Analy High School - Azalea Yearbook (Sebastopol, CA)

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her bare, bony legs and the bare feet clung to the rocks with the tenacity of a devil-fish. She wore an old sweater over her worn blouse, but the sweater was frayed and holey as the blouse; her hair hung in uncombed strands about her leatheij face, hair that was once black and tidy, now dirty and streaked with white. Hard lines had settled around the straight, firm lips and dark eyes; eyes that looked on all the world with hatred and envy. Who else had suffered as she, whose hus¬ band had been washed to sea under their very eyes, and who else had been left with only two helpless boys, a lonely cabin, and a heart that ached so unceasingly that one could only walk the wet shore night after night. She had, and the world blamed her for keeping her crippled Dave and sturdy Chester on that dreary, roaring coast. Yet the sea had taken her husband, and the sea must yield her a living; she would not, she could net leave that calling sea, let the world say what it would. Skilfully she drew in her line; only a half dozen lay in the basket she caught up from the ground; hardly enough for supper. Well, tomorrow she and Chester would have to go up to the bay and dig clams; Smith Bros, wanted an extra lot this week. Swiftly she swung along homeward. A great bank of fog was rolling in and soon she wouldn’t be able to see two feet in front of her. As she neared tbe cabin, huddled down at the foot of a great rock bank, it looked somewhat strangely dark and forlorn. Why? She couldn’t understand. It had always looked that way ever since Jim had gone, yet tonight it seemed to look so much worse. Dave’s pinched face was not looking eagerly from his window; he had seemed feverish and dull-eyed this morning. Perhaps, perhaps—nervoush she opened the door. All was dark and quiet inside. Quickly she turned to Dave’s chair, where he had sat so patiently all his short life, but it was empty; not even the worn blanket was left. “ Chester, Dave,” she called, but it only echoed and re - echoed in the emptiness. Turning to the doorway she cupped her hands around her mouth, calling, 4 ‘Chester—Chester Chester.” No answer, and the thick fog blotting everything from sight; where and how had they gone? Molly turned and started for the road that led along the top of the cliffs. Her eyes were flashing dangerously, her mouth was drawn in a grim line. It was dark and her clothes were ringing wet Page 18

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bim plum to sea. He never meant fer Molly ter be livin’ in that dark old shack down on them lonesome rocks all these years. N ' ’taint right she did, neither; no sir, ’taint right.” “But, captain, ain’t we done everything in our power ter get her ter come up on the bay. But no, sir, she ain’t goin’ ter leave the house Jim built her; it’s good enough fer her and it’s good enough fer her boys, and them poor little kids, with no education, no fun, no nothin’. That scranny little Dave a sittin’ there day in and day out with nary a thing ter break ther monotony. His big, brown eyes so wistful, ’bout breaks my heart every time I go down there; an that Chester, sakes he just scares me clean thru every time he looks at me, so sullen and morose. Some day he—My land, there goes that good fer nothin’ Bertolini boy a drivin’ his cows right over my vegetables. Seems like a body’d have sense enough to—” Martha ’s voice floated back to Captain Cris, as she rushed to save her poor garden, the brisk sea wind blowing her clothes around her spare figure and loosening the white hair which was bound in a firm pug at the back of her neck. Captain Cris’s eyes twinkled as she descended on the culprits, but shadowed again as he gazed at another figure scarcely discern¬ ible on the rocks that rose in a jagged line from the sea that threw and drew its line with the skill of a veteran, and he sor¬ rowfully shook his head as he turned on his. way. Meanwhile the gaunt figure on the rocks continued with her pole and line. The wind flapped a ragged skirt against Page 17

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with fog ,and perspiration when she reached the road and started doggedly tramping to the bay. Early that afternoon a sturdy lad with brown eyes had tramped that road, weighted down with a big bundle wrapped in a worn old blanket. Not once did he stop to rest, and often he looked behind him as if fearing some pursuer. “We can ' t stop now, Dave, he said. “See, we’re almost ter ther bay; we kin stop at Mis Carlson’s there a little, maybe.” No answer came from the bundle but a weary moan. Anxiously Chester bent and peered down at the flushed little face. The eyes were closed and the mouth was drawn in pain. “Yer a goin’ ter have er doctor, Dave, n’mother can’t get yer neither, and we ain’t a cornin’ back. Then I guess she’ll be sorry.” It was nearly two hours later when he knocked at the cheerful little home of Martha Carlson. A big lamp stood in the middle of the table and he could see “Mis Carlson” get¬ ting supper, cheerily singing all the time, her white hair bound in a firm knot at the back of her neck. Her song came to an abrupt end as she opened the door. “Well, my land, if it ain’t Chester. What’s the matter? Molly send you up for somethin’? What’s that you got in there—fish? Land, what a way ter carry them! Come in; come in, the kitchen’s all a coolin’ off.” “No, mum, mother never sent me, an’ this ain’t fish; it’s Dave. He’s awful sick n’mother won’t have no doctor, so I’m a takin’ him away,” and he looked at her in sullen defiance. “Well, land, and you toted that little kid all the way up here all by yourself! Lord, won’t Molly have a tanterum! Well, this is one time when we’re goin’ ter put one over on Molly, Chester, me n’you. Here, give me that poor criture. Land, he don’t weigh more n’ounce, does he? Now, while I fix up a little you run down an’ tell Capt’n Cris I want him— quick, see? Now run.” But when they came back, Chester and Captain Cris, Martha had put in her big dressing sack and he was greedily eating from a big bowl of bread and milk. “Wasn’t nothin’ in the world the matter with him ’cept bein’ starved and neglected; now Capt’n Cris, I think we’re a goin’ ter need yer help if Molly comes down in one of her tanter- ums, an’ I for one ain’t goin’ ter let these kids go back ter that half crazed woman. Now don’t yer argue with me, Capt’n Page 19