A Bride for Donnigan (26 page)

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.

Chapter Nineteen

Brenna

When Fiona was a laughing, teasing two-year-old and Sean a four-and-a-half-year-old copy of his father, another baby girl joined the family, aided by the doctor who actually made it on time. Kathleen named her Brenna and Fiona managed to call her Bwee. She was another blond baby but she had more of Kathleen’s features than did Sean.

“Now you’re getting it right,” teased Donnigan. “A little of both of us.” Kathleen just smiled.

Sean and Fiona fell in love with their baby sister at once, but it was generally left to Fiona to do the mothering as Sean was much too busy being a “farm man.”

A few months later, Erma also had another baby and this one too was a girl, much to Lucas’s further consternation. But his oldest girl was busy working on her daddy’s heart, and though Lucas might not have admitted it, she had won him over totally. Erma shared the little tales of the doting papa with Kathleen and they both chuckled over them. Lucas tried so hard to convince everyone that he was totally and completely “all business.”

Brenna was a contented baby, for which Kathleen was thankful. With two other small children to care for, her days were more than full. Sean took over the task of gathering the eggs and feeding the chickens. It was his first step toward becoming a farmer.

But the garden always needed attention, and the pile of soiled baby laundry always loomed larger than the clean stock in the chest of drawers. It seemed to Kathleen that there was never time for rest. She was glad that her little brood was healthy and happy.

Brenna was now seven months old, sitting by herself and crawling all over the house. Donnigan was pleased with her progress, as he had been with each of his children. But Kathleen carried a nagging, frightening concern. The baby’s eyes were often crossed as she tried to focus on what she held in her hands.

Kathleen, herself raised with a handicap that had not been properly cared for, knew how devastating it could be. Why, if Donnigan had not accepted her “sight unseen,” she still didn’t know if any man would have ever married her. Her stepmum had thoroughly convinced her that she had an abnormality that no man would be able to overlook. Kathleen did not want any such handicap for one of her children.

Donnigan had helped her limp by making a lift for her boot. In fact, Kathleen hardly thought of her lameness anymore, and certainly Donnigan never made mention of it. But crossed eyes could hardly be hidden under swishing skirts. Brenna’s disability would be plain for all to see. So Kathleen fretted and worried and tried to make peace with the God she had been angry with so that she might evoke His intervention. Each day she watched the little eyes as they concentrated on what was held in the small hands, and still they crossed on occasion.

Kathleen kept waiting for Donnigan to speak of it, but Donnigan either did not notice or refused to admit what he saw. It annoyed Kathleen. Wasn’t he concerned about his baby?

At last she had to bring it up. “What can we do about Brenna?” was the way she approached him.

“What about Brenna?” he asked innocently, and Kathleen stirred restlessly, her temper immediately roused.

“Her eyes?” she said with a bit too much emphasis.

“What’s wrong with her eyes?”

Now Kathleen was really upset. “Don’t tell me,” she began, “that you haven’t even noticed that your daughter has crossed eyes?”

“What?” he answered, his tone even and controlled in spite of her sharpness. “You mean when she holds something?”

When Kathleen did not answer, Donnigan went on. “All babies do that. They outgrow it as soon as the muscles strengthen.”

Kathleen snorted. “And now you are an authority on all babies. Sean didn’t do that. Fiona didn’t do that.”

“Sure they did,” argued Donnigan.

“Not when they were as old as Brenna,” debated Kathleen.

“So she’s a bit slower in that area,” said Donnigan, refusing to get concerned.

Kathleen said nothing more. She was still worried about her baby, but it seemed Donnigan did not share her fear.

“We’ll keep an eye on her,” said Donnigan. “If she doesn’t quickly outgrow it, we’ll take her to a doctor in Raeford.”

“Outgrow it by
when
?” asked Kathleen, wishing for something definite.

“By a year,” said Donnigan.

It seemed much too long to wait to Kathleen, but it had to do. She would watch Brenna carefully and then make Donnigan keep his promise when she was a year old.

But Brenna outgrew her difficulty in focusing long before she reached her first birthday. Kathleen breathed a sigh of relief—but was just a bit annoyed that Donnigan had been right—again.

“There’s a letter for you,” Donnigan said as he entered the house, a box of groceries in his arms. Sean tagged along behind him, carrying a small box just like his father.

“Can’ny?” called Fiona, running to meet them. “Can’ny?”

Donnigan laughed and hoisted her up in his arms. “I think your mama might find a bit of candy in there some place—you little sweet tooth, you. Maybe your mama will let you have
one
now—and put the rest up to share later.”

He pinched her chubby cheek and returned her to the floor.

“A letter?” said Kathleen, moving forward. She never got letters. Oh, she did hope that it was from Bridget.

The letter bore a strange address but it was from London. Kathleen tore it open with trembling fingers, then quickly let her eyes run down the page until they fell on the signature.

“Why, it’s from Edmund,” she said, and immediately felt concern. Why would Edmund be the family member to finally get in touch?

“I’ll catch it later—I have to care for the team,” said Donnigan, to which Sean parroted, “I hafta care for the team,” and the two left the house together.

Kathleen wondered if Donnigan instinctively knew that she needed to be alone to read whatever the letter contained of news from home. She sat down on the nearby kitchen chair and opened the letter, totally forgetting about Fiona, who had climbed on another chair and was busily going through the grocery box in search of the promised candy.

My dearest sister Kathleen:

Kathleen smiled to herself. It seemed strange for the spoiled Edmund to be addressing her in such a fashion. Then she read on.

It has been some time since you left London to make your new home in America. Bridget tried for some time to get in touch but was unable to secure your address.

“Oh, Bridget,” sobbed Kathleen, “I tried so hard to contact you.”

She has since married and is living quite happily in Belfast. The man she married is an Irishman with much concern for his homeland.

The word “his” had been crossed out and Edmund had inserted instead the word “our.” Again Kathleen smiled. Edmund had never evidenced much love for Ireland. Indeed, Madam had seen that his loyalties were more toward France.

Charles left two years ago to join up with a cargo ship. It nearly broke Mere’s heart. I would have thought that he could find himself a trade nearby. We have heard from him a few times since, but mostly his days are spent at sea.

So there is now just Mere and me, and our situation is rather distressful. You may wonder why we are in London. The marriage that was planned didn’t take place. He proved to be a scoundrel. We shall never forgive him. At any rate, we have continued on in the city but were forced to leave the house on Carrington when we couldn’t manage the rent.

Mere is pleased that she sent you to America where you were able to better your situation by marrying a man of means.

“Sent me?” sniffed Kathleen in disbelief.

Even though your going put great stress on the family here, we gladly sacrificed for your betterment. Now we are hoping that our charity will be returned. Whatever you might spare would be most appreciated.

Affectionately, your brother Edmund.

Kathleen sat staring at the page, unable to believe what she had just read. Tears formed in her eyes. It was good to hear from them—to learn that they were well. She thought of her young sister, now a married woman and back home again in beloved Ireland. And she thought of Charles at sea. Imagine that! Charles, a sailor. Perhaps on his way to becoming a captain. Kathleen smiled and wiped at her cheeks.

Fiona had found the bag of licorice and climbed down from her chair. She sat on the floor, out of view of her mother, and began to enjoy her treat. She had eaten three of the pieces before she thought of Brenna. Brenna was sitting on the floor happily playing with two of her mama’s pots. Fiona picked a candy from her sack and stuffed it in the baby’s mouth. It was not easy for the baby to chew, and the whole dribbling, sloppy mess soon tumbled out of her mouth again and trickled down the front of her gown. The licorice lodged in a fold in her lap. Brenna smacked her lips a few times and returned to her pots. Fiona, feeling she had shared adequately, went back to enjoying her treat. Kathleen still sat at the table, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose.

In spite of her joy in receiving news from home, she felt annoyance. “My, what a fine kettle of fish that must have been, and that’s the truth,” she muttered to herself as she scanned the page again. “No marriage. A scoundrel was he? And why not, I’m thinking. It takes one to draw one.”

Kathleen had never dared to dwell on her feelings for her stepmother before. Now they rose up within her, surprising even her with their intensity. So the marriage for wealth had not worked. My, couldn’t she just picture the anger of Madam.

Then a new thought occurred to Kathleen. “Why, if I hadn’t left
how
I did,
when
I did, I’d still be there making pennies hawking buns and pastries in the dirty London streets,” she murmured to herself.

A wave of thankfulness flooded through her. What she had left was so inferior to what she had gained. She closed her eyes tightly and let the emotion sweep over her whole body. What if—? What if she had never signed on to come to America? What if she had never married Donnigan?