A Bride for Donnigan (27 page)

She would still be poor and destitute and slaving for a family who did not even think to appreciate her services. She would still be limping around on a lame leg, her back aching at the end of the day, her mind convinced that she was a cripple that no one would want.

She wouldn’t have a husband. She wouldn’t have a family. She would know nothing about love. She—Kathleen stopped and opened her eyes to survey the family that had blessed her life. Fiona stood before her.

“A’ done,” she said with great satisfaction, passing Kathleen an empty sack. Licorice stains colored her chin and browned the front of her dress with ugly streaks. Kathleen gasped. “A’ done,” the girl repeated, dropping the bag in Kathleen’s lap.

“You ate them all?” gasped Kathleen.

“No,” said Fiona, shaking her head emphatically. “I give Bwee.”

Kathleen gasped and jumped to her feet, fearful that she would find the baby passed out on the floor, choked by licorice candy. But Brenna was cooing to herself and fumbling with the pots. All around her mouth and dripping down her front was the evidence of the licorice she never got to fully enjoy. Kathleen breathed a sigh of relief that she was all right and hurried to clean up the pair of them before their father returned from the barn.

“You are welcome to read it for yourself,” Kathleen told Donnigan as she nodded toward the letter on the small table.

Donnigan shifted the two children on his knees and picked up the letter. He read it all the way through, then read it again. Kathleen waited for his response as she moved about the kitchen getting the supper on the table.

“Sounds like they have fallen into hard times,” said Donnigan at last.

Kathleen didn’t dare make a response.

“How much do you think we can spare?” was Donnigan’s next comment.

Kathleen looked up. Was he serious? Was he actually thinking that Kathleen owed something to Madam?

“Donnigan. Madam has always been in ‘hard times’—only before she had Father—or me—to pay her way. I owe her nothing more. Nothing. Why, if she’d had her way I would still be there, walking those London streets, selling wares for that crotchety old baker.”

Donnigan had never heard such bitterness in Kathleen’s voice before.

He said nothing more—for the moment—but switched his attention to giving his two small daughters horsey rides on his foot.

When Donnigan felt that Kathleen had enough time to cool down, he brought up the matter of the letter again.

“I was thinking that we might spare a bit,” he said. “We’ve got that extra pig money in the bank.”

“If you start sending money to Madam, she’ll expect it as her due,” warned Kathleen.

“She
is
kin,” replied Donnigan evenly.

“No kin of mine—she simply married my father—and sent my grandmother to an early grave,” said Kathleen hotly.

“Your grandmother?” Donnigan had never heard that story.

“Sure now—and Grandmother O’Malley left Ireland when we did and settled with us in London. She cared for me after my mother died. Called me her little colleen. We would have been just fine too had not Madam taken a shine to my father. She worked in the local pub and he used to stop by for a pint after his day’s work.

“Before long she had convinced him they should marry—and I guess he was lonely without Mother. But she couldn’t leave Grandmother be. She taunted and tormented and picked on her all the time that Father was at work. Then at end of day when Father came home, she was nice as cream pudding to the old lady. I saw it all myself. Of course, Grandmother never said a thing. She didn’t want to come between a man and his wife. But it broke her heart, and that’s the truth of it. She just gave up and died—pining for my mother—pining for Ireland. I saw it myself.”

Kathleen stopped for a breath. Donnigan reached out an arm and drew her close.

“It was hard for you, wasn’t it?” he said, but it was more a statement than a question.

Kathleen found that she was crying. She had never talked to anyone about her grandmother before.

Donnigan let her cry against him. When she finally moved to dry her eyes and blow her nose, he spoke again.

“Is it too hard to forgive?” he asked her.

Kathleen sniffed and thought a moment.

“You think she deserves my forgiveness?” she asked stiffly.

“I was thinking of you—not her,” said Donnigan. “Unforgiveness is a heavy load to carry.”

Kathleen looked up in surprise.

“You had no choice—in what she did to you,” went on Donnigan slowly, “but you do have a choice in forgiving.”

“One doesn’t just decide to forgive—and make it happen,” said Kathleen with feeling. “You can’t just—will pain away. It goes far deeper than that.”

Donnigan nodded. “But somehow I think that you can choose to hang on to pain—to bitterness—sorta cling to it and coddle it and pamper it a bit so that it grows and grows.”

Kathleen had never thought of that.

“Would you like to talk about it later?” asked Donnigan, and Kathleen nodded her head.

Donnigan saw it as the first positive step.

Chapter Twenty

The Continued Search

Kathleen was not looking forward to the time when Donnigan might again approach her about sending help home to Madam. She had not realized how deep her bitterness ran until she had looked at her life with the London family in light of her life with Donnigan.

“I guess I just took it all for granted when I was there,” she told herself. “When you’re used to a situation, you don’t realize that things should be different. You just—just accept them.”

But now that Kathleen had enjoyed a taste of a real home, of real love, she realized just how much she had been taken advantage of as a child and how Madam had used her for her own purposes.

Kathleen had been unaware of the bitterness she had buried concerning the grandmother she had lost when she was seven years old. It had been bad enough to lose her mother, but she’d still had her Granny to cling to. But when she lost her grandmother as well, she lost her anchor in a hostile world.

Her father had been quite unaware of what went on in the little house in his absence. Yet he should have been able to see that something was dreadfully wrong.

To Kathleen’s surprise, she found that buried very deeply within herself was a resentment toward her father. The father she had loved so much. That was perhaps what pained her most of all. And it all was due to Madam. She had forced Kathleen’s father into the position where he was not free to properly care for his eldest daughter. Still he should have seen. He should have sensed that things were all wrong. Kathleen felt that she could have forgiven the woman of all the sins that she had committed against her—except that one. The one of making her see her beloved father as a less than perfect man.

Kathleen struggled with her pain and bitterness, and Donnigan wisely didn’t press. He knew she wasn’t ready.

They needed more room to house their growing family. Donnigan decided he could put it off no longer. He began to order and stockpile the materials so that he could begin at the first opportunity.

“What you plannin’?” asked Wallis when he popped by one evening just as they were about to sit down for their supper.

Kathleen moved to the cupboard to get another plate. It seemed to her that Wallis ate more often at her table than he did at his own. But she would not have expressed her feeling to Donnigan.

“Time to add on to this cabin,” said Donnigan as he mashed potatoes for Brenna and covered them with gravy. “We’re about to burst at the seams.”

Wallis nodded, looking around the circle.

“We’re going to build a room for me,” piped up Sean, grinning as he shared the good news.

Wallis accepted his place at the table.

I may as well set for him every night
, thought Kathleen.
Seems he always ends up being here.

“When you startin’?” asked Wallis as he stabbed a spud with his fork.

“First thing in the morning—I hope,” replied Donnigan.

“I got some spare time right now,” said Wallis around a bit of liver and onions. “I’ll give you a hand.”

That’s just fine!
thought Kathleen sourly.
Now he’ll think he is entitled to eat here
three
times a day!

Then Kathleen caught herself. She was getting awfully testy lately. She wondered that Donnigan could stand living with her. Maybe it was just that another baby was on the way. She hoped she would soon get her emotions back under control.

Kathleen decided not to wait for Donnigan to speak with her. She brought up the matter herself. She hoped that she would be able to keep her composure as she talked.

“About the money,” she began, knowing that Donnigan would know what money she was referring to. “I know we don’t have much to spare with building on to the house and all, but perhaps we could send a little bit.”

“I’ll see to it right away,” said Donnigan, and she thought she read relief in his eyes.

“But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven her,” Kathleen could have said. “I’ve tried, but I can’t. But send the money if you like—it’ll make you feel better—and I guess I can grant her that much.”

But Kathleen did not say the words, so Donnigan did not know what was going on in her heart. Instead she said, “And, Donnigan—when you send the money, would you please ask Edmund to send me Bridget’s address?”