“Sure—and a good Irish baby can be mighty good at screaming by nine months,” responded Kathleen, and they both laughed.
“I wonder what this new one will be like?” Kathleen wondered softly.
“You expect it to be different?”
The ball rolled away and Sean chased it across the floor and caught up to it under a kitchen chair. Donnigan watched as the small boy maneuvered his way between the legs and rungs to retrieve what he was after.
“He’s smart,” he boasted to the child’s mother.
“Sure now—and that’s Irish,” laughed Kathleen.
Donnigan turned back to his wife. “You really expect the next one to be different?”
“Well …” said Kathleen slowly as she lifted the laundry basket. “I’ve never met two people exactly alike yet. And from what I’m knowing—they mostly start out like they are going to be from the very beginning.”
Donnigan nodded.
Kathleen let her eyes return to her infant son, love and pride glowing in them. “If the good Lord sent another one just like him—I wouldn’t be complaining,” she said and she started toward the bedroom with her clean laundry.
There were clouds in the afternoon sky. Kathleen wondered if Donnigan might get rained on. He was working the far field and was a long ways from the shelter of the house.
“I think it’s going to rain,” she said to the small boy who had pulled himself up to a kitchen chair and was playing with a ball of Kathleen’s mending yarn. “Your father might get wet.”
Sean gurgled and grinned.
“You’re not worried?” Kathleen gently scolded. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t worry either. He is a big man—he can take care of himself.”
But in spite of her words, Kathleen found her eyes kept going back to the window and the approaching storm.
Then the thunder began to roll in the distance and sheets of lightning danced across the darkened sky.
“It’s going to rain for sure,” said Kathleen to her son. “I wish he would come in.”
But Kathleen knew that Donnigan would likely stay in the field for as long as he could—fighting to beat the rain.
The storm moved in rapidly. The thunder now cracked and crackled overhead. The lightning zigzagged across the sky, ripping open the dark, tumbling clouds. Kathleen waited for the sound of rain, but there was only the angry thunder and the slashing, rending light.
An unusually loud crash of thunder shook the little cabin and Sean looked bewildered, then frightened, and his lip curled and he began to cry. Kathleen crossed quickly to him and scooped him into her arms.
“That was a close one and that’s for sure,” she said as she rocked the wee babe in her arms and tried to soothe him. Inside, her own stomach was churning with fright. She had never been in a storm that had struck so close. She did wish that Donnigan would hurry.
She crossed back to the window to peer out and see if he might be coming, but a frightening sight met her eyes. The nearby haystack was in flames.
“Oh, merciful God!” cried Kathleen, “we’ve been hit.”
She wasn’t sure what to do. She was thankful that the stack was far enough away from the barn and corrals that it shouldn’t be a concern.
“Oh, Donnigan,” she cried as she clutched Sean. “Hurry!”
And then, to Kathleen’s horror she saw the little fingers of hungry flames that were reaching out from the stack and igniting grass as it moved from the stack to the ground around. The rivulets of flame were moving directly toward the house. Kathleen clutched Sean closer. What should she do? Flee—or fight?
Without time for more thought, Kathleen hurriedly placed her son on the floor and ran from the cabin. She stopped only long enough to grab a gunny sack from the nearby root cellar and dip it in the trough, then hurried toward the flames. Each time that she beat one back, another seemed to stream toward her. The heat from the burning stack was almost more than she could bear. But she had to save her home. She had to save her son.
Tears streamed down her face as she fought on. They were the only moisture with which she fought—for the rains had still not come.
“Oh, God!” cried Kathleen. “God help me. Help me.”
But even as she cried she feared that it was a losing battle. The flames that reached toward the cabin seemed to be stronger than the frail woman who fought against them.
Just as she was about to faint from her exertion, the heavens opened and the rain came pouring down. Kathleen lifted her eyes to the darkened skies and cried a thank you, then returned to her fight with renewed determination. With the help of the rain, she should be able to win her war.
“Kathleen. Kathleen!”
Kathleen heard his call but she didn’t answer. She didn’t stop beating at the flames that were now slowly retreating.
“Kathleen,” he said and he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her toward him.
Kathleen’s face was white except for the streaks of dirty gray from the soot that floated around her. Her hair was dishevelled, her dress torn at the hem. She was drenched from head to toe with the rain she had prayed for, and her eyes were so filled with terror that she looked like a wounded thing—caught in a trap from which she could not flee.
Donnigan pulled her close for one brief minute and held her. “It’s all right,” he tried to comfort her but his own body was shaking. “The rain will stop it. It’s all right.”
He smoothed her hair back from her face and then moved his hands to hold her head, touching the dirty cheeks with his thumbs.
“It’s all right now,” he comforted again.
Kathleen nodded dumbly, the tears mixing freely with the rain on her face.
“You go in,” he said. “See to Sean. I’ll watch this.”
Kathleen noticed that he was soaked through. Near the barn the team stood—in harness and untethered. Donnigan never left the horses like that.
Then Kathleen thought of her young son. He had been terrified by the storm. What would he be feeling now, being dumped quickly on the floor while his mother fled the house? He must be frightened half to death being left alone in the cabin.
Kathleen took one more look at Donnigan then moved from his arms.
She found her son halfway between the house and the burning stack. He had been crying. His eyes were still red and puffy, but now he sat, playing quite happily in a puddle of muddy water. The rain still washed over him, soaking his clothing, running over his blond hair, and dripping from his chin. From time to time he stuck out his tongue to try to catch the drops; then he returned to splashing the dirty water from the puddle up and over his clothes—over his face.
He squealed when he saw Kathleen coming and his hand slapped more excitedly in the puddle, making the muddied water fly even faster.
Kathleen began to cry. Then to laugh. “Look at you!” she exclaimed. “How did you get here?”
She picked up her rain-drenched son and looked toward the house. The door was wide open. Sean could not open doors. Donnigan had not been to the house. That meant only one thing. In her hurry, she had left the door open.
Kathleen hugged Sean close. “You could have been hurt,” she murmured. “You could have been burned. I wouldn’t even have seen you in my concern for the fire.”
Again Kathleen lifted her head heavenward. She had something more for which to be thankful.
The next day she lost the baby she was carrying. The pains had started during the night. There was really nothing they could do to stop it from happening. When it was all over, Kathleen turned her face to the wall and cried uncontrollable tears. She had wanted the baby. Another little Sean. She had already learned to love him. Had been counting the months.
“We have Sean,” Donnigan whispered, wiping away her tears.