Rilla of Ingleside - Lucy Maud Montgomery (the gingerbread man read aloud .TXT) š
- Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery
- Performer: 1594624275
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Rilla carried the soup tureen to the kitchen, and set it on the table under Susanās eyes. Susan looked into the tureen and for once in her life was so completely floored that she had not a word to say.
āWhat in the world is this?ā asked the doctor, coming in.
Rilla poured out her story. āI just had to bring it, father,ā she concluded. āI couldnāt leave it there.ā
āWhat are you going to do with it?ā asked the doctor coolly.
Rilla hadnāt exactly expected this kind of question.
āWeāwe can keep it here for awhileācanāt weāuntil something can be arranged?ā she stammered confusedly.
Dr. Blythe walked up and down the kitchen for a moment or two while the baby stared at the white walls of the soup tureen and Susan showed signs of returning animation.
Presently the doctor confronted Rilla.
āA young baby means a great deal of additional work and trouble in a household, Rilla. Nan and Di are leaving for Redmond next week and neither your mother nor Susan is able to assume so much extra care under present conditions. If you want to keep that baby here you must attend to it yourself.ā
āMe!ā Rilla was dismayed into being ungrammatical. āWhyāfatherāIāI couldnāt!ā
āYounger girls than you have had to look after babies. My advice and Susanās is at your disposal. If you cannot, then the baby must go back to Meg Conover. Its lease of life will be short if it does for it is evident that it is a delicate child and requires particular care. I doubt if it would survive even if sent to an orphansā home. But I cannot have your mother and Susan over-taxed.ā
The doctor walked out of the kitchen, looking very stern and immovable. In his heart he knew quite well that the small inhabitant of the big soup tureen would remain at Ingleside, but he meant to see if Rilla could not be induced to rise to the occasion.
Rilla sat looking blankly at the baby. It was absurd to think she could take care of it. Butāthat poor little, frail, dead mother who had worried about itāthat dreadful old Meg Conover.
āSusan, what must be done for a baby?ā she asked dolefully.
āYou must keep it warm and dry and wash it every day, and be sure the water is neither too hot nor too cold, and feed it every two hours. If it has colic, you put hot things on its stomach,ā said Susan, rather feebly and flatly for her.
The baby began to cry again.
āIt must be hungryāit has to be fed anyhow,ā said Rilla desperately. āTell me what to get for it, Susan, and Iāll get it.ā
Under Susanās directions a ration of milk and water was prepared, and a bottle obtained from the doctorās office. Then Rilla lifted the baby out of the soup tureen and fed it. She brought down the old basket of her own infancy from the attic and laid the now sleeping baby in it. She put the soup tureen away in the pantry. Then she sat down to think things over.
The result of her thinking things over was that she went to Susan when the baby woke.
āIām going to see what I can do, Susan. I canāt let that poor little thing go back to Mrs. Conover. Tell me how to wash and dress it.ā
Under Susanās supervision Rilla bathed the baby. Susan dared not help, other than by suggestion, for the doctor was in the living-room and might pop in at any moment. Susan had learned by experience that when Dr. Blythe put his foot down and said a thing must be, that thing was. Rilla set her teeth and went ahead. In the name of goodness, how many wrinkles and kinks did a baby have? Why, there wasnāt enough of it to take hold of. Oh, suppose she let it slip into the waterāit was so wobbly! If it would only stop howling like that! How could such a tiny morsel make such an enormous noise. Its shrieks could be heard over Ingleside from cellar to attic.
āAm I really hurting it much, Susan, do you suppose?ā she asked piteously.
āNo, dearie. Most new babies hate like poison to be washed. You are real knacky for a beginner. Keep your hand under its back, whatever you do, and keep cool.ā
Keep cool! Rilla was oozing perspiration at every pore. When the baby was dried and dressed and temporarily quieted with another bottle she was as limp as a rag.
āWhat must I do with it tonight, Susan?ā
A baby by day was dreadful enough; a baby by night was unthinkable.
āSet the basket on a chair by your bed and keep it covered. You will have to feed it once or twice in the night, so you would better take the oil heater upstairs. If you cannot manage it call me and I will go, doctor or no doctor.ā
āBut, Susan, if it cries?ā
The baby, however, did not cry. It was surprisingly goodāperhaps because its poor little stomach was filled with proper food. It slept most of the night but Rilla did not. She was afraid to go to sleep for fear something would happen to the baby. She prepared its three oāclock ration with a grim determination that she would not call Susan. Oh, was she dreaming? Was it really she, Rilla Blythe, who had got into this absurd predicament? She did not care if the Germans were near Parisā she did not care if they were in Parisāif only the baby wouldnāt cry or choke or smother or have convulsions. Babies did have convulsions, didnāt they? Oh, why had she forgotten to ask Susan what she must do if the baby had convulsions? She reflected rather bitterly that father was very considerate of motherās and Susanās health, but what about hers? Did he think she could continue to exist if she never got any sleep? But she was not going to back down nowānot she. She would look after this detestable little animal if it killed her. She would get a book on baby hygiene and be beholden to nobody. She would never go to father for adviceāshe wouldnāt bother motherāand she would only condescend to Susan in dire extremity. They would all see!
Thus it came about that Mrs. Blythe, when she returned home two nights later and asked Susan where Rilla was, was electrified by Susanās composed reply.
āSheās upstairs, Mrs. Dr. dear, putting her baby to bed.ā
Families and individuals alike soon become used to new conditions and accept them unquestioningly. By the time a week had elapsed it seemed as it the Anderson baby had always been at Ingleside. After the first three distracted nights Rilla began to sleep again, waking automatically to attend to her charge on schedule time. She bathed and fed and dressed it as skilfully as if she had been doing it all her life. She liked neither her job nor the baby any the better; she still handled it as gingerly as if it were some kind of a small lizard, and a breakable lizard at that; but she did her work thoroughly and there was not a cleaner, better-cared-for infant in Glen St. Mary. She even took to weighing the creature every day and jotting the result down in her diary; but sometimes she asked herself pathetically why unkind destiny had 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 all seemed 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.
āIt 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. I wish I had half your pluck,ā he said ruefully.
Rilla was very proud of Walterās approval; nevertheless, she wrote gloomily in her diary that night:ā
āI wish I could like the baby a little bit. It would make things easier. But I donāt. Iāve heard people say that when you took care of a baby you got fond of itābut you donātāI donāt, anyway. And itās a nuisanceā it interferes with everything. It just ties me downāand now of all times when Iām trying to get the Junior Reds started. And I couldnāt go to Alice Clowās party last night and I was just dying to. Of course father isnāt really unreasonable and I can always get an hour or two off in the evening when itās necessary; but I knew he wouldnāt stand for my being out half the night and leaving Susan or mother to see to the baby. I suppose it was just as well, because the thing did take colicāor somethingāabout one oāclock. It didnāt kick or stiffen out, so I knew that, according to Morgan, it wasnāt crying for temper; and it wasnāt hungry and no pins were sticking in it. It screamed till it was black in the face; I got up and heated water and put the hot-water bottle on its stomach, and it howled worse than ever and drew up its poor wee thin legs. I was afraid I had burnt it but I donāt believe I did. Then I walked the floor with it although āMorgan on Infantsā says that should never be done. I walked miles, and oh, I was so tired and discouraged and madāyes, I was. I could have shaken the creature if it had been big enough to shake, but it wasnāt. Father was out on a case, and mother had had a headache and Susan is squiffy because when she and Morgan differ I insist upon going by what Morgan says, so I was determined I wouldnāt call her unless I had to.
āFinally, Miss Oliver came in. She has rooms with Nan now, not me, all because of the baby, and I am brokenhearted about it. I miss our long talks after we went to bed, so much. It was the only time I ever had her to myself. I hated to think the babyās yells had wakened her up, for she has so much to bear now. Mr. Grant is at Valcartier, too, and Miss Oliver feels it dreadfully, though she is splendid about it. She thinks he will never come back and her eyes just break my heartāthey are so tragic. She said it wasnāt the baby that woke herāshe hadnāt been able to sleep because the Germans are so near Paris; she took the little wretch and laid it flat on its stomach across her knee and thumped its back gently a few times, and it stopped shrieking and went right off to sleep and slept like a lamb the rest of the night. I didnātāI was too worn out.
āIām having a perfectly dreadful time getting the Junior Reds started. I succeeded in getting Betty Mead as president, and I am secretary, but they put Jen Vickers in as treasurer and I despise her. She is the sort of girl who calls any clever, handsome, or distinguished people she knows slightly by their first namesābehind their backs. And she is sly and two-faced. Una doesnāt mind, of course. She is willing to do anything that comes to hand and never minds whether she has an office or not. She is just a perfect angel, while I am only angelic in spots and demonic in other spots. I wish Walter would take a fancy to her,
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