CHAPTER VIII
RILLA DECIDES
Families and individuals alike soon become used to new conditions andaccept them unquestioningly. By the time a week had elapsed it seemedas it the Anderson baby had always been at Ingleside. After the firstthree distracted nights Rilla began to sleep again, wakingautomatically to attend to her charge on schedule time. She bathed andfed and dressed it as skilfully as if she had been doing it all herlife. She liked neither her job nor the baby any the better; she stillhandled it as gingerly as if it were some kind of a small lizard, and abreakable lizard at that; but she did her work thoroughly and there wasnot a cleaner, better-cared-for infant in Glen St. Mary. She even tookto weighing the creature every day and jotting the result down in herdiary; but sometimes she asked herself pathetically why unkind destinyhad ever led her down the Anderson lane on that fatal day. Shirley,Nan, and Di did not tease her as much as she had expected. They allseemed rather stunned by the mere fact of Rilla adopting a war-baby;perhaps, too, the doctor had issued instructions. Walter, of course,never had teased her over anything; one day he told her she was a brick.
"It took more courage for you to tackle that five pounds of new infant,Rilla-my-Rilla, than it would be for Jem to face a mile of Germans. Iwish I had half your pluck," he said ruefully.
Rilla was very proud of Walter's approval; nevertheless, she wrotegloomily in her diary that night:--
"I wish I could like the baby a little bit. It would make thingseasier. But I don't. I've heard people say that when you took care of ababy you got fond of it--but you don't--I don't, anyway. And it's anuisance--it interferes with everything. It just ties me down--and nowof all times when I'm trying to get the Junior Reds started. And Icouldn't go to Alice Clow's party last night and I was just dying to.Of course father isn't really unreasonable and I can always get an houror two off in the evening when it's necessary; but I knew he wouldn'tstand for my being out half the night and leaving Susan or mother tosee to the baby. I suppose it was just as well, because the thing didtake colic--or something--about one o'clock. It didn't kick or stiffenout, so I knew that, according to Morgan, it wasn't crying for temper;and it wasn't hungry and no pins were sticking in it. It screamed tillit was black in the face; I got up and heated water and put thehot-water bottle on its stomach, and it howled worse than ever and drewup its poor wee thin legs. I was afraid I had burnt it but I don'tbelieve I did. Then I walked the floor with it although 'Morgan onInfants' says that should never be done. I walked miles, and oh, I wasso tired and discouraged and mad--yes, I was. I could have shaken thecreature if it had been big enough to shake, but it wasn't. Father wasout on a case, and mother had had a headache and Susan is squiffybecause when she and Morgan differ I insist upon going by what Morgansays, so I was determined I wouldn't call her unless I had to.
"Finally, Miss Oliver came in. She has rooms with Nan now, not me, allbecause of the baby, and I am broken-hearted about it. I miss our longtalks after we went to bed, so much. It was the only time I ever hadher to myself. I hated to think the baby's yells had wakened her up,for she has so much to bear now. Mr. Grant is at Valcartier, too, andMiss Oliver feels it dreadfully, though she is splendid about it. Shethinks he will never come back and her eyes just break my heart--theyare so tragic. She said it wasn't the baby that woke her--she hadn'tbeen able to sleep because the Germans are so near Paris; she took thelittle wretch and laid it flat on its stomach across her knee andthumped its back gently a few times, and it stopped shrieking and wentright off to sleep and slept like a lamb the rest of the night. Ididn't--I was too worn out.
"I'm having a perfectly dreadful time getting the Junior Reds started.I succeeded in getting Betty Mead as president, and I am secretary, butthey put Jen Vickers in as treasurer and I despise her. She is the sortof girl who calls any clever, handsome, or distinguished people sheknows slightly by their first names--behind their backs. And she is slyand two-faced. Una doesn't mind, of course. She is willing to doanything that comes to hand and never minds whether she has an officeor not. She is just a perfect angel, while I am only angelic in spotsand demonic in other spots. I wish Walter would take a fancy to her,but he never seems to think about her in that way, although I heard himsay once she was like a tea rose. She is too. And she gets imposedupon, just because she is so sweet and willing; but I don't allowpeople to impose on Rilla Blythe and 'that you may tie to,' as Susansays.
"Just as I expected, Olive was determined we should have lunch servedat our meetings. We had a battle royal over it. The majority wasagainst eats and now the minority is sulking. Irene Howard was on theeats side and she has been very cool to me ever since and it makes mefeel miserable. I wonder if mother and Mrs. Elliott have problems inthe Senior Society too. I suppose they have, but they just go on calmlyin spite of everything. I go on--but not calmly--I rage and cry--but Ido it all in private and blow off steam in this diary; and when it'sover I vow I'll show them. I never sulk. I detest people who sulk.Anyhow, we've got the society started and we're to meet once a week,and we're all going to learn to knit.
"Shirley and I went down to the station again to try to induce DogMonday to come home but we failed. All the family have tried andfailed. Three days after Jem had gone Walter went down and broughtMonday home by main force in the buggy and shut him up for three days.Then Monday went on a hunger strike and howled like a Banshee night andday. We had to let him out or he would have starved to death.
"So we have decided to let him alone and father has arranged with thebutcher near the station to feed him with bones and scraps. Besides,one of us goes down nearly every day to take him something. He justlies curled up in the shipping-shed, and every time a train comes in hewill rush over to the platform, wagging his tail expectantly, and teararound to every one who comes off the train. And then, when the traingoes and he realizes that Jem has not come, he creeps dejectedly backto his shed, with his disappointed eyes, and lies down patiently towait for the next train. Mr. Gray, the station master, says there aretimes when he can hardly help crying from sheer sympathy. One day someboys threw stones at Monday and old Johnny Mead, who never was known totake notice of anything before, snatched up a meat axe in the butcher'sshop and chased them through the village. Nobody has molested Mondaysince.
"Kenneth Ford has gone back to Toronto. He came up two evenings ago tosay good-bye. I wasn't home--some clothes had to be made for the babyand Mrs. Meredith offered to help me, so I was over at the manse, and Ididn't see Kenneth. Not that it matters; he told Nan to say good-bye toSpider for him and tell me not to forget him wholly in my absorbingmaternal duties. If he could leave such a frivolous, insulting messageas that for me it shows plainly that our beautiful hour on thesandshore meant nothing to him and I am not going to think about him orit again.
"Fred Arnold was at the manse and walked home with me. He is the newMethodist minister's son and very nice and clever, and would be quitehandsome if it were not for his nose. It is a really dreadful nose.When he talks of commonplace things it does not matter so much, butwhen he talks of poetry and ideals the contrast between his nose andhis conversation is too much for me and I want to shriek with laughter.It is really not fair, because everything he said was perfectlycharming and if somebody like Kenneth had said it I would have beenenraptured. When I listened to him with my eyes cast down I was quitefascinated; but as soon as I looked up and saw his nose the spell wasbroken. He wants to enlist, too, but can't because he is onlyseventeen. Mrs. Elliott met us as we were walking through the villageand could not have looked more horrified if she caught me walking withthe Kaiser himself. Mrs. Elliott detests the Methodists and all theirworks. Father says it is an obsession with her."
About 1st September there was an exodus from Ingleside and the manse.Faith, Nan, Di and Walter left for Redmond; Carl betook himself to hisHarbour Head school and Shirley was off to Queen's. Rilla was leftalone at Ingleside and would have been very lonely if she had had timeto be. She missed Walter keenly; since their talk in Rainbow Valleythey had grown v
ery near together and Rilla discussed problems withWalter which she never mentioned to others. But she was so busy withthe Junior Reds and her baby that there was rarely a spare minute forloneliness; sometimes, after she went to bed, she cried a little in herpillow over Walter's absence and Jem at Valcartier and Kenneth'sunromantic farewell message, but she was generally asleep before thetears got fairly started.
"Shall I make arrangements to have the baby sent to Hopetown?" thedoctor asked one day two weeks after the baby's arrival at Ingleside.
For a moment Rilla was tempted to say "Yes." The baby could be sent toHopetown--it would be decently looked after--she could have her freedays and untrammelled nights back again. But--but--that poor youngmother who hadn't wanted it to go to the asylum! Rilla couldn't getthat out of her thoughts. And that very morning she discovered that thebaby had gained eight ounces since its coming to Ingleside. Rilla hadfelt such a thrill of pride over this.
"You--you said it mightn't live if it went to Hopetown," she said.
"It mightn't. Somehow, institutional care, no matter how good it maybe, doesn't always succeed with delicate babies. But you know what itmeans if you want it kept here, Rilla."
"I've taken care of it for a fortnight--and it has gained half apound," cried Rilla. "I think we'd better wait until we hear from itsfather anyhow. He mightn't want to have it sent to an orphan asylum,when he is fighting the battles of his country."
The doctor and Mrs. Blythe exchanged amused, satisfied smiles behindRilla's back; and nothing more was said about Hopetown.
Then the smile faded from the doctor's face; the Germans were twentymiles from Paris. Horrible tales were beginning to appear in the papersof deeds done in martyred Belgium. Life was very tense at Ingleside forthe older people.
"We eat up the war news," Gertrude Oliver told Mrs. Meredith, trying tolaugh and failing. "We study the maps and nip the whole Hun army in afew well-directed strategic moves. But Papa Joffre hasn't the benefitof our advice--and so Paris--must--fall."
"Will they reach it--will not some mighty hand yet intervene?" murmuredJohn Meredith.
"I teach school like one in a dream," continued Gertrude; "then I comehome and shut myself in my room and walk the floor. I am wearing a pathright across Nan's carpet. We are so horribly near this war."
"Them German men are at Senlis. Nothing nor nobody can save Paris now,"wailed Cousin Sophia. Cousin Sophia had taken to reading the newspapersand had learned more about the geography of northern France, if notabout the pronunciation of French names, in her seventy-first year thanshe had ever known in her schooldays.
"I have not such a poor opinion of the Almighty, or of Kitchener," saidSusan stubbornly. "I see there is a Bernstoff man in the States whosays that the war is over and Germany has won--and they tell meWhiskers-on-the-moon says the same thing and is quite pleased about it,but I could tell them both that it is chancy work counting chickenseven the day before they are hatched, and bears have been known to livelong after their skins were sold."
"Why ain't the British navy doing more?" persisted Cousin Sophia.
"Even the British navy cannot sail on dry land, Sophia Crawford. I havenot given up hope, and I shall not, Tomascow and Mobbage and all suchbarbarous names to the contrary notwithstanding. Mrs. Dr. dear, can youtell me if R-h-e-i-m-s is Rimes or Reems or Rames or Rems?"
"I believe it's really more like 'Rhangs,' Susan."
"Oh, those French names," groaned Susan.
"They tell me the Germans has about ruined the church there," sighedCousin Sophia. "I always thought the Germans was Christians."
"A church is bad enough but their doings in Belgium are far worse,"said Susan grimly. "When I heard the doctor reading about thembayonetting the babies, Mrs. Dr. dear, I just thought, 'Oh, what if itwere our little Jem!' I was stirring the soup when that thought came tome and I just felt that if I could have lifted that saucepan full ofthat boiling soup and thrown it at the Kaiser I would not have lived invain."
"Tomorrow--tomorrow--will bring the news that the Germans are inParis," said Gertrude Oliver, through her tense lips. She had one ofthose souls that are always tied to the stake, burning in the sufferingof the world around them. Apart from her own personal interest in thewar, she was racked by the thought of Paris falling into the ruthlesshands of the hordes who had burned Louvain and ruined the wonder ofRheims.
But on the morrow and the next morrow came the news of the miracle ofthe Marne. Rilla rushed madly home from the office waving theEnterprise with its big red headlines. Susan ran out with tremblinghands to hoist the flag. The doctor stalked about muttering "ThankGod." Mrs. Blythe cried and laughed and cried again.
"God just put out His hand and touched them--'thus far--no farther',"said Mr. Meredith that evening.
Rilla was singing upstairs as she put the baby to bed. Paris wassaved--the war was over--Germany had lost--there would soon be an endnow--Jem and Jerry would be back. The black clouds had rolled by.
"Don't you dare have colic this joyful night," she told the baby. "Ifyou do I'll clap you back into your soup tureen and ship you off toHopetown--by freight--on the early train. You have got beautifuleyes--and you're not quite as red and wrinkled as you were--but youhaven't a speck of hair--and your hands are like little claws--and Idon't like you a bit better than I ever did. But I hope your poorlittle white mother knows that you're tucked in a soft basket with abottle of milk as rich as Morgan allows instead of perishing by incheswith old Meg Conover. And I hope she doesn't know that I nearly drownedyou that first morning when Susan wasn't there and I let you slip rightout of my hands into the water. Why will you be so slippery? No, Idon't like you and I never will but for all that I'm going to make adecent, upstanding infant of you. You are going to get as fat as aself-respecting child should be, for one thing. I am not going to havepeople saying 'what a puny little thing that baby of Rilla Blythe's is'as old Mrs. Drew said at the senior Red Cross yesterday. If I can'tlove you I mean to be proud of you at least."