Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 219, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 September 1914 — NO NAMES IN THIS STORY OF A BABY [ARTICLE]

NO NAMES IN THIS STORY OF A BABY

Child of Love Match Abandoned in Fear. PARENTS MARRIED IN SECRET > • Blue-Eyed Mary Cannot Go Back to Arma of Mother Who Yearns for First Bom—Old Feud to Blame. There are no names in this story— Because of a blue-eyed, five-year-old Mary, who should never knovV- until she is old enough to know- and understand and possibly forgive. ' Because of a man and wife who stumbled in the path, who suffered in secret and who will continue to suffer while life lasts —and they should be permitted to retain their secret.

Because of a man and woman to whom God denied offspring and who have taken into their hearts and home the baby abandoned by a boy and a girl when expediency overruled love. And, because — The “moving finger” wrote that they should hate each other with the cold, deadly, never-dying malevolence of a Kentucky feud. They did, and they do to this day, but no one knows the reason why. In early manhood they left the Blue Grass state and fate, with the malignant persistence with which she pursued those ensnarled in her Web, brought their wandering footsteps to a halt in a little town in Michigan. There they settled. Banker and Lawyer.

They grew with the community. One became the leading banker and the other its prominent lawyer. Success came, but the old-time rancor remained. When the amenities of social or business life lifted a commanding finger courtesy ruled, but that was all. And they married. To the lawyer was born a son and unto the banker a daughter was given. Fate, remorseless, threw boy and girl together in school, in play and in the youthful activities of a small town. Pinafore and knickerbocker friendship grew as the years rolled by, and one day—before they were out of school —the chrysalis of friendship burst and radiant love came forth.

For a while boy and girl kept their wonderful secret to themselves. It would have been sacrilege to talk about it. Then the brutal realities of life crept into the roseate picture. Would papa—? Would he —and he — forget that horrible mysterious something that had embittered two lives? Daughter crept to daddy’s arms and whispered the tale; son stood before father and told the story. Meet In Secret. The old hatred blazed forth and weeping girl and angry boy went forth to meet in secret and wonder why fate was so unkind. One day they married, not in the home town, but in another not far away. At first it was a secret, but soon it became apparent that it could not be a secret forever. So on some pretext or the other they left their respective homes and met in "the Wisconsin woods.” There for several weeks they lived a life of utter freedom. But the greatest day in a woman’s life was approaching and they journeyed to Chicago. A baby—a little* girl—was born in Oak Park,

Today they are ashamed of what they did. Five years of anguish and remorse have not balanced the scales. She could not, would not go back home with a baby; he—well, he admits it today—was a coward. They decided to abandon the child. Mr. and Mrs. Chester T. Bradford live in Evanston. They, too, had a baby, but it was upstairs in its crib while the little buggy stood on the veranda of the Bedford residence. Fate placed it there. The young father had a friend who lived in Evanston, a well-to-do young man,, who necessarily must’ live in a good neighborhood. And with the address as a pivot in seeking a house in which their baby would receive at least a chance of decent upbringing, the young cowards started for Evanston. Half a block before they reached their friend’s house they saw the empty buggy, and into it they dumped their baby—and flew. There was another desolate home in Chicago. It was different from the little Oak Park cottage—but hardly less desolate. There were spacious grounds about the house, and from the exterior it was beautiful But to the occupants, the home was dreary, as the halls gave no echoes to pattering feet of children. They wanted a baby, and appealed to the Illinois Home and Aid society. They were shown several children which .had been placed In the care of the society, and one, a little girl with blue eyes, attracted them. Legally Adopted. So they took the little girl into their home, and in a short time it had lost Its desolation. The halls echoed with the laughter and prattle of the child, and the man and his wife wefe happy. They decided that the child should never be taken from them, so they legally adopted her. Fate again Intervened, for she was

named Mary, and Mary was the name of the girl wife who had placed her baby in the empty buggy on the Bradford porch. Back to Michigan went the young husband and wife. They made their marriage known—but there was no reconciliation of the graying Kentuckians. They accepted the situation, that is all. Three other children came to gladden the home; the husband prospered at his practice. The wife smiled by day and wept by night Their thoughts wandered back eternally to the little girl who had been left in the little buggy on the porch. They loved the children who had come later in life, but there was a constant yearning for their first born. What had become of her? Had the wheel of destiny crushed out the life they had given? If she was alive, had she fallen into the hands of kindly foster parents, or was she being buffeted by want and adversity? Conscience and fate did not let them forget for long. Did they go to the theater there, inevitably, in the woof of the story was a baby. Sometimes abandoned. Fiction that came their way seemed to be built almost entirely on stories in which girl babies played a part. Even the movies flashed accusing pictures. The minds of the parents conjured up terrible pictures of the fate of their daughter. At length, unable longer to stand the uncertainty, the father hired detectives to go to Evanston and trace if they could the fate of his child.

Then the stage was set by fate. The detectives had struck the trail, but a blank wall blocked the way when they sought the name of the man and woman who gave the love and protection denied by father- and mother. Mary’s foster father beard and the only mother Mary knew wept. Lawyers were called in. It was agreed there should be a meeting of the lawyers. Mary’s Real Father. real father went —as his own lawyer. And Mary’s foster father went —as his own lawyer. They met in a hotel lobby as lawyers and went to a room as lawyers. The man from Michigan sat on the edge of the bed, the man from Chicago on a chair. Tongues were silent, but eyes searched and spoke. “You,” said the man from Chicago, “are the father of little Mary.” "And you,” said the man from Michigan, “have my daughter.” “Listen,” said the Michigan man. And he told the story of five years of hell, of sleepless nights, anguish and regret, suffering and self-condem-nation. “And you listen to me,” said the man from Chicago. And he told the story of five years of a new heaven and earth.

The adoption of a child through court proceedings gives that child irrevocably to the foster parents. The man from Michigan, as a lawyer, knew that legally his child was lost to him. He had had and had abandoned. To him who stepped in as his substitute the law gave a good title. Mary will never know that when she was playing with her dolls on the lawn two men were looking at her through the rose hedge. Both were crying. Mary couldn’t understand why daddy’s eyes were wet when he hugged her in hfs arms a moment later and she didn’t see the man from Michigan as he lurched down the street. ONE THING IS OVERLOOKED Shaves and Saves, and Plans Bright Future With Fiancee, but Now Dream Is Ended. During five years Alexander Schwartz shaved and saved in a Chicago barber shop. Several evenings each weqk he put on his best clothes and tried his best conversation. He was making plans for his future. On those occasions a young woman shared in the plans, helping him to make them. Schwartz shaved thousands of faces and cut the hair on thousands of heads during those five years. He expected that after he had been married a few years he would own a shop and sit beside a cash register that tinkled pleasantly. His fiancee agreed that to a bright man like him such a lucratlVe future was more than probable. Meanwhile Schwartz went on shaving and saving. Recently, however, he had to take some time off. He appeared in court before John E. Owens, county judge. There he learned that tn the years of shaving and saving and dreaming he had overlooked provision for his mother’s future. "You must pay |3 a .week for her support,” said the judge. Schwartz declared that If he did so, saving would be impossible. "Earn more money, then,” said the judge. "I make only 115 a week,” said Schwartz, "and if I use |3 of that for another purpose, I shall be unable to marry. My girl has been waiting five years. She is tired. She will quit me If she has to wait any longer." "You must contribute to the support of your mother," said the judge. “Wait until you earn money enough' or until you agree to support ‘both your mother and a wife before you are married.”