“We’ll keep an eye on her,” said Donnigan. “If she doesn’t quickly outgrow it, we’ll take her to a doctor in Raeford.”
“Outgrow it by when?” asked Kathleen, wishing for something definite.
“By a year,” said Donnigan.
It seemed much too long to wait to Kathleen, but it had to do. She would watch Brenna carefully and then make Donnigan keep his promise when she was a year old.
But Brenna outgrew her difficulty in focusing long before she reached her first birthday. Kathleen breathed a sigh of relief—but was just a bit annoyed that Donnigan had been right—again.
“There’s a letter for you,” Donnigan said as he entered the house, a box of groceries in his arms. Sean tagged along behind him, carrying a small box just like his father.
“Can’ny?” called Fiona, running to meet them. “Can’ny?”
Donnigan laughed and hoisted her up in his arms. “I think your mama might find a bit of candy in there some place—you little sweet tooth, you. Maybe your mama will let you have one now—and put the rest up to share later.”
He pinched her chubby cheek and returned her to the floor.
“A letter?” said Kathleen, moving forward. She never got letters. Oh, she did hope that it was from Bridget.
The letter bore a strange address but it was from London. Kathleen tore it open with trembling fingers, then quickly let her eyes run down the page until they fell on the signature.
“Why, it’s from Edmund,” she said, and immediately felt concern. Why would Edmund be the family member to finally get in touch?
“I’ll catch it later—I have to care for the team,” said Donnigan, to which Sean parroted, “I hafta care for the team,” and the two left the house together.
Kathleen wondered if Donnigan instinctively knew that she needed to be alone to read whatever the letter contained of news from home. She sat down on the nearby kitchen chair and opened the letter, totally forgetting about Fiona, who had climbed on another chair and was busily going through the grocery box in search of the promised candy.
My dearest sister Kathleen:
Kathleen smiled to herself. It seemed strange for the spoiled Edmund to be addressing her in such a fashion. Then she read on.
It has been some time since you left London to make your new home in America. Bridget tried for some time to get in touch but was unable to secure your address. “Oh, Bridget,” sobbed Kathleen, “I tried so hard to contact you.”
She has since married and is living quite happily in Belfast. The man she married is an Irishman with much concern for his homeland. The word “his” had been crossed out and Edmund had inserted instead the word “our.” Again Kathleen smiled. Edmund had never evidenced much love for Ireland. Indeed, Madam had seen that his loyalties were more toward France.
Charles left two years ago to join up with a cargo ship. It nearly broke Mere’s heart. I would have thought that he could find himself a trade nearby. We have heard from him a few times since, but mostly his days are spent at sea.So there is now just Mere and me, and our situation is rather distressful. You may wonder why we are in London. The marriage that was planned didn’t take place. He proved to be a scoundrel. We shall never forgive him. At any rate, we have continued on in the city but were forced to leave the house on Carrington when we couldn’t manage the rent.Mere is pleased that she sent you to America where you were able to better your situation by marrying a man of means. “Sent me?” sniffed Kathleen in disbelief.
Even though your going put great stress on the family here, we gladly sacrificed for your betterment. Now we are hoping that our charity will be returned. Whatever you might spare would be most appreciated.Affectionately, your brother Edmund. Kathleen sat staring at the page, unable to believe what she had just read. Tears formed in her eyes. It was good to hear from them—to learn that they were well. She thought of her young sister, now a married woman and back home again in beloved Ireland. And she thought of Charles at sea. Imagine that! Charles, a sailor. Perhaps on his way to becoming a captain. Kathleen smiled and wiped at her cheeks.
Fiona had found the bag of licorice and climbed down from her chair. She sat on the floor, out of view of her mother, and began to enjoy her treat. She had eaten three of the pieces before she thought of Brenna. Brenna was sitting on the floor happily playing with two of her mama’s pots. Fiona picked a candy from her sack and stuffed it in the baby’s mouth. It was not easy for the baby to chew, and the whole dribbling, sloppy mess soon tumbled out of her mouth again and trickled down the front of her gown. The licorice lodged in a fold in her lap. Brenna smacked her lips a few times and returned to her pots. Fiona, feeling she had shared adequately, went back to enjoying her treat. Kathleen still sat at the table, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose.
In spite of her joy in receiving news from home, she felt annoyance. “My, what a fine kettle of fish that must have been, and that’s the truth,” she muttered to herself as she scanned the page again. “No marriage. A scoundrel was he? And why not, I’m thinking. It takes one to draw one.”
Kathleen had never dared to dwell on her feelings for her stepmother before. Now they rose up within her, surprising even her with their intensity. So the marriage for wealth had not worked. My, couldn’t she just picture the anger of Madam.
Then a new thought occurred to Kathleen. “Why, if I hadn’t left how I did, when I did, I’d still be there making pennies hawking buns and pastries in the dirty London streets,” she murmured to herself.
A wave of thankfulness flooded through her. What she had left was so inferior to what she had gained. She closed her eyes tightly and let the emotion sweep over her whole body. What if—? What if she had never signed on to come to America? What if she had never married Donnigan?
She would still be poor and destitute and slaving for a family who did not even think to appreciate her services. She would still be limping around on a lame leg, her back aching at the end of the day, her mind convinced that she was a cripple that no one would want.
She wouldn’t have a husband. She wouldn’t have a family. She would know nothing about love. She—Kathleen stopped and opened her eyes to survey the family that had blessed her life. Fiona stood before her.
“A’ done,” she said with great satisfaction, passing Kathleen an empty sack. Licorice stains colored her chin and browned the front of her dress with ugly streaks. Kathleen gasped. “A’ done,” the girl repeated, dropping the bag in Kathleen’s lap.
“You ate them all?” gasped Kathleen.
“No,” said Fiona, shaking her head emphatically. “I give Bwee.”
Kathleen gasped and jumped to her feet, fearful that she would find the baby passed out on the floor, choked by licorice candy. But Brenna was cooing to herself and fumbling with the pots. All around her mouth and dripping down her front was the evidence of the licorice she never got to fully enjoy. Kathleen breathed a sigh of relief that she was all right and hurried to clean up the pair of them before their father returned from the barn.
“You are welcome to read it for yourself,” Kathleen told Donnigan as she nodded toward the letter on the small table.
Donnigan shifted the two children on his knees and picked up the letter. He read it all the way through, then read it again. Kathleen waited for his response as she moved about the kitchen getting the supper on the table.