Janette Oke - A Bride for Donnigan

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.

* * *

From then on the reading of the Bible was a part of every day. Donnigan always gathered all of the family around right after breakfast and opened up the book. They began with Genesis. It was a thrill for Donnigan to discover how God had created the earth and all it contained. They discussed it with their little family.

“Did He make everything?” asked the chattery Fiona.

“Yes, He did,” said Donnigan. “It says so right here.”

“The birds?”

“The sky?”

“Worms?”

“Mama?”

“Washtubs?”

“Whiskers?”

“Snipper?” Snipper was their new dog.

To each of the childish questions, Donnigan offered a firm “Yes.”

“Really, Donnigan. I don’t think He made washtubs,” Kathleen gently rebuked him later.

“Well, He made what washtubs are made of—doesn’t that count?” replied Donnigan, unabashed.

Kathleen nodded. “Perhaps,” she agreed.

* * *

The older children enjoyed most of the Genesis stories, though they did not understand them all. But when Donnigan got on into Leviticus and Deuteronomy, he had a hard time holding even Sean’s attention. And the young Eamon was next to impossible.

“Are you sure we should be reading that to the children?” Kathleen dared to ask. “Maybe it is meant just for grown-ups.”

Donnigan wondered the same thing. He decided to do the reading on his own and then share the easier stories with his family in his own words. It seemed to work much better.

* * *

“We’re supposed to be praying, too,” Donnigan said to Kathleen one day as he laid the Bible aside. Kathleen just nodded.

“Do you know any prayers?” was his next question. “No,” she replied.

“I wonder where we can get some,” said Donnigan.

“Maybe the old folks in town would know.”

“I already asked them. They said the parson did the prayers—and he took the books with him.”

“Then I guess we’ll just have to do without prayers,” said Kathleen.

Donnigan rubbed his hand over the cover of the Bible, saying only, “I really don’t think we’ve got this all figured out.”

Family

“I was thinking—if this one is a boy—you might like to name him.”

They were sitting by the table at the end of a long, exhausting day having a cup of buttermilk together.

“You run out of names?” asked Donnigan lightly.

“Oh no. We could call him Aiden or Keenan or Devlin or—”

Donnigan held up his hand.

Kathleen smiled and took another sip of the cold buttermilk.

“And if it’s a girl,” prompted Donnigan.

Kathleen tilted her head to one side teasingly Her dark eyes were shining, her hair, from which she had loosened the pins, tumbling about her shoulders.

She still looks like a child, thought Donnigan to himself and felt a renewed urge to protect her.

“I might even let you name a girl,” responded Kathleen after having given the matter pretended serious consideration.

Donnigan nodded. “I accept that challenge.”

The baby was another son. Donnigan named him Timothy.

* * *

Eighteen months later a baby girl was added to the family.

“Well—who is she?” asked Kathleen as she pulled the wee one close and kissed her soft cheek.

“I would like to say Kathleen after her mama,” responded Donnigan, “but since that might get confusing—she’s Rachel Kathleen.”

Kathleen smiled. Little Rachel. She pulled the baby close and gave her another kiss.

* * *

The years had been kind to the family. Never had they faced serious illness or mishap. Except for the loss of baby Taryn, Kathleen had brought all of her babies safely into the world with no problems. They were healthy and ruggedly hardy from farm life.

Donnigan kept their bodies toughened yet agile with a balance of work and play, and Kathleen kept their minds active and alert as they pored over lesson books.

Each morning Donnigan read from the Bible. The children had learned most of the Bible stories over the years, and Kathleen was often amused to hear their childish discussion about God.

“They talk about Him like He was—was a part of their world,” said Kathleen to Donnigan.

“I hope He is,” responded Donnigan—but his voice was still filled with doubts.

“I mean—like He is—is as real to them as—as I am.”

Donnigan nodded. That was how he wanted it to be—but was he doing it right? Was he giving them what they needed? “Oh, God,” he often groaned in times of quiet reflection, “give me wisdom. Show me what to do. It would be a terrible thing to prepare them for only this life.”

* * *

“Why do we always read the Bible?” It was Eamon, their difficult one, who posed the question.

Donnigan laid the book carefully back on the table.

“Because,” he said with great feeling, “that is the only way that we can get to know God—who He is—and who He wishes us to be—how He wants us to live.”

Eamon shrugged, seemingly unconvinced—or else just un-concerned.

“We already know about Him,” said the five-year-old boy. He had been told the same stories often enough that he should know them by heart by now.

“Do we?” said his father. “Maybe we do. Let’s see. Tell me what you know about God—all of you.”

Eamon looked surprised.

It was the outgoing Fiona who responded first. “He made—everything.” She swung her hand in a big arc to include as much as she could.

“He made the waters come down,” said Brenna softly, “an’ all the animals went in the boat.”

“He’s sorta—magic,” said Sean.

“Magic? How?” prompted Donnigan.

“He can do things that no one else can do.”

Donnigan nodded.

“He deads people when they’re bad,” said Eamon.

“Kills people,” corrected Kathleen, and then felt shock at her own statement.

“He doesn’t kill people,” argued Fiona, casting a disgusted look Eamon’s way.

“He does too,” insisted Eamon. “What about the men the earth ate up? And what about when the flood came?”

“The people were already in the big boat,” cut in Fiona quickly.

“Uh-uh. Nope,” said Eamon, shaking his head emphatically. “Only Noah and his wife and them others were in the boat.”

“There were eight,” cut in Sean who always listened well to the Bible stories. “Noah and his wife and three sons and their wives.”

But Eamon didn’t seem to care much about the particulars.

“Well—all the other people got dead,” insisted Eamon.