A Bride for Donnigan (16 page)

They surveyed the entire farm with its horses, cattle, fields, pastures, and woodlots before Donnigan turned the black toward home. They had been out for some hours. The day had grown hot, the hour past noon; still Kathleen was reluctant to relinquish the freedom she had felt when skimming across the prairie on the back of the big horse. She felt that she would just like to ride and ride—forever.

“I’ll be in as soon as I take care of Black,” Donnigan informed her as he eased her to the ground. Kathleen reached up a trembling hand to try to get her hair in order. The wind had wrenched the pins from their place.

She nodded her head slowly. She knew that Donnigan was saying that he would soon be in for his dinner.

Kathleen had never minded kitchen duties, so she washed her hands at the corner basin and began her search through the shelves. She found enough to fix them a proper dinner, but she realized that the American cupboard stock was different than what she had been used to.

Donnigan must have recognized the fact also, for as he washed at the basin later, he spoke without turning.

“We’ll need to get into town soon and let you pick your own fixin’s. I haven’t been in the habit of keeping much on hand.”

Kathleen nodded, forgetting his back was to her.

He stood up straight to run the rough towel over his hands and face. “You can get the other things you’ll want, too,” he told her.

Her face must have registered her surprise. “What things?” she dared to ask.

“For the house. Whatever it is you need.”

Kathleen let her gaze travel around the room. Oh, it was tempting. But she would not be demanding. Besides, Kathleen had never been given opportunity to “make a home” before. She didn’t really know how one went about it—and she was afraid that she would make some terrible blunders if she attempted it. She did not want to risk the displeasure of the big man who stood opposite her in the cabin kitchen.

“The house is fine,” she said, turning back to the stove. She missed seeing Donnigan’s look of disappointment.

They were sitting on the porch enjoying the coolness of the fall evening. Kathleen had placed her shawl about her shoulders as the evenings could become chilly. They had shared this quiet time for almost four full weeks. It seemed a long time to Kathleen—and she still knew little more about Donnigan than she had the day she had entered his home. She longed to know—but remembered that he might resent her prodding. If there was one thing that Madam had stressed over and over, it was that a man didn’t like being quizzed or nagged at.

Things had settled to a bit of a routine. Kathleen got the meals, did the laundry, kept the house clean. Donnigan cared for the animals, brought in the fresh pails of water and hauled the firewood. It seemed a good arrangement. In fact, Kathleen felt that she really should feel quite happy and contented. But she didn’t. Deep down inside was a loneliness that hadn’t been touched. In a way, she wondered if it really would have been that much different being a housemaid at Madam’s new country home. She stole a glance at Donnigan, wondering if he could read her thoughts.

What bothered her the most was Donnigan’s attitude. He still seemed to see her as a little girl. “Don’t you lift that heavy pail.” “Here, let me empty the wash water.” “I’ll build the fire.” “I don’t think the brown mare is ready for a young rider yet.”

It galled Kathleen. She who had not just been independent but able to care for herself on the rough streets of London, and had also been responsible for others since she had been ten, was now being treated as if she were six.

At times it was all she could do to hold her temper in check. She was not a child. She was not without wits or ability. She was much stronger than he credited her with being. She was committed to this marriage—as strange as it was—but she longed to be an accepted partner, even if not an equal.

And she did long to ride the brown mare. The feeling that she had experienced on the black stallion with Donnigan holding the reins was only a taste of what it would be like to be in control of her own mount, she was sure. She couldn’t wait to put her heels to the sides of the mare and sail over the brown hills and greened valleys.

Donnigan was sitting on the step whittling on a piece of wood. He couldn’t have told why he had taken up whittling—except that it had helped to fill some of the lonely hours when he had been by himself in the house. He had rather hoped that he could put away his whittling knife with the coming of Kathleen. He knew that he would rather talk than whittle. But there didn’t seem to be much talking done. He had looked forward to a winter of companionship—and here he was facing a winter of silence.

He had nothing against Kathleen—but she had not turned out to be what he had expected in a wife. He had wanted a woman who would come into his bare little cabin and fashion it into a home—warm and inviting and cozy. He had wanted a true companion—not just a maid in his kitchen. He had hoped for intimate chats about thoughts and feelings and dreams for the future. He had wanted someone to share every part of his life—and to let him be a part of hers. But Kathleen shut her thoughts and feelings away from him.

“It’s her age,” Donnigan told himself again. “When she matures—ages a bit—she’ll open up more. I mustn’t rush her. Give her time. Let her get the feeling that she belongs here.”

Donnigan was pleased to see that the girl looked a bit healthier. She had been so pale, so weary, so frail, the first time he had set eyes on her. Already she seemed to be feeling much better, breathing in the fresh prairie air more deeply. Donnigan was glad for that. But he would be so glad when they were
really
partners. When Kathleen would look to him for companionship. For support. With all his heart he longed to give her more than a roof over her head, food at his table, the sharing of his bed at night.

His knife took a deeper cut than he had intended. His frustrations were showing in the work of his hands.

Donnigan hoped that his sigh did not reach the ears of Kathleen. Or if it did, that she wouldn’t understand its meaning.

Kathleen sat on Erma’s green and gold brocaded sofa and sipped tea. They had made it a habit to take tea together whenever Kathleen had a few extra minutes while in town.

“You are looking stronger, Kathleen—more—more robust,” Erma observed.

Kathleen looked down at herself. Yes, she admitted, perhaps she was. Wasn’t that one thing that had brought her to town? All her old dresses were getting too tight.

“I certainly feel better, I have to admit. I guess it’s the fresh prairie air.” She smiled at Erma.

“Or Donnigan,” said Erma with a giggle.

Kathleen flushed. She had been Donnigan’s wife for three months but she still blushed. For some strange reason she still felt like an imposter. A housekeeper.

“Do you ever get lonesome for home?” Erma surprised Kathleen by asking, and there was just the hint of sadness in her voice.

Kathleen thought about her answer. How much should she share? At last she nodded her head briefly. “Perhaps—just a bit—at times,” she admitted, hoping that she wasn’t giving anything away. Then she quickly added, “I guess that’s natural enough.”

“I guess,” said Erma.

They both lifted their cups for another sip, then replaced them on the saucers.

“Do you?” asked Kathleen even though she felt she already knew the answer.

“A bit—at times,” replied Erma.

Another sip of their tea.

“I suppose it’s—it’s because Lucas is so dreadfully busy,” said Erma, then hastened as if to cover her confession. “I—mean—he is wonderful—just wonderful to me. I have everything—everything that I could possibly want. But he is so busy. He’s such an important man. Why, he owns most of the town and he is so careful that everything be run—properly. I can’t even imagine having so many things on my mind all at one time.”

Kathleen nodded her head in support of Erma’s claim. Everyone knew it for the truth.

“But he is so busy,” Erma went on, her tone rather downcast. “He leaves long before I am up and doesn’t come home some nights until I have fallen to sleep in my chair.”

“What do you do with all your time?” asked Kathleen. Then quickly amended, “Not that you have spare time the way you keep things so spotlessly clean and—”

“Oh, I don’t clean,” explained Erma quickly. “The maid cleans—and the kitchen sends up our meals. If Lucas is too late, he sometimes stops at the dining room so he won’t disturb me. He’s very thoughtful, Lucas is.” Erma gave Kathleen a forced smile.

“I would rather like to—to help out at the church or—or teach small children—or something—but Lucas says that wouldn’t really be fitting,” Erma went on thoughtfully.

She placed her cup and saucer on the delicate table by the sofa and smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her skirts. Then she looked up brightly. “Lucas says that my days will be more than full—once we have family,” she said and color stained her cheeks.

“You are—are—?”

“I’m not sure—quite yet. But we do hope so. Lucas is so anxious for a son and I—well, I can hardly wait for a baby to—to help—” She stopped and toyed with the expensive looking rings on her fingers.

“I can hardly wait,” she repeated with a little laugh, then rang for a maid to remove the tea things.

Donnigan hardly recognized Wallis when he met him on the street. The man was trimmed and pressed and polished until he shone.

“Well, aren’t you looking fancy,” Donnigan could not help but tease.

Wallis responded with a broad grin.

“And look at this,” he invited showing his belt size. “I put on six pounds since she’s been here.”

“Must be a good cook,” observed Donnigan. It was a known fact that Wallis hadn’t been eating right for years.

“Good cook,” said Wallis, nodding his head to emphasize the words. “Mighty good cook. Good at everything, that woman is. And can she work! Hey, I tell you that I never in my life seen anyone whip things into shape faster.”

Donnigan reached out a hand and slapped his neighbor on the back. It was wonderful to see the man so happy.

“Haven’t seen much of you lately,” Donnigan observed. “Why don’t you and Risa drop around for coffee?”

Wallis frowned slightly. “She ain’t much for visitin’,” he observed. “Oh, not thet she isn’t friendly or all thet—it’s just thet we got so much to do to catch up—to git the place in shape. We’ll have time fer visitin’ later on.”