Janette Oke - A Bride for Donnigan

“Don’t you want to be a father?” she asked his back.

“Of course I do,” he responded immediately.

“Then why—”

“I think I had a right to know—without it being a—a blunder,” he said.

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.

Sean

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.”

Kathleen nodded and made out her list while Donnigan went for the team.

It was early in the afternoon when Kathleen felt the first uncomfortable twinge. It only lasted for a few minutes and then it was gone. She dismissed it as some strange muscle spasm and went on with her baking.

When it was repeated a few minutes later, she felt some alarm.

“It can’t be the baby,” she told herself. “He isn’t due for three weeks yet.”

But in another fifteen minutes, Kathleen had another sharp pain. She looked at the clock, willing Donnigan home.

By the time he did arrive, Kathleen had been forced to take to her bed. Donnigan panicked.

“But you said it wasn’t to be until the end of November,” he reminded Kathleen.

Kathleen nodded mutely.

“It’s only the first part of November,” Donnigan said, staring at the calendar on the wall to confirm the fact.

Kathleen nodded again.

“Well—it can’t be time—now,” Donnigan concluded unreasonably.

“Babies sometimes do things their own way,” replied Kathleen, tears in her eyes. She had not planned to be on her own for this delivery, and the very thought of it was frightening.

“What can we do?” he asked her. “The storm has moved in and the doctor is miles away.”

“It’s too early,” moaned Kathleen again. She did wish that her baby would decide to wait until the proper time.

“I’ll go for help.”

“Go where?” cried Kathleen as another contraction seized her.

“I don’t know—but we need someone.”

Kathleen clung to his arm until the pain subsided.

“Don’t go,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“But we need—” he began.

“Donnigan,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “You have helped the stock—many times.”

He looked shocked. “You are not stock,” he informed her.

“But babies are born the same way,” she argued. “Just—just use common sense. We can manage.”

In the end it was Donnigan who delivered his son, washed him, and placed him in his mother’s arms.

“Now I’m going for the doctor,” he informed his pale but happy wife.

“Whatever for?” asked Kathleen, puzzled.

“To make sure everything is all right,” he answered her.

“We’re fine. Look at him. He’s just perfect.”

Donnigan looked down at his newborn son. He did look fine. Just wonderful. He was tiny—being early—but he looked wiry and strong.

The fear gradually left Donnigan’s eyes—to be replaced with a look of thankfulness and pride. The baby and Kathleen seemed to have made it through the delivery in great form. He lifted a hand to brush his hair back off his glistening brow and took a deep breath.

“So what are you calling him?” he asked as he reached down and gently touched the tiny fingers with his large one.

“Sean,” beamed Kathleen. “This is Sean. It is just right for him, don’t you think?”

Donnigan nodded. The name sure wasn’t Frank or George. Donnigan hoped his son wouldn’t have to do too much fighting over it.

* * *

Kathleen’s days were now more than full. Sean was a contented baby, but there were the extra chores that a baby always brings. The laundry was the biggest job. Kathleen found it hard to get things dry in the winter. She would be glad when spring would begin to make its way over the surrounding hillsides and when she would hear the song of the first robin.

* * *

“Look at him! He’ll soon be off on his own,” boasted Donnigan as he walked his small son around the kitchen holding only to his fingers.

Kathleen smiled. “He will, and that’s the truth of it,” she agreed, her voice filled with love and her eyes sparkling with honest pride.