by Janette Oke
“It was hard for you, wasn’t it?” he said, but it was more a statement than a question.
Kathleen found that she was crying. She had never talked to anyone about her grandmother before.
Donnigan let her cry against him. When she finally moved to dry her eyes and blow her nose, he spoke again.
“Is it too hard to forgive?” he asked her.
Kathleen sniffed and thought a moment.
“You think she deserves my forgiveness?” she asked stiffly.
“I was thinking of you—not her,” said Donnigan. “Unforgiveness is a heavy load to carry.”
Kathleen looked up in surprise.
“You had no choice—in what she did to you,” went on Donnigan slowly, “but you do have a choice in forgiving.”
“One doesn’t just decide to forgive—and make it happen,” said Kathleen with feeling. “You can’t just—will pain away. It goes far deeper than that.”
Donnigan nodded. “But somehow I think that you can choose to hang on to pain—to bitterness—sorta cling to it and coddle it and pamper it a bit so that it grows and grows.”
Kathleen had never thought of that.
“Would you like to talk about it later?” asked Donnigan, and Kathleen nodded her head.
Donnigan saw it as the first positive step.
Chapter Twenty
The Continued Search
Kathleen was not looking forward to the time when Donnigan might again approach her about sending help home to Madam. She had not realized how deep her bitterness ran until she had looked at her life with the London family in light of her life with Donnigan.
“I guess I just took it all for granted when I was there,” she told herself. “When you’re used to a situation, you don’t realize that things should be different. You just—just accept them.”
But now that Kathleen had enjoyed a taste of a real home, of real love, she realized just how much she had been taken advantage of as a child and how Madam had used her for her own purposes.
Kathleen had been unaware of the bitterness she had buried concerning the grandmother she had lost when she was seven years old. It had been bad enough to lose her mother, but she’d still had her Granny to cling to. But when she lost her grandmother as well, she lost her anchor in a hostile world.
Her father had been quite unaware of what went on in the little house in his absence. Yet he should have been able to see that something was dreadfully wrong.
To Kathleen’s surprise, she found that buried very deeply within herself was a resentment toward her father. The father she had loved so much. That was perhaps what pained her most of all. And it all was due to Madam. She had forced Kathleen’s father into the position where he was not free to properly care for his eldest daughter. Still he should have seen. He should have sensed that things were all wrong. Kathleen felt that she could have forgiven the woman of all the sins that she had committed against her—except that one. The one of making her see her beloved father as a less than perfect man.
Kathleen struggled with her pain and bitterness, and Donnigan wisely didn’t press. He knew she wasn’t ready.
They needed more room to house their growing family. Donnigan decided he could put it off no longer. He began to order and stockpile the materials so that he could begin at the first opportunity.
“What you plannin’?” asked Wallis when he popped by one evening just as they were about to sit down for their supper.
Kathleen moved to the cupboard to get another plate. It seemed to her that Wallis ate more often at her table than he did at his own. But she would not have expressed her feeling to Donnigan.
“Time to add on to this cabin,” said Donnigan as he mashed potatoes for Brenna and covered them with gravy. “We’re about to burst at the seams.”
Wallis nodded, looking around the circle.
“We’re going to build a room for me,” piped up Sean, grinning as he shared the good news.
Wallis accepted his place at the table.
I may as well set for him every night, thought Kathleen. Seems he always ends up being here.
“When you startin’?” asked Wallis as he stabbed a spud with his fork.
“First thing in the morning—I hope,” replied Donnigan.
“I got some spare time right now,” said Wallis around a bit of liver and onions. “I’ll give you a hand.”
That’s just fine! thought Kathleen sourly. Now he’ll think he is entitled to eat here three times a day!
Then Kathleen caught herself. She was getting awfully testy lately. She wondered that Donnigan could stand living with her. Maybe it was just that another baby was on the way. She hoped she would soon get her emotions back under control.
Kathleen decided not to wait for Donnigan to speak with her. She brought up the matter herself. She hoped that she would be able to keep her composure as she talked.
“About the money,” she began, knowing that Donnigan would know what money she was referring to. “I know we don’t have much to spare with building on to the house and all, but perhaps we could send a little bit.”
“I’ll see to it right away,” said Donnigan, and she thought she read relief in his eyes.
“But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven her,” Kathleen could have said. “I’ve tried, but I can’t. But send the money if you like—it’ll make you feel better—and I guess I can grant her that much.”
But Kathleen did not say the words, so Donnigan did not know what was going on in her heart. Instead she said, “And, Donnigan—when you send the money, would you please ask Edmund to send me Bridget’s address?”
“Do you think there’s a God?” Donnigan asked Wallis at the dinner table.
I thought he had forgotten about that, thought Kathleen, lifting her head in surprise.
Wallis, too, looked startled. He chewed on his bite of bread and butter, his eyes going darker by the minute. At last he swallowed and said in a mumbled fashion, “Used to. Kinda.”
“You mean, you don’t anymore?”
“Nope!” said Wallis, and he took another large bite of the slice he held in his hand.
“But if there is a God—and I’ve got a strong feeling that there must be—then He doesn’t just come and go according to how we feel about Him,” Donnigan said rather boldly.
Wallis seemed to be thinking.
“All I know is—if He’s there—He sure don’t run things very well,” said Wallis.
Donnigan nodded. He knew Wallis was thinking about Risa.
“Do you really think He had a say in the matter?” he asked softly.
“Well—a God is supposed to be a God, isn’t He?” declared Wallis, and there was pain and bitterness in his voice. “What good is He iffen He can’t look after things?”
“Maybe it’s not His business to look after those kinds of things,” said Donnigan.
Kathleen was uncomfortable with the conversation. She rose from the table and sliced more bread.
“Then what is He supposed to look after?” asked Wallis, sounding angry and exasperated.
“Our souls,” said Donnigan.
Wallis met that comment with a sneer.
“If there’s a God—then there is a heaven and hell—somewhere,” said Donnigan. “And I think that His business is getting us to the one and keeping us out of the other.”
“So how’s He do thet?” snorted Wallis.
“I don’t know,” said Donnigan slowly. “I don’t know—but I sure would like to find out.”
Kathleen cast a glance Donnigan’s way and saw the shadow in his eyes. She knew then that he had not forgotten his search. That he was greatly troubled—somewhere deep inside.
The house was finished before the new baby made his appearance. This boy looked much like his older brother—except that he was dark instead of fair. But from the very first time she heard him cry, Kathleen knew she had a child with a totally different disposition from his brother Sean.
“My, he sounds cross,” she
said to Donnigan. “Do you think he’ll ever forgive the doctor for that pat on his little behind?”
Donnigan had insisted on a doctor again for the birth and Kathleen had not argued. There had been time for the doctor to arrive—although certainly no time to spare.
“He’s likely just hungry,” replied Donnigan, handing the baby to his mother. “He’ll settle down as soon as he’s fed.”
Kathleen named the baby Eamon, and Donnigan accepted the name without comment.
Wallis was back far more often than Kathleen would have liked, but she bit her tongue and served him his suppers whenever he made his sudden appearance at her door.
“He needs us,” said Donnigan with real feeling for the neighbor man, and Kathleen did not try to argue.
“The more I see of youngsters the less confident I feel as a parent,” Donnigan observed one day just after Eamon had thrown a real temper fit.
Kathleen nodded. She was so weary of fighting the two-year-old. It seemed that Eamon was always upset about something.
“He sure isn’t like the others,” she commented in return, brushing back the hair from her flushed face.
“I think we’re going to have our hands full with that one,” went on Donnigan, “and I’m not sure just how to handle him. Now, if he was a colt and acted like that I’d try gentling, and if that didn’t work I’d lay my whip on him.”
Kathleen winced. It seemed to her that Eamon had already been spanked more than his fair share.
“They are all so different,” said Kathleen, and reviewed in her mind her four youngsters. Sean was the easiest one. Never had he fussed and fought against their authority. He had immediately fallen in love with his father and sought to do everything just as Donnigan did.
Fiona was the spirited one. Bubbly and chattering and always on the go. She mothered and fussed over each family member and giggled and romped her way through each day.
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.”