A Bride for Donnigan (18 page)
Donnigan lowered himself slowly to a kitchen chair and put his head in his hand. He had really done it. He had told himself all the way from the barn to the house that he must keep his control. That Kathleen did not know better. That he must not let his fright show as he spoke to her. But he had messed up the whole thing. Had really messed up. He wondered if he could ever make things right.
No, no, he guessed he couldn’t. Things had never been right, not from the very beginning. This whole thing—this whole arranged marriage was a sham and a shame right from the start. He had been a fool. A blind fool to let Wallis and Lucas talk him into such a scheme.
But hadn’t he become involved of his own free will? Wasn’t it his decision? No one had twisted his arm that he had remembered. He couldn’t go laying the blame at his neighbors’ doors.
Donnigan lifted his head and ran his hand nervously through his hair. No. It was his fault. He had to take the full blame. He just hadn’t been ready for marriage. Oh, he thought he was. Longed for a wife and even children. But Kathleen was so—so young and so—so—That was the trouble. He had ordered a wife and they had sent him a child.
Though he never would have dared to share his feelings with Kathleen, daily he worried that she might announce she was expecting a child herself. His child. She was too young, too frail to bear his baby. It was a fear that haunted him—that sometimes kept him awake in the darkness as he felt the strands of her dark hair touch his shoulder and listened to her even breathing as she slept.
And now—now he had hurt her deeply. So deeply that he had no idea of how to go about repairing the damage. Were they to go on and on in this marriage, shut away from each other? He didn’t know if he could stand it.
He shook himself free from his dark thoughts and rose to get a cup of the boiling coffee.
He had no choice. He was in the marriage now. Whether it was a good one—or a poor one—had little bearing. Kathleen was his responsibility. He would care for her in the best way he knew how.
Kathleen cried until she was exhausted. At last she fell into a troubled sleep. When she at last awoke, the bedroom window told her that darkness had fallen. Unconsciously she shifted on the bed, trying to sense if Donnigan slept beside her.
She felt a pang of concern when she discovered his absence, and then another pang when she remembered what had brought her to the room in the first place.
“He will be so angry with me,” she mourned and rolled back over to bury her head in the pillow for a fresh burst of tears.
“What do I do now? Oh, what do I do?”
In spite of her desire to stay right where she was with her sorrow, she forced herself to stir.
“It’s past supper,” she scolded herself, not one to avoid responsibility. “He’ll be hungry.”
Kathleen reached up to calm her tumbling hair. The pins had come loose as she had tossed in her sleep. She didn’t wish to take the time to repin it, so she lifted the comb and ran it quickly through the dark, tangled curls, letting them tumble about her shoulders in girlish fashion.
“Now he will really think me a child,” she said to herself, and anger burned her cheeks again.
He was sitting silently in his big chair when she quietly slipped out to the kitchen. A newspaper was spread across his knees, but she noticed that his eyes were not upon it. At the sound of her entrance he roused and looked at her.
“Did you sleep well?” The words sounded choked. Forced. She heard him swallow.
“Well enough,” she managed to respond and moved to the stove. She noticed that the parcels had all been removed from the table and were carefully stacked in a corner.
“I’ve eaten,” he said woodenly. “There’s enough in the pot for your supper.”
Kathleen didn’t feel like eating. She moved the pot from the back of the stove where it had been keeping warm and turned to the small cupboard. She would just do the cleaning up and then go back to bed.
But the cleaning up had also been done. The dishes were all neatly stacked back on the shelves.
The wind howled outside again, rattling the branch that always scratched against the house. Kathleen shuddered.
“Another storm moving in,” observed Donnigan. “Good thing I managed to get to town for—” Then he stopped short.
He changed the topic quickly, rising from his chair and heading for his heavy coat. “Erma sent you a note,” he said. “I had her help me with the—the choosing.”
Kathleen’s full attention was immediate. She accepted the note and pulled a chair up close to the table and the lamp and began to read the short letter.
Dear Kathleen
,
I have just been dying to see you. I do hope that the weather will soon improve so you can come to town. I have so much to talk to you about.
We are going to have a baby! Lucas is so excited. He has already picked the name for his son. I can hardly wait. I’ve started my sewing. Lucas says at the rate that I am going, it will have to be triplets to make use of all the things.
Come and see me as soon as you can.
With warmest regards,
Erma
Kathleen carefully folded the letter and placed it in her apron pocket. How she envied Erma. Erma who was expecting a child. Erma who Lucas allowed to be a woman. Erma who now shared with a man the most intimate experience a woman could ever share—the plans and dreams and preparations of the coming of a child to their home. Kathleen felt like crying again. She dared not look toward Donnigan.
She rose from her chair and retreated to the bedroom. She was still awake when, much later, Donnigan joined her. She turned her back and feigned sleep. She wasn’t sure she liked the man. She might even hate him.
Nothing further was said about the incident. They seemed to declare an unspoken truce. Kathleen was not sure if she was sorry or relieved. After a few days of strained silence, life went on much as it had before.
Kathleen did not go near the barn again, though she longed to pay a visit to Shee. Instead, she spent her time with needle in hand, sewing up garments from the material Donnigan had purchased. She would not have let herself express her joy at having new clothes of her very own, clothes that would actually fit properly, but she felt thankfulness nonetheless. She was quite willing, in her thinking, to lay all the credit at Erma’s door.
Donnigan was glad for winter chores. As every winter, the horses and cattle had been moved to the pasture adjoining the corrals so that they could be more easily cared for. The saddle horses and team were kept in the barn except on the warmer days. That meant barn cleaning, a job that Donnigan had once deplored. Now he welcomed even that, for it took him from the close confines of the kitchen. He took to talking to the black again. At first he felt awkward and embarrassed, but when the black rubbed his nose on the man’s sleeve as though he had been missing the conversations, Donnigan waved aside his feelings and enjoyed his little one-sided chats.
He did not discuss Kathleen—or his empty marriage. That was far too personal even to share with a horse. Instead, he talked about the weather, the other farm animals, or his plans for spring.
At times Donnigan found himself envying Lucas. The man seemed totally pleased with his marriage. He always spoke about how he was teaching Erma this or telling her about that. It seemed to Donnigan that the two really talked.
Donnigan missed Wallis. He would have loved to slip over to the neighbor’s farm for a manly chat and a cup of the bitter coffee. But Wallis gave all indications of being more than wrapped up in his new wife. Folks joked in town about Wallis becoming henpecked. She whistled—he ran. But if Wallis didn’t mind the arrangement, why should anyone else fuss, Donnigan reasoned.
No, it seemed that he was really the only one of the three who had struck out. And he couldn’t blame it on the young Kathleen. He had been surprised to hear her declare that she was seventeen. Though still young, she was older than he had thought. He had feared that she might be closer to fifteen. Almost eighteen, she had said. Donnigan had known many girls who were married by eighteen. It was Kathleen’s size that had fooled him. She was so tiny. So frail.
No, actually she wasn’t that frail anymore. Oh, she was still a small, dainty woman, but she wasn’t frail. She looked much better than when she had first arrived. And she was much stronger than she looked, he granted her that.
She had said that he treated her like a child, and with a flush to his cheeks, he admitted that he had. He had such a time thinking of her as anything else. But he was working on it. He really was.
They were invited to share Christmas with Lucas and Erma. Kathleen was sure that Lucas’s invitation had come in response to Erma’s pleading. But she was just thankful for the opportunity to get out of the house for a day.
The weather cooperated. It was still cold, but the wind was not blowing, and the sun was weakly sharing its rays with the world. Kathleen wore her favorite of the new garments and wrapped her warmest shawl closely about her shoulders. She saw Donnigan toss a couple of warm blankets in the sled, but he refrained from telling her that she should wrap up in them.
Erma was still not “showing”—except in her face that seemed to glow. Again Kathleen felt envy wash over her. Erma had so much.
Lucas, always the good host, had arranged a complete turkey dinner for them to eat in the hotel dining room rather than up in the suite. “Food odors sometimes bother Erma,” Lucas explained.
But Kathleen cared not where she was served. It was so good to get out. So nice to be with other people.
After the dinner, Lucas needed his cigar, so he and Donnigan stayed to chat in the dining room while Erma and Kathleen went to the rooms above.
“I can hardly wait to show you all the baby things,” Erma enthused as they climbed the stairs.
Lucas had been right. Erma had already filled a chest with carefully stitched little garments. Kathleen wondered how she would fill her next six months.
“You are really happy, aren’t you, Erma?” Kathleen could not help but say.
“Oh yes!” exclaimed the young woman. “It has made so much difference to be—to be waiting for a child. My hours have meaning now. The days aren’t nearly so lonely. And Lucas—Lucas comes home every morning, promptly at ten, so that I can get some fresh air and some exercise.”
At Kathleen’s puzzled look, Erma hurried to explain.
“It isn’t proper for a woman to be out on the streets alone,” she said, “so Lucas comes home and takes me for a walk.”
Kathleen could only stare. Poor Erma had been virtually a prisoner in her own suite of rooms.
“When I get too—too—obvious to be on the streets of town, Lucas says that we will drive to the country, tie the carriage, and go for a little walk down some private trail.”
Kathleen’s mouth fell open. She quickly put aside her envy. At least Donnigan allowed her
some
freedom.
“Oh, Lucas has been reading up on it,” Erma hurried on, not understanding Kathleen’s expression. “One must have fresh air and exercise—for the sake of the mother and the baby.”
