And it did. After being switched to goat’s milk, Fiona settled down and became a laughing, bubbling, good-humored baby. Kathleen even got to sleep nights. The household returned to a normal pattern.
“Bless that nanny,” Kathleen said to Donnigan one night as she carefully tucked the covers up to the chin of the sleeping Fiona. Then she lifted her head and smiled at her husband. “And bless you for finding the solution.”
“I had to,” said Donnigan with a teasing grin. “It was either that—or move out.”
Fiona grew quickly. Even Sean enjoyed her sunny disposition—as long as she didn’t interfere with his time with his father.
But Sean did take care of her. Bringing her things that she should not have—things like his bread crusts, Kathleen’s sewing scissors, and wiggling worms from the garden. Kathleen had to ever be on guard to intercept Sean’s “gifts” to his baby sister.
Kathleen was pleased with her little family. As she became rested again, she was able to really enjoy the two children in spite of the amount of work that had come with them. She almost got to the place where she could forgive God. That is, until she looked at the little grave with its white picket fence and tiny wooden cross.
If Donnigan was in the barn or working around the yard, Kathleen did not have to concern herself with her small son. He was always following close to his father. He went with Donnigan to care for the horses, slop the pigs, or milk the cow. He watched him hoe the garden, lift water from the well, and chop the wood. Then he tried with all of the strength of his small body to imitate his father’s acts. Donnigan found himself taking extra precautions. He made sure the corral gate was carefully closed. He didn’t want a small boy under the hooves of the horses. He latched the barn door and double checked. He didn’t want Sean kicked by a nervous cow. He secured the well lid, added a second clip that he always put in place. He hung the hoe high above the small boy’s head. Donnigan was very conscious of the small lad who was watching him—copying him.
But in spite of all of Donnigan’s care, an accident did happen.
Wallis had borrowed one of Donnigan’s axes. In coming to call one evening he had spotted a tree down on his fence wires. It was closer to go on to Donnigan’s than to go back home for his own axe. Donnigan got his axe from the woodshed and Wallis took care of the matter. Donnigan thought nothing of it when Wallis came to the door later.
“I put yer axe back,” the man said and Donnigan nodded and invited the man in.
It was while they were having their coffee that they heard the young boy scream. Donnigan was the first to his feet. Kathleen was just behind him.
Sean was seated on the ground, the axe still in his hand, his small foot oozing blood.
“Oh, merciful Lord,” cried Kathleen.
Donnigan scooped up the crying child and headed for the house. Wringing her hands in her apron, Kathleen followed. Wallis could only stand and stare, chiding himself for leaving the axe in the chopping block.
It turned out that it was not a deep cut—but it did cause much concern. Kathleen feared that it might develop blood poisoning, and Donnigan used some of the same strong disinfectant that he used for the stock to assure that it wouldn’t happen. Even though it was diluted, it stung sharply and the small boy cried even louder. Fiona, in her cradle in the corner of the room, heard the cries and joined the bedlam.
Kathleen longed to hold and rock her son, but he clung to his father. She knew she would have to wait her turn. Instead she went to lift the small Fiona from her bed.
Chapter Nineteen
Brenna
When Fiona was a laughing, teasing two-year-old and Sean a four-and-a-half-year-old copy of his father, another baby girl joined the family, aided by the doctor who actually made it on time. Kathleen named her Brenna and Fiona managed to call her Bwee. She was another blond baby but she had more of Kathleen’s features than did Sean.
“Now you’re getting it right,” teased Donnigan. “A little of both of us.” Kathleen just smiled.
Sean and Fiona fell in love with their baby sister at once, but it was generally left to Fiona to do the mothering as Sean was much too busy being a “farm man.”
A few months later, Erma also had another baby and this one too was a girl, much to Lucas’s further consternation. But his oldest girl was busy working on her daddy’s heart, and though Lucas might not have admitted it, she had won him over totally. Erma shared the little tales of the doting papa with Kathleen and they both chuckled over them. Lucas tried so hard to convince everyone that he was totally and completely “all business.”
Brenna was a contented baby, for which Kathleen was thankful. With two other small children to care for, her days were more than full. Sean took over the task of gathering the eggs and feeding the chickens. It was his first step toward becoming a farmer.
But the garden always needed attention, and the pile of soiled baby laundry always loomed larger than the clean stock in the chest of drawers. It seemed to Kathleen that there was never time for rest. She was glad that her little brood was healthy and happy.
Brenna was now seven months old, sitting by herself and crawling all over the house. Donnigan was pleased with her progress, as he had been with each of his children. But Kathleen carried a nagging, frightening concern. The baby’s eyes were often crossed as she tried to focus on what she held in her hands.
Kathleen, herself raised with a handicap that had not been properly cared for, knew how devastating it could be. Why, if Donnigan had not accepted her “sight unseen,” she still didn’t know if any man would have ever married her. Her stepmum had thoroughly convinced her that she had an abnormality that no man would be able to overlook. Kathleen did not want any such handicap for one of her children.
Donnigan had helped her limp by making a lift for her boot. In fact, Kathleen hardly thought of her lameness anymore, and certainly Donnigan never made mention of it. But crossed eyes could hardly be hidden under swishing skirts. Brenna’s disability would be plain for all to see. So Kathleen fretted and worried and tried to make peace with the God she had been angry with so that she might evoke His intervention. Each day she watched the little eyes as they concentrated on what was held in the small hands, and still they crossed on occasion.
Kathleen kept waiting for Donnigan to speak of it, but Donnigan either did not notice or refused to admit what he saw. It annoyed Kathleen. Wasn’t he concerned about his baby?
At last she had to bring it up. “What can we do about Brenna?” was the way she approached him.
“What about Brenna?” he asked innocently, and Kathleen stirred restlessly, her temper immediately roused.
“Her eyes?” she said with a bit too much emphasis.
“What’s wrong with her eyes?”
Now Kathleen was really upset. “Don’t tell me,” she began, “that you haven’t even noticed that your daughter has crossed eyes?”
“What?” he answered, his tone even and controlled in spite of her sharpness. “You mean when she holds something?”
When Kathleen did not answer, Donnigan went on. “All babies do that. They outgrow it as soon as the muscles strengthen.”
Kathleen snorted. “And now you are an authority on all babies. Sean didn’t do that. Fiona didn’t do that.”
“Sure they did,” argued Donnigan.
“Not when they were as old as Brenna,” debated Kathleen.
“So she’s a bit slower in that area,” said Donnigan, refusing to get concerned.
Kathleen said nothing more. She was still worried about her baby, but it seemed Donnigan did not share her fear.