Alameda High School - Acorn Yearbook (Alameda, CA)

Page 25 text:

The Cripple ej H MON DIEU! Pierre, I cannot let you go! Say thou wilt not leave me, Pierre. You may never return! Please, as you love me, don’t go!” “But, ma chere, our country needs me. She is in great dan- ger. It is my duty to—” “To kill men, bien? To see how many of the good God’s men you can kill in one hour? So that’s your duty—Bah!”’ Somewhere in the distance a bugle was heard calling the men to leave. Pierre hastily picked up his gun, kissed Julie, and was gone. Julie remained motionless, then holding out her arms in the direction Pierre had taken, softly began calling his name, “Pierre, Pierre, forgive me, I did not know, I did not realize how brave you are, Pierre, to go out there to be shot at, as you will shoot at others. Oh Pierre, forgive me!” Slowly she sank to the floor, and cried herself into a stupor. She was aroused sometime later by the sound of drums and the steady tramp of marching feet, among them her Pierre’s. All unconsciously her tears ceased, dried by a sudden fire of Patriotism. Little Julie would scarcely have known it by any name, but its effect was instantaneous. The slight shoulders squared proudly as had her Pierre’s, the soft chin set at a firm angle. Tramp, tramp—now they were passing, and a miracle! She did not see Pierre. Yet she felt no disappointment, for suddenly, each marching figure seemed as dear as her own lover's. Ah, les braves garcons! Dieu les garde! Tramp—tramp —tramp—the staccato sound died away in the distance. Before Julie’s eyes were spread the fields heavy with ripe grain. She and her neighbor women must bend to the task of harvest at early dawn—the soldiers of France must be fed. Julie did not need to check the passing days by the calendar. Each one registered on her brain long hours of endurance in which must be accomplished tremendous physical tasks. Night would find her too weary to ease her throat of the sobs that choked her. Yet always in the midst of the heaviness burned that sturdy spark of courage, of faith, of loyalty. As the year passed, letters from Pierre became fewer, finally stopped. Yet she had news of his regiment. Did not she share with the villagers the excitement of reading the bulletin-board hung daily on the door of the church of Our Lady of Sorrows?

Page 24 text:

aS he , Shining and white in the light of the day, Cutting the fields from the river away Lies the wanderer’s road. Far, it gleams, in the sunset light, ‘Til it turns a curve, and is out of sight, Climbing the hills of brown. Calling forever it twists along, Singing always the same gay song As it winds away from the town. Who would learn of a far country Where fair green hills slope down to a sea, To a sea of turquoise blue; Where white-sailed ships beach on the sands, Bringing the treasures of foreign lands Back, o’er the sea, to you? “Those who would learn, come, follow me, Leave your dull homes, and away with me, For I'll call until you die.” So it sings as it runs away, Nor ceases to call with the close of day, And men harken to its cry. Once you hark to it, always you wander, Always follow, nor stop to ponder What is the way of the road. Shining and white in the light of day, Cutting the fields from the river away, This is the wanderer’s road. Janet Brown , June 718

Page 26 text:

To-day little Julie approached the church with a strange premonition tugging at her heart. She would see Pierre soon, perhaps even now the train was near that should bear him home. Just a glance for confirmation, not knowledge. It was so, mon Dieu! It was so. Julie fled past the weeping, laughing crowd to fling herself at the foot of the quiet altar. Just for a moment did she kneel in an ecstacy of thanks- giving; then true to her feminine instincts, she flew home to make herself beautiful for her Pierre. Down from its hook came the gay fete gown; the little high-heeled shoes of which she was so proud were shaken from their wrappings. Now must the fine hair be combed and the snowy kerchief crossed about her white throat, and last, her rosary flung over her head. Her fingers trembled as, partly from long habit, and partly from the surging up of joy within her heart, Julie sank to her knees before the mirror. Though her fin- gers deftly told each bead and her lips moved in the familiar words, her eyes were fixed on an earthly vision—her own prettiness. The hardships of the year had but served to accent her developing maturity. Pierre had left behind him a bud of France; returning he would find the rose. And Julie was glad, glad and proud of all she had to give him, him her gallant soldier lover. From her open window there came to her ears sounds of rejoicing and, strangely mingled with it, a woman’s broken sobbing. Julie noted the ringing clatter of two people walking in step, and the halting thump of a crutch. Oh— that was why the woman sobbed! Julie’s hand caught at her throat. Sup- pose Pierre came to her crippled! Just for an instant the spasm of fear laid hold of her, then she shook it off, and rose with the squaring of her shoulders that had become second nature. It was no matter how he came, Pierre was Pierre. On the vine shaded porch Julie waited. It was not to be thought that they could have witness of their first meeting. Down the street swinging with the old time nonchalance came Pierre. Now he turned in at the gate; now he was here. What ailed her, faithless one! that at the first sight of his face her heart turned cold, and she shrank under his kiss with something akin to hatred! Now that the first greetings were over, she must set before him a cup of the hot chocolate and the little cakes that he loved. ‘One moment, mon ami, while I prepare them for thee.” Into her spotless kitchen Julie turned as toward a sanctuary. That was not Pierre, that roistering, bold-eyed man who had just now claimed her kisses!