A Bride for Donnigan (21 page)
She knew then that she had hurt him deeply.
“I was going to tell you—soon,” she defended. “It’s just—just I’ve been so worried about Erma.”
“What about my worry?” asked Donnigan, still not turning to her.
“Your worry?” she said, puzzled.
He half-turned. “About you—about our baby,” he answered with a trembling voice.
“What do you mean? I’m fine. The baby is—is just beginning.”
“I’m worried about you, Kathleen. You said I saw you as a child. Well, I’ve changed that. I’m—I’m trying hard to change that. But even if you are a—a woman, you are still—still small. Maybe too small to—to have a child.”
Kathleen lay beside him, listening to his words. She began to understand his fears.
“I’m the same size as my mother was—and she had me,” she informed him gently. “And her mother was even smaller, so she told me, and she had seven babies, and that’s the pure truth of it.”
“Oh, Kathleen,” moaned Donnigan, and he turned over to gather her close. “If anything should happen—”
“It won’t,” she tried to assure him. “It won’t.”
Kathleen still went to see Erma as often as she could, but Donnigan now insisted upon driving her to town—slowly. The trips wasted a whole day and Kathleen chaffed with each step that the plodding team made. But she dared not argue. She could still read concern in Donnigan’s eyes each time they talked of the baby. She wanted to give him all the reason for assurance that she could.
Erma did not show any sign of improving. She was out of bed now, but she still spent her days grieving and sorrowing over what should have been the happiest summer of her life. Kathleen sensed that the loss of the baby was putting a terrible strain on Erma’s marriage. She fervently wished she could do
something
for her friend.
When spring finally came, Donnigan was so busy in the fields that Kathleen felt she hardly saw him. She missed him around the kitchen. But she understood about the planting of the crops.
Often on warm days she packed a lunch, filled a pail with cool well water, and walked to the fields to picnic with him while the horses munched on nearby grasses. Those were good times for Kathleen and she felt that Donnigan looked forward to her noon visits.
He had built the chicken pen as promised, and it was now filled with half a dozen hens and a cocky rooster. Kathleen hoped to increase the flock, so she set aside eggs while she waited for some of the hens to decide to brood.
She had also coaxed Donnigan for a garden and he had humored her. But he made her promise that she would allow him to do the hoeing. He was still worried about her and the baby.
Kathleen did not tell Erma about the coming child until midsummer when it was no longer possible to hide her secret. Erma was still grieving over the loss of her own baby. Kathleen believed that her friend should have put aside her grief and her chest of tiny garments before now, but Erma clung to both.
When the truth was finally out, Kathleen saw the hurt look in Erma’s eyes. She had so longed to share her joy with her friend but realized that the joy was hers alone. The baby was only a sharp and painful reminder to Erma.
“It seems that I’ve truly messed up this one,” Kathleen scolded herself. “I didn’t really get to tell anyone. First I missed sharing it with Donnigan—and that didn’t turn out well. Then I couldn’t tell Erma until she guessed it herself. I sure do wish there was someone I could tell.”
Kathleen thought of Risa, but she had never seemed to be able to form a friendship with the new Mrs. Tremont. Donnigan had even lost touch with Wallis, and Kathleen knew that troubled him. The crusty old bachelor had been good company at one time.
Kathleen longed to be able to share her good news with her own kin. She had tried three times to send a letter to Bridget, but each time it came back to her unopened. It seemed that the country address Kathleen had been given and the school where Bridget was to have attended had never heard of the girl. It worried Kathleen more than she wanted to let show.
The late summer, a warm one, had Donnigan often scolding Kathleen about getting too much sun. She no longer minded his fussing. She realized that it was not because he was viewing her as a child but that he was filled with concern for her and for their coming baby.
So she accepted the good-humored “chastisement” and tried her best to fulfill his wishes.
Harvest time meant that again Donnigan was busy in the fields. But he would no longer allow her the trips with the picnic lunches and water pails. He took his lunch with him, and whenever he was thirsty he stopped at the small creek that ran through the property.
“It’s too long a walk. And what if you twisted an ankle on the uneven ground and went down,” he worried.
Kathleen only smiled, but she did feel he was unreasonable. Surely she wasn’t that clumsy.
He did let her harvest her garden, along with cautions about “overdoing it.” Kathleen glowed with pleasure as she took in the vegetables, thinking how much they would improve their diet in the winter months. Some of the produce she canned. Kathleen was sure Donnigan didn’t realize what a demanding job it was to spend hours cleaning and preparing the vegetables and then standing over the hot stove processing the canned goods. If he had, he never would have allowed it.
Donnigan had also prepared a root cellar in between his haying and harvesting time. Kathleen was glad to have it ready to accept her garden store.
Eventually the garden and the crops were all properly harvested and stored. Donnigan shared with neighbors in the butchering of hogs and the curing of hams. They were all ready for another winter.
Kathleen had been spending her evenings sewing her own tiny baby garments. Never had she enjoyed an activity so much. With each stitch she made she had to push away thoughts of Erma. She was coming to a new understanding of the woman’s devastation over her loss. Kathleen found herself counting the days until her own special event.
Even Donnigan seemed to put his fears and concerns a little further from him with each passing month. He dared to hope that things would be fine. While Kathleen sewed, he whittled rungs for a cradle.
“When it is time, I think we should take the stage to Raeford and stay there until the baby comes,” Donnigan had informed Kathleen. “That way we will be sure to have a doctor on hand.”
Kathleen had not argued. A little trip to the city might be a nice diversion for both of them.
“What about the farm chores?” she asked instead.
“I’m sure Wallis will watch things for me for a few days,” Donnigan responded and it seemed to be settled. Both of the occupants of the household looked forward to what November would bring.
“What do you wish to name the baby if it’s a girl?” Kathleen asked Donnigan as they breakfasted together one morning.
He hesitated for a moment, then responded with, “What would you suggest?”
“I rather like Meara,” said Kathleen.
“Sounds just fine,” agreed Donnigan with a nod.
Again silence closed in around them.
“ ’Course if it’s a boy he’ll be named for his father,” Kathleen remarked.
His head came up quickly. “You mean Donnigan?”
Kathleen began to chuckle softly. “Of course Donnigan,” she said, laying a hand on his arm. “You
are
his father.”
He shook his head as he lifted his coffee cup. “No siree,” he said emphatically. “No son of mine is gonna carry that handle around for the rest of his life.”
Kathleen looked surprised.
“I told you I had to fight my way all through my school days,” went on Donnigan. “My boy might have him a fight or two—but it won’t be over his name if I can help it.”
“What then?” asked Kathleen.
“Something plain and sensible—like Frank or George,” he answered.
“I don’t like either of those,” said Kathleen with a lift of her chin. She decided that she would give the matter of a boy’s name some careful thought.
Donnigan went alone to town for supplies. The wind was chilly and the sky threatening. Kathleen looked at the gray sky and agreed with her husband that she should stay home. It made her shiver just to look outside.
“When it storms this time of year it could last awhile,” Donnigan said with another glance at the sky. “I’d best go on in while I have the chance.”