—so we can teach Sean,” said Donnigan.

Kathleen let out the breath she had been holding.

“What do you think?” asked Donnigan.

It was a direct question that Kathleen could not avoid.

“I—I suppose,” she said without really wishing to commit herself.

She knit a few more stitches. She heard the rattle of the newspaper as Donnigan laid it aside.

“I think—the next time I’m in town I’ll just check out that little church where we were married,” said Donnigan, causing Kathleen’s brows to lift in surprise. “Maybe we should start taking in some of the meetings.”

Kathleen only nodded. She would not argue—but she really didn’t feel ready to go to church, and besides, she saw no advantages in the idea.

Then she looked at her young son.

“Yes—yes,” she admitted to herself. “If there really is a God—and there must be—there must be—then I want Sean to know all about Him.”

But the next time Donnigan came home from town he looked disappointed.

“They closed the church,” he told her.

“What?”

“They closed it. Weren’t enough people interested.”

“What’s the preacher doing now?” asked Kathleen. “Would he open it again?”

“He left. Went off to some other town. No one seems to really know much about it. Weren’t that many people attending.”

Kathleen felt two emotions at the same time. Disappointment for Donnigan’s sake and unexplained fear for the small Sean. She didn’t know which feeling was the most intense.

“So what do we do now?” she asked simply.

“Not much we can do, I guess,” said Donnigan. He hung his stained Stetson on the peg by the door and reached to lift his young son from the floor.

The arrival of Erma’s baby was a grim reminder to Kathleen of the baby she had lost. Little Taryn should have been joining the family about the same time—not four and a half months earlier. Kathleen had a hard time fighting renewed sorrow. But she was happy for Erma.

Lucas was having a bit of a struggle. He had definitely ordered a son. Erma had presented him with a daughter. Blond and dimpled and looking just like her mother. Erma was thrilled, but Lucas seemed confused. For the first time in his life he was dealing with something totally out of his control. First he had lost the child he wanted—then someone had mixed up his order. Poor Lucas. His grip on his world seemed to be slipping from his fingers.

Kathleen was expecting another baby. Sean, now two, was quickly becoming more and more like his father. Kathleen smiled as she watched the child follow his father around the farm, trying hard to copy everything he saw Donnigan do.

He enjoyed the farm animals, and Kathleen often took him for rides on Shee. He loved the horse and grinned his delight as soon as Kathleen placed him in the saddle.

“That boy needs a pony of his own,” observed Donnigan and promptly set about seeing to it.

“Don’t hurry him too fast,” cautioned Kathleen. She wasn’t yet ready to give up her baby.

But with each passing month, and the new baby on the way, Kathleen was more and more glad for the time that Sean spent with Donnigan. She didn’t tell Donnigan about it, for fear she would trouble him unduly, but she did not feel at all well with this pregnancy. She wondered if it was just concern after having lost Taryn.

Slowly the months ticked by and Kathleen began to feel a bit better and breathe a little easier.

“I hope we can have a doctor on hand this time,” observed Donnigan as he unlaced his heavy work boots one night.

“Why,” teased Kathleen gently. “You did just fine.”

“I was scared to death,” said Donnigan firmly. “I never want to go through that again.”

But he did. Just a few weeks later. There hadn’t been time to send for a doctor. Kathleen was early again.

A baby girl was placed in Kathleen’s arms. Her first thought had been, This can’t be mine. There must be a mix-up. But her own good sense told her that a mix-up was not a possibility.

“She’s so—so different than Sean,” she said to Donnigan.

“Wasn’t that what you said—what you expected?” replied Donnigan. He still looked to be a bundle of nerves, even though it was all over.

“But not this different,” protested Kathleen. The baby she held was dark. With lots of black hair, round full cheeks, and a face that was already screwed up in protest.

They had decided—or rather Kathleen had decided—on the name Fiona if they had a girl. Now the mother smiled at her daughter. “Hello, Fiona,” she said. Then to Donnigan, “Fiona suits her, don’t you think?”

“It’s going to be fun having a daughter,” said Donnigan, and he moved closer to Kathleen and his new baby girl.

But it was not fun. Not for the first five months. It seemed to Kathleen that Fiona fussed without stopping. Their days, their evenings, their nights were all filled with a crying baby. Donnigan tried to share the duties, but even with the two of them, it was a full-time chore.

Kathleen thought that surely Sean must resent his new baby sister, but Sean seemed to accept her just as she was. “Baby cry,” he would say without rancor, just as though the small boy accepted that was what babies did.

But there were days when Kathleen wondered how much more she could take.

They took the baby off breast milk and tried a bottle. Still Fiona curled into a ball and screamed her protest.

“Her little tummy must be hurting something awful,” observed her patient father. There were times when Kathleen wished the infant were big enough to spank. But even at times of greatest distress and weariness, Kathleen knew that was not the solution. There was something wrong with the child and no one seemed to be able to do anything about it.

One day Donnigan surprised Kathleen with a goat.

“Whatever are we to do with that?” asked Kathleen, thinking that Donnigan had likely brought the animal as a pet for Sean. His own “wee” cow. But to the weary Kathleen, the nanny looked like just another chore.

“Milk her,” said Donnigan.

“Milk her? We scarcely have time to milk the cow.”

“For Fiona,” went on Donnigan. “I’ve heard that sometimes it works.”

And it did. After being switched to goat’s milk, Fiona settled down and became a laughing, bubbling, good-humored baby. Kathleen even got to sleep nights. The household returned to a normal pattern.

“Bless that nanny,” Kathleen said to Donnigan one night as she carefully tucked the covers up to the chin of the sleeping Fiona. Then she lifted her head and smiled at her husband. “And bless you for finding the solution.”

“I had to,” said Donnigan with a teasing grin. “It was either that—or move out.”

Fiona grew quickly. Even Sean enjoyed her sunny disposition—as long as she didn’t interfere with his time with his father.

But Sean did take care of her. Bringing her things that she should not have—things like his bread crusts, Kathleen’s sewing scissors, and wiggling worms from the garden. Kathleen had to ever be on guard to intercept Sean’s “gifts” to his baby sister.

Kathleen was pleased with her little family. As she became rested again, she was able to really enjoy the two children in spite of the amount of work that had come with them. She almost got to the place where she could forgive God. That is, until she looked at the little grave with its white picket fence and tiny wooden cross.

If Donnigan was in the barn or working around the yard, Kathleen did not have to concern herself with her small son. He was always following close to his father. He went with Donnigan to care for the horses, slop the pigs, or milk the cow. He watched him hoe the garden, lift water from the well, and chop the wood. Then he tried with all of the strength of his small body to imitate his father’s acts. Donnigan found himself taking extra precautions. He made sure the corral gate was carefully closed. He didn’t want a small boy under the hooves of the horses. He latched the barn door and double checked. He didn’t want Sean kicked by a nervous cow. He secured the well lid, added a second clip that he always put in place. He hung the hoe high above the small boy’s head. Donnigan was very conscious of the small lad who was watching him—copying him.

But in spite of all of Donnigan’s care, an accident did happen.

Wallis had borrowed one of Donnigan’s axes. In coming to call one evening he had spotted a tree down on his fence wires. It was closer to go on to Donnigan’s than to go back home for his own axe. Donnigan got his axe from the woodshed and Wallis took care of the matter. Donnigan thought nothing of it when Wallis came to the door later.

“I put yer axe back,” the man said and Donnigan nodded and invited the man in.

It was while they were having their coffee that they heard the young boy scream. Donnigan was the first to his feet. Kathleen was just behind him.

Sean was seated on the ground, the axe still in his hand, his small foot oozing blood.

“Oh, merciful Lord,” cried Kathleen.

Donnigan scooped up the crying child and headed for the house. Wringing her hands in her apron, Kathleen followed. Wallis could only stand and stare, chiding himself for leaving the axe in the chopping block.

It turned out that it was not a deep cut—but it did cause much concern. Kathleen feared that it might develop blood poisoning, and Donnigan used some of the same strong disinfectant that he used for the stock to assure that it wouldn’t happen. Even though it was diluted, it stung sharply and the small boy cried even louder. Fiona, in her cradle in the corner of the room, heard the cries and joined the bedlam.

Kathleen longed to hold and rock her son, but he clung to his father. She knew she would have to wait her turn. Instead she went to lift the small Fiona from her bed.