Jane's Baby Page #3

"Jane's Baby" by Lucy Maud Montgomery is a touching short story that explores themes of love, sacrifice, and the complexities of motherhood. The narrative centers around Jane, a young woman who faces the challenges and emotional turmoil of an unexpected pregnancy. As she grapples with her circumstances, Jane navigates societal pressures and personal desires, ultimately revealing the strength of her character and the depth of her feelings. Through Montgomery's poignant prose, the story delves into the profound impact of choices and the enduring bonds of family, making it a resonant tale of resilience and hope.

• Short story

								

years in saying it.

"Jane is dead and buried, poor thing," said Miss Rosetta calmly.
"I am taking her baby, little Camilla Jane, home with me."

"The baby belongs to me," cried Mrs. Wheeler passionately.  "Jane
wrote to me about her.  Jane meant that I should have her.  I've
come for her."

"You'll go back without her then," said Miss Rosetta, serene in
the possession that is nine points of the law.  "The child is
mine, and she is going to stay mine.  You can make up your mind
to that, Charlotte Wheeler.  A woman who eloped to get married
isn't fit to be trusted with a baby, anyhow.  Jacob Wheeler--"

But Mrs. Wheeler had rushed past into the house.  Miss Rosetta
composedly stepped into the cab and drove to the station.  She
fairly bridled with triumph; and underneath the triumph ran a
queer undercurrent of satisfaction over the fact that Charlotte
had spoken to her at last.  Miss Rosetta would not look at this
satisfaction, or give it a name, but it was there.

Miss Rosetta arrived safely back in Avonlea with Camilla Jane and
within ten hours everybody in the settlement knew the whole
story, and every woman who could stand on her feet had been up to
the Ellis cottage to see the baby.  Mrs. Wheeler arrived home
twenty-four hours later, and silently betook herself to her farm.
When her Avonlea neighbors sympathized with her in her
disappointment, she said nothing, but looked all the more darkly
determined.  Also, a week later, Mr. William J. Blair, the
Carmody storekeeper, had an odd tale to tell.  Mrs. Wheeler had
come to the store and bought a lot of fine flannel and muslin and
valenciennes.  Now, what in the name of time, did Mrs. Wheeler
want with such stuff?  Mr. William J. Blair couldn't make head or
tail of it, and it worried him.  Mr. Blair was so accustomed to
know what everybody bought anything for that such a mystery quite
upset him.

Miss Rosetta had exulted in the possession of little Camilla Jane
for a month, and had been so happy that she had almost given up
inveighing against Charlotte.  Her conversations, instead of
tending always to Jacob Wheeler, now ran Camilla Janeward; and
this, folks thought, was an improvement.

One afternoon, Miss Rosetta, leaving Camilla Jane snugly sleeping
in her cradle in the kitchen, had slipped down to the bottom of
the garden to pick her currants.  The house was hidden from her
sight by the copse of cherry trees, but she had left the kitchen
window open, so that she could hear the baby if it awakened and
cried.  Miss Rosetta sang happily as she picked her currants.
For the first time since Charlotte had married Jacob Wheeler Miss
Rosetta felt really happy--so happy that there was no room in
her heart for bitterness.  In fancy she looked forward to the
coming years, and saw Camilla Jane growing up into girlhood, fair
and lovable.

"She'll be a beauty," reflected Miss Rosetta complacently.  "Jane
was a handsome girl.  She shall always be dressed as nice as I
can manage it, and I'll get her an organ, and have her take
painting and music lessons.  Parties, too!  I'll give her a real
coming-out party when she's eighteen and the very prettiest dress
that's to be had.  Dear me, I can hardly wait for her to grow up,
though she's sweet enough now to make one wish she could stay a
baby forever."

When Miss Rosetta returned to the kitchen, her eyes fell on an
empty cradle.  Camilla Jane was gone!

Miss Rosetta promptly screamed.  She understood at a glance what
had happened.  Six months' old babies do not get out of their
cradles and disappear through closed doors without any
assistance.

"Charlotte has been here," gasped Miss Rosetta.  "Charlotte has
stolen Camilla Jane!  I might have expected it.  I might have
known when I heard that story about her buying muslin and
flannel.  It's just like Charlotte to do such an underhand trick.
But I'll go after her!  I'll show her!  She'll find out she has
got Rosetta Ellis to deal with and no Wheeler!"

Like a frantic creature and wholly forgetting that her hair was
in curl-papers, Miss Rosetta hurried up the hill and down the
shore road to the Wheeler Farm--a place she had never visited in
her life before.

The wind was off-shore and only broke the bay's surface into long
silvery ripples, and sent sheeny shadows flying out across it
from every point and headland, like transparent wings.

The little gray house, so close to the purring waves that in
storms their spray splashed over its very doorstep, seemed
deserted.  Miss Rosetta pounded lustily on the front door.  This
producing no result, she marched around to the back door and
knocked.  No answer.  Miss Rosetta tried the door.  It was
locked.

"Guilty conscience," sniffed Miss Rosetta.  "Well, I shall stay
here until I see that perfidious Charlotte, if I have to camp in
the yard all night."

Miss Rosetta was quite capable of doing this, but she was spared
the necessity; walking boldly up to the kitchen window, and
peering through it, she felt her heart swell with anger as she
beheld Charlotte sitting calmly by the table with Camilla Jane on
her knee.  Beside her was a befrilled and bemuslined cradle, and
on a chair lay the garments in which Miss Rosetta had dressed the
baby.  It was clad in an entirely new outfit, and seemed quite at
home with its new possessor.  It was laughing and cooing, and
making little dabs at her with its dimpled hands.

"Charlotte Wheeler," cried Miss Rosetta, rapping sharply on the
window-pane.  "I've come for that child!  Bring her out to me at
once--at once, I say!  How dare you come to my house and steal a
baby?  You're no better than a common burglar.  Give me Camilla
Jane, I say!"

Charlotte came over to the window with the baby in her arms and
triumph glittering in her eyes.

"There is no such child as Camilla Jane here," she said.  "This
is Barbara Jane.  She belongs to me."

With that Mrs. Wheeler pulled down the shade.

Miss Rosetta had to go home.  There was nothing else for her to
do.  On her way she met Mr. Patterson and told him in full the
story of her wrongs.  It was all over Avonlea by night, and
created quite a sensation.  Avonlea had not had such a toothsome
bit of gossip for a long time.

Mrs. Wheeler exulted in the possession of Barbara Jane for six
weeks, during which Miss Rosetta broke her heart with loneliness
and longing, and meditated futile plots for the recovery of the
baby.  It was hopeless to think of stealing it back or she would
have tried to.  The hired man at the Wheeler place reported that
Mrs. Wheeler never left it night or day for a single moment.  She
even carried it with her when she went to milk the cows.

"But my turn will come," said Miss Rosetta grimly.  "Camilla Jane
is mine, and if she was called Barbara for a century it wouldn't
alter that fact!  Barbara, indeed!  Why not have called her
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