A Bride for Donnigan Page 12

  Kathleen nodded mutely. Her back often ached so badly at night that she couldn’t sleep. Could Donnigan be right?

  “Do you mind if I try?” asked Donnigan.

  Kathleen shook her head. She still wasn’t sure if she should be thankful or offended.

  Donnigan laid aside his whittling and crossed to where Kathleen sat near the stove.

  “Let me see,” said Donnigan. “Let me look at your boot.”

  Kathleen extended her legs, lifting her long skirts slightly as Donnigan knelt before her and carefully examined each foot.

  “Now stand,” said Donnigan. “Let’s see how much—”

  Kathleen obediently stood.

  “Just as I thought,” mused Donnigan as though to himself. “Not much at all—but it could make a real difference to your spine.”

  Donnigan worked many evenings before he was satisfied with the result. At last the boots were given to Kathleen for her to try.

  At first the wooden lift made her foot feel clumsy and heavy, but Kathleen was surprised at how quickly she adjusted. Soon she was scurrying about the farm with scarcely a limp at all.

  Kathleen stood at the kitchen window and stared balefully at the mounds of drifting snow. She had never heard such mournful wind, felt such bitter chill as with this early winter storm. Donnigan piled firewood almost to the ceiling of the cabin in his effort to keep her from shivering.

  “You need warmer clothes,” he told her, fussing over her again. “You’re welcome to my flannel shirts, but I think you’d be swallowed up in them,” he added, surveying her tiny form.

  “As soon as the storm breaks, I’ll head for town and look for some warm things for you,” he told her. Kathleen shivered again, this time not just from the cold. Now he felt he had to dress her.

  “At least put on a pair of my heavy wool socks,” Donnigan invited as he stuffed more wood into the fire. “Helps a good deal if one’s feet are warm.”

  Kathleen made a face behind his back, bit back her temper, and went to the bedroom to comply. She was committed to this marriage. She would not make a scene.

  She hated to admit it, but the socks did help considerably. She even managed to stop her shivering.

  What made her the most angry about the storm was that she was cooped up indoors after finally being given Donnigan’s permission to ride. After many hours of gentling the brown mare, he had decided that she was ready for Kathleen—within reason. Kathleen was not to ride alone, not to ride the canyon trails south of the pasture, not to allow the mare her head. Kathleen inwardly chaffed over all the restrictions, but she did not argue. She did not wish the privilege to be retracted.

  “I thought you might like to name her,” Donnigan had said as he presented the reins to Kathleen for the first time.

  “You haven’t named her yet?” Kathleen asked in surprise.

  Donnigan nodded. “I did,” he replied, “but my names are never too fancy.”

  Kathleen had thought of the big black stallion. She certainly would have named him something different than Black had she been doing the choosing, so she nodded in silent agreement.

  Kathleen ran her hand over the smooth nose of the mare and along the shiny neck. “Make friends with her,” Donnigan advised, “but let her know who’s boss.”

  It wouldn’t be hard for Kathleen to make friends. She already loved the mare.

  Kathleen had named her new mount Shee. “It means elf. My father used to tell me stories about them,” she explained to Donnigan. If he had thought it a strange name for a horse, he had not said so.

  They had gone for one ride. The day had been sunny but brisk. They both knew that winter was already rapping gently on Nature’s door and would soon make entrance into their world. Kathleen longed to hold it back. She hated the thought of being confined to the cabin at the very time she had been given access to the trails of Donnigan’s farmlands.

  One ride together—one glorious ride, and then the storm had come and shut her in.

  Kathleen turned her back to the window and winter. She didn’t want to acknowledge the storm. Because of it she was stuck in the cabin being Donnigan’s little girl again. She had hoped that the freedom she felt on the horse’s back would help her to feel more like an adult, would help Donnigan see her as an adult.

  When the storm’s fury had broken, Donnigan went to town. It was still too cold for Kathleen to endure a trip on the cold wagon seat, he told her. Once she had warmer clothes they would go to town together.

  In her agitation, Kathleen paced the kitchen, stopping occasionally to shove split logs into the fire with more force than necessary. It was a long day. She thought about going to the barn and saddling Shee for a ride but decided it would be better not to. Donnigan had handled the saddling chores. Kathleen wasn’t quite sure if she could do it right.

  “I need to watch what he does so I can do it for myself,” she determined and paced the floor some more.

  “I can at least go to the barn,” she finally decided. The horses seemed pleased to see her. She stroked the brown neck of Shee and tried the curry a bit. She even dared to lean across the manger and rub the black’s nose. He snorted and jerked his head, and Kathleen jumped back so quickly that she bumped her head on a support pole.

  She decided to give the horses a treat of oats. Just then she heard the rumble of the wagon in the yard. Donnigan was home. She supposed that she should be excited about new clothes. At least curious about what a man would pick. But Kathleen was not. She would have preferred to do her own choosing.

  So Kathleen deliberately stalled, slowly scooping oats from the sack nearby and dumping them in the manger bin. The horses snorted and plunged in their noses. Kathleen smiled to herself. She added scoop after scoop until the bins were full. When she could fit no more to the generous helping, she idly tossed the scoop back toward the sack and took her time leaving the barn.

  Donnigan was just coming toward her with the team.

  “Howdy,” he called in good nature, then frowned slightly. “You better get in,” he added. “You’ll be catching your death of cold.”

  Kathleen wrinkled her nose but headed for the house.

  Donnigan did not join her for some time. Kathleen put the coffeepot on. He would be chilled and would appreciate a cup.

  She stoked the fire again so that the pot would boil quickly.

  When Donnigan pushed his way through the door, his arms were filled with packages.

  Looks like he bought out the store, Kathleen thought to herself, and in spite of her resolve she felt a stirring of interest.

  But Donnigan looked bothered by something. Never had she seen such darkness in his eyes.

  She wished to ask what was wrong, but she bit back the question. It was none of her business, was it?

  Donnigan deposited all the parcels on the table. They filled the whole area. Kathleen wondered where he expected her to serve the coffee.

  “Should I take—these—to the bedroom?” she asked when he turned to remove his heavy jacket and hang it on the peg by the door.

  “Do whatever you want with them,” Donnigan replied in a tone she had not heard him use before. “They’re yours.”

  Kathleen’s eyes widened. Something was wrong and that was for sure.

  He washed his hands at the basin. She waited for the explosion she was sure would occur. She had remembered hearing that tone in her father’s voice, and it had always been followed by a display of his Irish temper.

  “Kathleen,” Donnigan said as he reached for the towel. His voice was controlled—too controlled, as though fighting for patience with an erring child. “Don’t ever feed the horses.”

  Kathleen stared at him in surprise. Surely—surely that wasn’t a sin. Was he so possessive—?

  “It could have killed them.” His words were almost sharp. Blunt and stabbing.

  Kathleen gasped and groped for some response. “I—I only gave them oats,” she managed to say.

  He just nodded.

&nbs
p; “I’ve seen you give them oats.” Kathleen was surprised at her own boldness. She who had determined not to cause any friction in this marriage was actually answering back to her husband. Madam would have been shocked.

  “Yes,” he said and returned the towel to the peg with one quick jerk. She felt that he was losing a bit of his control as well. “Very carefully measured oats,” he said, his face taut with emotion. “If I hadn’t happened home when I did—if those two horses had eaten what they had been given—” He stopped, seemingly unable to even think of the consequences.

  He ran a trembling hand through his hair. She waited—her own hand fumbling with the parcel nearest her.

  He took a deep breath, fighting hard to get himself in control again. When he spoke, his voice was low and almost pleading. As if he were talking to a child, Kathleen thought, and anger filled her whole being.

  “Kathleen.” He crossed the kitchen and stood close to her. “I know the farm is new to you. I know that you have never learned to—to care for stock and—and such. But please—don’t—don’t do things without checking with me. Oats—too many oats—can founder horses. Can kill them at times. We could have lost both horses. The mare and—and Black.” He was almost white with the enormity of her misdeed.

  Kathleen’s own face went pale. She had not known. How could she have known?

  “Sure then, and why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded. “Why don’t you teach me? You won’t even talk to me other than telling me what I should or should not do.” Her voice rose as she spoke until she found herself shouting. “You just—just keep treating me like—like I am a child. I’m not! I’m almost eighteen. And I’m not stupid either. I can learn. I’m an adult. Not a child who needs your coddling. Treat me like an adult. Give me some respect.” And with the last words Kathleen’s hand sought the nearest parcel of yardgoods and hurled it at Donnigan. She did not wait for his response. With sobs of anguish she ran to the little bedroom and slammed the door with such force the whole cabin trembled.

  She flung herself on the bed and cried. Cried for home and Bridget. Cried for her missing father. Cried because of the empty, lonely place in her heart that would not go away. And cried for her marriage—the one she had just managed to destroy with her outburst. Surely Donnigan would never be able to forgive her for the way she had acted and the angry words she had hurled at him along with the wrapped material. She had just proved that she was indeed the child he thought her to be.

  Donnigan lowered himself slowly to a kitchen chair and put his head in his hand. He had really done it. He had told himself all the way from the barn to the house that he must keep his control. That Kathleen did not know better. That he must not let his fright show as he spoke to her. But he had messed up the whole thing. Had really messed up. He wondered if he could ever make things right.

  No, no, he guessed he couldn’t. Things had never been right, not from the very beginning. This whole thing—this whole arranged marriage was a sham and a shame right from the start. He had been a fool. A blind fool to let Wallis and Lucas talk him into such a scheme.

  But hadn’t he become involved of his own free will? Wasn’t it his decision? No one had twisted his arm that he had remembered. He couldn’t go laying the blame at his neighbors’ doors.

  Donnigan lifted his head and ran his hand nervously through his hair. No. It was his fault. He had to take the full blame. He just hadn’t been ready for marriage. Oh, he thought he was. Longed for a wife and even children. But Kathleen was so—so young and so—so—That was the trouble. He had ordered a wife and they had sent him a child.

  Though he never would have dared to share his feelings with Kathleen, daily he worried that she might announce she was expecting a child herself. His child. She was too young, too frail to bear his baby. It was a fear that haunted him—that sometimes kept him awake in the darkness as he felt the strands of her dark hair touch his shoulder and listened to her even breathing as she slept.

  And now—now he had hurt her deeply. So deeply that he had no idea of how to go about repairing the damage. Were they to go on and on in this marriage, shut away from each other? He didn’t know if he could stand it.

  He shook himself free from his dark thoughts and rose to get a cup of the boiling coffee.

  He had no choice. He was in the marriage now. Whether it was a good one—or a poor one—had little bearing. Kathleen was his responsibility. He would care for her in the best way he knew how.

  Kathleen cried until she was exhausted. At last she fell into a troubled sleep. When she at last awoke, the bedroom window told her that darkness had fallen. Unconsciously she shifted on the bed, trying to sense if Donnigan slept beside her.

  She felt a pang of concern when she discovered his absence, and then another pang when she remembered what had brought her to the room in the first place.

  “He will be so angry with me,” she mourned and rolled back over to bury her head in the pillow for a fresh burst of tears.

  “What do I do now? Oh, what do I do?”

  In spite of her desire to stay right where she was with her sorrow, she forced herself to stir.

  “It’s past supper,” she scolded herself, not one to avoid responsibility. “He’ll be hungry.”

  Kathleen reached up to calm her tumbling hair. The pins had come loose as she had tossed in her sleep. She didn’t wish to take the time to repin it, so she lifted the comb and ran it quickly through the dark, tangled curls, letting them tumble about her shoulders in girlish fashion.

  “Now he will really think me a child,” she said to herself, and anger burned her cheeks again.

  He was sitting silently in his big chair when she quietly slipped out to the kitchen. A newspaper was spread across his knees, but she noticed that his eyes were not upon it. At the sound of her entrance he roused and looked at her.

  “Did you sleep well?” The words sounded choked. Forced. She heard him swallow.

  “Well enough,” she managed to respond and moved to the stove. She noticed that the parcels had all been removed from the table and were carefully stacked in a corner.

  “I’ve eaten,” he said woodenly. “There’s enough in the pot for your supper.”

  Kathleen didn’t feel like eating. She moved the pot from the back of the stove where it had been keeping warm and turned to the small cupboard. She would just do the cleaning up and then go back to bed.

  But the cleaning up had also been done. The dishes were all neatly stacked back on the shelves.

  The wind howled outside again, rattling the branch that always scratched against the house. Kathleen shuddered.

  “Another storm moving in,” observed Donnigan. “Good thing I managed to get to town for—” Then he stopped short.

  He changed the topic quickly, rising from his chair and heading for his heavy coat. “Erma sent you a note,” he said. “I had her help me with the—the choosing.”

  Kathleen’s full attention was immediate. She accepted the note and pulled a chair up close to the table and the lamp and began to read the short letter.

  Dear Kathleen,

  I have just been dying to see you. I do hope that the weather will soon improve so you can come to town. I have so much to talk to you about.

  We are going to have a baby! Lucas is so excited. He has already picked the name for his son. I can hardly wait. I’ve started my sewing. Lucas says at the rate that I am going, it will have to be triplets to make use of all the things.

  Come and see me as soon as you can.

  With warmest regards,

  Erma

  Kathleen carefully folded the letter and placed it in her apron pocket. How she envied Erma. Erma who was expecting a child. Erma who Lucas allowed to be a woman. Erma who now shared with a man the most intimate experience a woman could ever share—the plans and dreams and preparations of the coming of a child to their home. Kathleen felt like crying again. She dared not look toward Donnigan.

  She rose from her chair and retreated to the b
edroom. She was still awake when, much later, Donnigan joined her. She turned her back and feigned sleep. She wasn’t sure she liked the man. She might even hate him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A Long Talk

  Nothing further was said about the incident. They seemed to declare an unspoken truce. Kathleen was not sure if she was sorry or relieved. After a few days of strained silence, life went on much as it had before.

  Kathleen did not go near the barn again, though she longed to pay a visit to Shee. Instead, she spent her time with needle in hand, sewing up garments from the material Donnigan had purchased. She would not have let herself express her joy at having new clothes of her very own, clothes that would actually fit properly, but she felt thankfulness nonetheless. She was quite willing, in her thinking, to lay all the credit at Erma’s door.

  Donnigan was glad for winter chores. As every winter, the horses and cattle had been moved to the pasture adjoining the corrals so that they could be more easily cared for. The saddle horses and team were kept in the barn except on the warmer days. That meant barn cleaning, a job that Donnigan had once deplored. Now he welcomed even that, for it took him from the close confines of the kitchen. He took to talking to the black again. At first he felt awkward and embarrassed, but when the black rubbed his nose on the man’s sleeve as though he had been missing the conversations, Donnigan waved aside his feelings and enjoyed his little one-sided chats.

  He did not discuss Kathleen—or his empty marriage. That was far too personal even to share with a horse. Instead, he talked about the weather, the other farm animals, or his plans for spring.

  At times Donnigan found himself envying Lucas. The man seemed totally pleased with his marriage. He always spoke about how he was teaching Erma this or telling her about that. It seemed to Donnigan that the two really talked.

  Donnigan missed Wallis. He would have loved to slip over to the neighbor’s farm for a manly chat and a cup of the bitter coffee. But Wallis gave all indications of being more than wrapped up in his new wife. Folks joked in town about Wallis becoming henpecked. She whistled—he ran. But if Wallis didn’t mind the arrangement, why should anyone else fuss, Donnigan reasoned.