A Bride for Donnigan (28 page)

“Do you think there’s a God?” Donnigan asked Wallis at the dinner table.

I thought he had forgotten about that
, thought Kathleen, lifting her head in surprise.

Wallis, too, looked startled. He chewed on his bite of bread and butter, his eyes going darker by the minute. At last he swallowed and said in a mumbled fashion, “Used to. Kinda.”

“You mean, you don’t anymore?”

“Nope!” said Wallis, and he took another large bite of the slice he held in his hand.

“But if there is a God—and I’ve got a strong feeling that there must be—then He doesn’t just come and go according to how we feel about Him,” Donnigan said rather boldly.

Wallis seemed to be thinking.

“All I know is—if He’s there—He sure don’t run things very well,” said Wallis.

Donnigan nodded. He knew Wallis was thinking about Risa.

“Do you really think
He
had a say in the matter?” he asked softly.

“Well—a God is supposed to be a God, isn’t He?” declared Wallis, and there was pain and bitterness in his voice. “What good is He iffen He can’t look after things?”

“Maybe it’s not His business to look after
those
kinds of things,” said Donnigan.

Kathleen was uncomfortable with the conversation. She rose from the table and sliced more bread.

“Then what is He supposed to look after?” asked Wallis, sounding angry and exasperated.

“Our souls,” said Donnigan.

Wallis met that comment with a sneer.

“If there’s a God—then there is a heaven and hell—somewhere,” said Donnigan. “And I think that His business is getting us to the one and keeping us out of the other.”

“So how’s He do thet?” snorted Wallis.

“I don’t know,” said Donnigan slowly. “I don’t know—but I sure would like to find out.”

Kathleen cast a glance Donnigan’s way and saw the shadow in his eyes. She knew then that he had not forgotten his search. That he was greatly troubled—somewhere deep inside.

The house was finished before the new baby made his appearance. This boy looked much like his older brother—except that he was dark instead of fair. But from the very first time she heard him cry, Kathleen knew she had a child with a totally different disposition from his brother Sean.

“My, he sounds cross,” she said to Donnigan. “Do you think he’ll ever forgive the doctor for that pat on his little behind?”

Donnigan had insisted on a doctor again for the birth and Kathleen had not argued. There had been time for the doctor to arrive—although certainly no time to spare.

“He’s likely just hungry,” replied Donnigan, handing the baby to his mother. “He’ll settle down as soon as he’s fed.”

Kathleen named the baby Eamon, and Donnigan accepted the name without comment.

Wallis was back far more often than Kathleen would have liked, but she bit her tongue and served him his suppers whenever he made his sudden appearance at her door.

“He needs us,” said Donnigan with real feeling for the neighbor man, and Kathleen did not try to argue.

“The more I see of youngsters the less confident I feel as a parent,” Donnigan observed one day just after Eamon had thrown a real temper fit.

Kathleen nodded. She was so weary of fighting the two-year-old. It seemed that Eamon was always upset about something.

“He sure isn’t like the others,” she commented in return, brushing back the hair from her flushed face.

“I think we’re going to have our hands full with that one,” went on Donnigan, “and I’m not sure just how to handle him. Now, if he was a colt and acted like that I’d try gentling, and if that didn’t work I’d lay my whip on him.”

Kathleen winced. It seemed to her that Eamon had already been spanked more than his fair share.

“They are all so different,” said Kathleen, and reviewed in her mind her four youngsters. Sean was the easiest one. Never had he fussed and fought against their authority. He had immediately fallen in love with his father and sought to do everything just as Donnigan did.

Fiona was the spirited one. Bubbly and chattering and always on the go. She mothered and fussed over each family member and giggled and romped her way through each day.

Brenna was a loner. From the time she was little she could entertain herself for hours, sitting off in a corner or under the table, playing with whatever simple thing Kathleen gave her. She hummed little songs to herself and smiled her pleasure at family members. But then she promptly returned to her play without even asking to be picked up.

But Eamon. Eamon was out to conquer the world on his own terms even before he took his first step. Kathleen shared Donnigan’s concern for their youngest son. She had no idea how to handle him.

“We need help, Kathleen,” said Donnigan, and he looked weary, concerned. “I’m not smart enough to know how to raise my little ones fit for heaven, and I admit it.”

There it was again. Donnigan’s concern for the soul.

“I wish there was a church—”

Donnigan ran his fingers through his heavy head of blond hair.

“I don’t think they’re
that
bad,” said Kathleen, defending her young.

“It’s not a case of how good or how bad, Kathleen. I don’t know what God wants. I don’t know how to prepare my children for—for the world to come. There’s no use bringing them into
this
world, Kathleen, and not preparing them for the
next
one. Can’t you see? That’s the most important thing we have to do in life. Get those little ones ready for whatever lies beyond. If I don’t do that—I’ve failed as a father. I’ve failed as a man. Failed miserably.”

Kathleen hadn’t realized that he felt so strongly about it.

“Don’t you know anything about what one is to do?” he asked her, and there was pleading in his voice. Donnigan needed some answers.

“No. No,” said Kathleen shaking her head. “I don’t know anything.”

Donnigan stood and moved to where his hat hung on the peg.

“Where are you going?” asked Kathleen quickly. She did hope he wasn’t going to do something foolish. She was worried about Donnigan.

“To town—for some answers,” he said to her. “I’m going to check out that church.”

“But the parson’s gone. The church is closed.”

“I know. But there has to be someone left in town who went to that church before it closed. Maybe he—or she—can help us.”

Kathleen wished to say, “I don’t need help. I’m fine,” but down deep inside, she knew that it wasn’t the truth.

It seemed a long time to Kathleen before she heard Black coming. The young pup that Donnigan had gotten for the children made a fuss. He didn’t get to bark at visitors to the Harrison farm often, so he made the most of it when he could.

Sean finally managed to quiet him. “That’s Pa. He lives here, silly,” Kathleen heard the boy say to the small dog.

Kathleen had to wait for more long minutes while Donnigan put the horse away and stopped to chat with the children who were playing in the yard.

Kathleen hoped that Donnigan’s search had been fruitful. She was tired of seeing him with the deep concern in his eyes.

But when he entered the kitchen, she saw that his shoulders still drooped.

“No luck?” she asked, and he shook his head slowly.

“You didn’t find anyone?”

“Oh, yeah. I found an old couple that used to go there.”

“But they didn’t have any answers?”

“Well,” said Donnigan taking a chair at the table. “They did—and they didn’t.”

Kathleen puzzled over his answer.

“They told me what went on at the church,” he began.

Kathleen waited.

“They sang songs—hymns they called them—songs about God—from a special book. They prayed. At least the parson prayed for them. And then he read from the Bible. That’s the real key to it all, the old folks said. Then they listened to the parson talk a sermon.”

“A sermon?”

“About how to live and what to do and all that,” explained Donnigan.

“But he’s not there anymore. The church still isn’t planning to bring him back?” asked Kathleen.

“Nope. Not much chance of that.”

Donnigan stretched out his long legs as though to work the kinks from his body and from his soul.

“Guess there’s not much we can do then,” said Kathleen.

“If I only had some way to get us a Bible,” declared Donnigan. “I asked around town and nobody knows where to get one.”

“You mean—we’d just read it on our own?” asked Kathleen. It seemed a bit presumptuous to her way of thinking.

“That’s what the old folks said we could do.”

Kathleen thought about it for a few minutes. There didn’t seem to be any answer to their problem. She was about to leave her chair and go back to peeling potatoes for supper when she had a sudden thought.

“Wait a minute,” she said, reaching out and grabbing Donnigan’s arm with both hands. “I think I have a Bible.”

Donnigan jerked his head up.

“In my trunk,” went on Kathleen. “It was my grandmother’s, and she gave it to me before she died.”

Then she finished rather lamely, “I didn’t know it was something you could read. I thought it was just for writing things in. Like births and deaths. That’s the only time I saw Grandmother use it. When she wrote things in it.”

Then Kathleen’s eyes lit up with sudden understanding. “She
couldn’t
have read it,” she said. “Some English clergyman gave it to her, and Grandmother couldn’t read English. I remember looking at the words she wrote. They looked strange, so I asked my father. He said they were Irish words.”

Already they were moving toward the bedroom and the old steamer trunk.

Kathleen rummaged around, digging through discarded garments and worn bedding, and finally she came up with a faded black book.

“It
is
a Bible,” said Kathleen joyfully. “It says so right here on the cover. See!”

Donnigan reached for the book. He held it lovingly, worship-fully. “Kathleen. I think we have our answer.” His voice was husky with emotion.