Donnigan came to stand beside her and she held the note so he could read over her shoulder.
“Dear Mrs. Harrison,” the note began.
“Please excuse my liberty in calling on you, but Erma is asking for you to come. She fears she is losing the baby.
“Lucas Stein.”
“Oh no,” sobbed Kathleen, her eyes wide with the tragedy of it.
“I’ll get the team.”
“Wouldn’t it be faster to ride?” asked Kathleen, already going toward the bedroom to change into warmer clothing.
He hesitated for only a moment, then nodded. “I’ll get the horses,” he said and reached for his Stetson.
Kathleen quickly changed her dress for one more appropriate for riding. She pinned her hair tightly and secured her bonnet. Then she reached for a warm sweater. A shawl simply would not do for riding Shee at a gallop.
Even as she hurried, her mind was in a spin. Erma might lose her baby. She would be crushed. But what could she, Kathleen, do about it? She was not a doctor. Kathleen inwardly pleaded with a God she hoped might listen that the baby and Erma would be okay.
By the time Kathleen closed the door behind her, Donnigan was bringing the horses toward the house. He helped Kathleen up into her saddle and then mounted Black. Both horses had been lacking in exercise and wanted to run.
“Hold her in check,” Donnigan couldn’t help but caution. “She hasn’t been ridden for a while.”
Kathleen nodded. But it was hard. Not only did the mare wish to run, but Kathleen wished that she could let her. It was Donnigan who kept them under control.
By the time they reached the hotel it was all over. Erma had lost the baby. Kathleen found her sobbing uncontrollably. Lucas paced the floor beside the bed. Truly this was one event totally out of his control.
A doctor had been called from Raeford, but he had not arrived until it was too late. He did give Erma something to make her sleep and gently eased Kathleen from the room as soon as Erma’s eyes became heavy.
“She needs her rest,” he whispered. “That is all that we can do for her now.”
Kathleen felt sick inside. It was so hard for Erma to lose the child—to pack away all her hopes and dreams along with the little garments in the chest at the end of the bed.
Kathleen longed to reach out with help for her friend. What could she say? What could she do? The ride back home was a silent one.
Kathleen went to see Erma often over the next weeks. Donnigan felt more and more confident with her handling of the mare and even got so he let her go alone. He may not have been quite so at ease had he known that once out of sight of the house, Kathleen often gave the mare her head. She loved the feel of the wind as it tugged at her bonnet and whipped her skirts.
Nor would he have felt at ease had Kathleen confessed that she thought—she just thought there might be a chance that she too was expecting a child.
But Donnigan knew nothing about either, and so Kathleen rode to town alone and rode at her own pace.
Each time she entered the suite of hotel rooms, she hoped with all her heart that she would find some improvement in Erma’s state of mind. But always she was disappointed.
“I don’t know what I did wrong. I don’t know,” Erma wailed again and again.
“Sure now, and you didn’t do anything wrong,” Kathleen tried to comfort her. “Sometimes those things just happen.”
“But Lucas read all the books. We did all the things they said.”
Kathleen felt impatient with Lucas and his books. It was all she could do to keep from telling Erma so.
“Lucas is so upset with me,” went on Erma. “He thinks I must have done something—something to hurt the baby.”
“Such nonsense!” Kathleen fairly exploded.
“Oh—I wanted that baby so much,” moaned Erma. “So much.”
Kathleen longed to tell her, “There will be other babies,” but she didn’t dare speak the words.
“How is she?” Donnigan asked, meeting Kathleen in the farmyard after a visit to Erma.
“Not good,” she replied, frustration in her voice. “She just continues to grieve and grieve.”
“I guess that’s understandable,” said Donnigan, taking the mare’s rein and helping Kathleen dismount. “She was so looking forward to having the child.”
“But she must stop her moaning,” said Kathleen. “After all, she can have another child. There is nothing physically wrong with her, Dr. Heggith says. She just has to get ahold of herself.”
Donnigan looked a bit surprised at Kathleen’s outburst. He turned the mare toward the barn. “Maybe she will—soon,” he said.
They walked a few paces before Donnigan broke the silence.
“Do you think it’s that easy?” he asked.
“Of course I don’t think it’s easy,” responded Kathleen in a quieter tone. “Of course not—easy—but necessary. One has to go on with life no matter how one feels. I know how she must be feeling. If I lost my baby—”
Donnigan stopped short.
“If you what?” he asked abruptly.
Kathleen flushed. She still hadn’t told him, but she was quite sure now. She had been waiting for just the right time. She took a deep breath, then another step toward the barn.
But Donnigan’s hand on her shoulder stopped her.
“What are you saying?” he asked her bluntly.
Kathleen stopped, looked at him with a flushed face, and lowered her head.
“I thought we made a promise—that we would talk to each other—tell each other everything,” Donnigan said, hurt and distance in his voice.
“I was going to tell you,” defended Kathleen.
“Then it’s true?”
Kathleen nodded her head.
She hated the pained look in Donnigan’s eyes. He looked directly at her for what seemed a terrible length of time; then he moved away to lead the mare into the barn.
Kathleen watched him go, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, then turned and went to the house.
“Donnigan—I’m sorry,” Kathleen whispered into the darkness after they had retired.
He had brushed a kiss against her cheek, said good-night in a strained manner, then turned on his side, his back to her.
Kathleen feared he might be angry that they were going to have a child. If that was so—she would also be angry right back at him. Didn’t children go with marriage?
She gathered her courage and decided to try again. As Donnigan had reminded her, they had promised to talk things out.
“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.”