Baby Elisabeth … promptly nicknamed Lyssa, to Aunt Irene's great disgust ("What sort of a name is that?") … passed her first month in great joy. Despite being born in November, that month of gloom and grey, she lit Lantern Hill with rainbows and sunshine from morning until night. She rarely cried, and Jane solemnly swore that she smiled within her first week. She was, they all agreed, a superior baby.
"Only fitting, for the sister of our Superior Jane," Dad joked.
"Really 'Drew, you shouldn't call her that so often," Aunt Irene chided. She was sitting in the rocking chair with the baby in her arms. "One of these days she'll start to believe it. Goodness knows our dear Janie already thinks a wee bit too highly of herself, don't you, dearie?"
Jane smiled sweetly. Aunt Irene had been quite put out at first about not being told the instant Mother went into labour. Once she arrived at Lantern Hill, though, and Dad placed her namesake in her arms, all animosity melted away, and Jane saw a soft side to her aunt she'd never dreamed existed.
She was quite knacky with the baby, too, though Jane smarted to admit it. Cam confined Mother to bed for the first couple weeks ("Just to be safe," she reassured a worried Dad and Jane), and even Jane had to admit that they would have been lost without Aunt Irene. She washed the diapers, taught them both how to change Lyssa, sterilized bottles for midnight feedings, and even rocked the baby to sleep for many of her naps.
"I know That Woman Doctor probably wouldn't approve of rocking," she said defiantly. "But I rocked 'Drew to sleep when he was a baby, and he turned out just fine."
"Better than fine, I would say," Mother said with a smile. She and Aunt Irene had come to an unspoken truce with Lyssa's birth, though Mother couldn't help but get a little jealous of how efficient Irene was with her baby. Then she remembered that soon enough they would be back in Toronto, and Irene wouldn't have the chance to rock the baby to sleep anymore.
So she bit her lips and smiled, and firmly instructed herself to not be selfish.
"I don't know," Jane teased. "I think Dad's a little spoiled."
"Nonsense, Janie," Aunt Irene said. "You can't spoil a person with love."
And that, Jane thought, was the wisest thing Aunt Irene had ever said in her entire life.
If a person could be spoiled with love, Lyssa would have been. Everyone adored her. The Snowbeams, Min, Jody and the Titus sisters, the Jimmy Johns … all of Jane's Island friends thought her perfection. She was certainly one of the most-held babies of all time: she could scarcely even nap without someone snatching her up for a kiss or a squeeze.
Jane, Mother, and Dad might have been forgiven for thinking her the most beautiful baby ever born, but they were not the only ones. She was bald when first born, but her hair soon grew in golden and curly. Her eyes were the same colour as the Gulf, and every day Jane found a new dimple.
In short, Elisabeth Irene Stuart was as close as any baby could ever come to perfection.
"I'll miss her so when you're gone," Aunt Irene sniffed.
Jane saw Dad opening his mouth to invite her to come visit … perhaps indefinitely … and she forestalled him with an invitation of her own.
"You'll have to come out once the weather is better for travelling," she offered. "Maybe in March you can come spend a week? And then it won't be long at all after that before we're all back here for the summer."
"I don't see why you have to drag her all the way to Toronto in the middle of winter," Aunt Irene said. She clutched Lyssa tighter to her, and the baby let out a faint whimper of protest. "Why, she'll catch her death of cold, or you'll be stranded by a storm, or goodness only knows what will happen!"
"Foolish, I know, but we must get back for the second half of Jane's school year," Dad said cheerfully.
"Well, why can't Jane go out by herself, and the rest of you stay here? She has friends she can stay with, hasn't she?"
Jane bit back a whimper of protest herself. Why should she be separated from her family? If they stayed, she was staying, and school be … darned!
"Can't be done, I'm afraid," said Dad. He put his arm around Jane's shoulder. "We were all separated for far too long, Irene. None of us want to be apart now."
Jane leaned into his embrace and smiled contentedly.
"Besides," he added with twinkling eyes, "We wouldn't want Jane to freeze to death, or be stranded by a storm, or any of those dreadful things, would we?"
"Oh, Jane can take care of herself," Aunt Irene said, unconsciously paying Jane the highest compliment she ever had. "She's not a baby."
Jane swore to herself that she was going to remind Aunt Irene of this conversation the next time her beloved aunt accused her of being "just a foolish child." Though, to be fair, Aunt Irene had done that much less since her illness. She was, Jane concluded justly, trying. It just took a while, most likely, to break old habits.
Jane decided that that was a good reminder to her, to be careful what habits she was forming now, so that she wouldn't be ingrained in anything too bad when she was Aunt Irene's age.
In Aunt Irene's arms, Lyssa began to wiggle and squawk, her signal that she was hungry, and Aunt Irene reluctantly deposited her in Mother's arms.
"You know, Robin," she said yet once more, "My doctor says that formula really is quite safe for babies … he even recommends it! You really don't need to make a slave of yourself, dearie. I would be quite happy to feed little Elisabeth Irene from a bottle so you can rest and recover, poor dear. I'm sure doing most of the feeding yourself is only hindering your path back to health. You don't want to make yourself ill with unnecessary actions, do you?"
"Dr. Camlyn says mother's milk is best," Mother said firmly. "Besides, it's not bondage or slavery, Irene. It's a joy to know that I can provide my child with nourishment."
Aunt Irene sniffed … and sighed … and left the room with a sorrowful air. Dad had left as soon as Mother prepared to feed Lyssa, and so it was just Jane, Lyssa, and Mother. Jane and Mother crinkled their eyes at each other.
"She does mean well," Jane said doubtfully.
"I know," Mother said. "And if it weren't for the fact that this winter has been so mild, I would be more inclined to follow her advice and stay here for the duration. But really, we've had so few storms, and the weather hasn't been terribly cold at all … I think we'll be fine."
"I do too," Jane declared. "And oh Mother, it's been marvellous to be here at Lantern Hill for all of this, but I'm ready to show Lyssa Lakeside Gardens, too. And I want her to meet Mrs. Kane, and the Westins, and even Mr. Kendall, if he's back to speaking to me."
"I think he's a very rude man," Mother said with unusual heat. "Yes, you did behave foolishly, but it was with the best of intentions, and certainly you did not deserve to be snubbed the way he did afterward. Especially when you apologized! It seems very ill-bred to me."
"Well, he was terribly hurt by Mrs. Kane when they were young," Jane offered feebly.
"Yes … when they were young. He should have moved past it. Oh Jane, so much trouble in life is caused by people refusing to let the past go. Why can't they just be happy in the here and now?"
Jane stood up and bent to kiss the top of her sister's silky head. "Especially when this here and now is so utterly perfect."