Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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SAMARA 29 Pierre and Annette ran about the woods and meadows playing story characters or pretend- ing to be coureurs-de-bois; sometimes Pierre would be a priest, teaching the Indians (An- nette) about Le Bebe. Pierre and Annette were not quite sure about Him; if He loved them so much, why had He gone away? Why wouldn ' t He come back again, if everybody loved Him so? It was all very puzzling even to Annette, who had begun to learn her cate- chism and could tell her prayers on the tiny Rosary that one of the Jesuits had given her. One day Annette asked Pere Lalement, Why does He stay away? Why doesn ' t He come back to live with us? I am sure no one would hurt Him now, and we would all love Him so dearly. I say my prayers to Him every night and I always ask Him to come back . I ' m sure he listens, ma petite , said Lalement softly with a faraway look in his eyes. Perhaps He will come back soon when we have made the world a better place . Now Annette understood. She had to be very good and maybe Le Bebe would return once more. And so the autumn passed. Many of the priests had gone to live in Indian villages for the winter, to teach the wild, superstitious savages about Christ. Pierre and Annette said goodbye to them cheerfully, not knowing that they would never see some of their friends again. The houses were finished and the church, too, though it had taken all the wood on the little hillside to build them. They had an impressive service at the church to cele- brate the naming of the new village. They called it St. Anne, St. Anne de Beaupre because of its beautiful surroundings. The settlers were very happy and gay, even though they had made no plans for the winter. They had no wood laid ready to burn all during the long days and nights and no food stored up to keep them. Then the first snow came; winter was very early that year. Gradually the villagers began to realize their plight. Most of the wood available had been used for building the church and log cabins. The priests had taken most of the stored-up food and in the fields by the settlement there were no trees left to burn. There were no animals to kill for food, except an occasional rabbit, which was not enough food for the settlement of busy, hungry people and the people could not venture beyond the valley because of the Indians who could not let them touch their land. Across the river there was the island, with plenty of wood on it, and probably plenty of food too. But how could they get it? The rapids were more dangerous now, filled with ice floes, and black tumbled boulders peered out between the floes. Young Yvet, the cure ' s nephew, set forth in a light canoe, in a desperate attempt to reach the island and his overturned canoe was soon tossed back to the people. The next day the cure in a trembling voice said a mass for his soul and a sad little party wended its way down the hill from the little church with nothing but despair and grief left in their hearts. They had all learned to love the little com- munity and their fellow adventurers. Would they have to pack and leave their new home? How could they go back to Quebec, after promising such glad and wonderful results for the coming summer? Even so it would be impossible to go back over the cold, snowy path to Quebec, full of danger from the savage Indians. Pierre and Annette who before had not noticed the tired anxious faces of their mother and father now knew what was wrong. Papa looked grave and did not play with them any more in the evenings. Maman tried hard to laugh and be cheerful, but it was very hard! Oh, but the winter would soon be over, Maman and Papa would find a way, and le bon cure, he would help them. He always did. Besides there was Le Bebe. He listened to everybody ' s prayers. Pere Lalement had told them so. They wished He would come back. He would cheer everybody up, and find a way out of trouble, too. Le bon cure wished he had as much faith as the children. Night and day he prayed and

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28 SAMARA The Photograph I held the photograph in my hand. My eyes became wet as they carefully traced each fea- ture of the face. It was a woman ' s face, one which I had often gazed at. The times and circumstance wherein I had seen her had varied but the feeling which she gave to me was always the same. Now I had but a photo- graph of her face — a mere picture through which I felt I could see the true character of this woman with whom I had lived, but really never known. My memory slipped back over the ten years I had known her. Somehow I felt glad that I could not recall the first seven years of my life, for they had been ones of misery, but to the following ten she had given her all to make me happy. I led this miserable existence when I first saw her — saw her face with the big, blue, understanding eyes, the tiny lips which had always expressed supreme happi- ness and the light brown hair which curled around the face and fell softly on the shoul- ders. This was the first vision of the young woman I could recall. I was standing in the dim halls of the orphanage where I can clearly remember her taking me by the hand, leading me away from its doors and into her heart and home. In the years that followed, I grew up under her careful guidance. She seemed to change little during this time, but somehow my impression of her beauty on our first meeting did not correspond with this photo- graph I held in my hand. When or where she had changed I do not know, but now I realized that she had known a life of sorrow which she had hidden from me and let only her goodness shine through. I found this hidden truth in my photograph. I could now see a shadow which covered this superficial expression of happiness. The un- known which lay beneath this shadow and the fact that I should never know the meaning of its existence deeply troubled me. Why had I not seen it before — in time to be of some help? Was it that I, as a child, could not sense the inner feeling of one so close? Was it be- cause I had been with her constantly and did not realize that she had changed? Or was it that this photograph was meant to be the means by which the true character of my dead mother was revealed to me? Margaret Reynolds, V A Keller There was a young yokel named Huck, Who lived in the hills of Kentuck, His girl friend in pink. Just drove him to drink. But the cork on the moonshine was stuck! Judy Ewing, V B Nightingale The Miracle Pierre was the boy ' s name and Annette the girl ' s. Their mother and father were French- Canadian habitants, who were leaving their homes in Quebec to begin a new life in a vil- lage that was yet to be built. They travelled a long way and finally found an ideal location for settling. It was in a small, well-sheltered valley nearby which there was a hill where they chose the site of their new church. Annette wanted to know why they built it on the hill. Perhaps, said Pierre wise- ly, to be nearer heaven. There was also a wooded island a little way from the shore, separated from the mainland by tumbling rapids that the Indians only could get over. It looked very beautiful standing alone out in the river and the settlers wondered if they would ever be able to inhabit it. The grown-ups were very busy that autumn. After the ship came down the river from Ville Marie, bringing with it all the familiar old furniture and their household be- longings from Quebec, the settlers started to build their new cabins.

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30 S A iM A R A fasted, praying that God would send them the grace to live for another winter. No matter what he tried to do, he could think of no way to provide for his little flock. He began to ' lose faith in himself, and to think that it was his fault that his people were so miserable. Pierre was not worried at all. So long as he had his potage and his tartine every day, it did not seem to him that much could be wrong. But Annette had seen her Maman weeping in the corner of the cabin and her papa could say nothing that would comfort her. So Annette began to think. Pere Lalenient had told her that Le Bebe listened to people ' s prayers, so that afternoon instead of going out to play with Pierre, she would go up to the little church. She had her precious Rosary clasped in her hand, and she was thinking of a prayer to make, so that Le Bebe would understand how hard it was for everybody. Then perhaps He would tell Le Bon Dieu, about it, and then everything would be settled. Quiet as a mouse she crept into the little wooden church, built by such loving hands. She knelt down by one of the pillars and be- gan to pray. She heard another voice murmur- ing prayers too and peeping behind the pillar she saw the cure on his knees. This gave her courage and she told LeBebe about the trouble; how A4aman had cried and how Papa had not been able to comfort her; how the cure had prayed, and how Yvet had tried to do his best. She told him how hungry the people were and how cold. Oh please, help them. She would be very good. She would try to be in time for dejeuner and try to remem.ber to come home as soon as the sun went down behind the mountain — how pretty it was then. The snow became a beautiful gold, barred with great black shadows, and the mountains were purple; she wished that it would always stay like that — and she would tell Pierre too, and he would try — though sometimes he would not do as she asked — but she was sure he would this time — though only yesterday she had begged him not to go down by the river, and he had. She was afraid of the river now that Yvet — oh, please, Bebe, bless Yvet, look after him and love him as much as we did. Oh, please listen to her prayer, blessed Bebe, and help them! She stood up, and suddenly, a terrible thought came to her! She had not brought a single thing to give to Le Bebe in return. How ashamed she felt! She only had her Rosary. How she loved it, her Rosary, the beautiful beads, and the pretty cross, and it was her very own and yet . . . She went slowly to the cure; he stood up, when he saw her and said, What do you want, my little one? Oh, Monsieur le Cure, I have made a prayer to the Blessed Bebe and I didn ' t bring anything to give him — so I thought he would like my Rosary, it is such a pretty one! Pere Martin gave it to me when we left Quebec. See how pretty it is! Don ' t you think that per- haps He might like it, too? People said that what happened that night was a miracle. Perhaps the cure knew differ- ently. That night he had prayed, not so much for help for the town, but for such faith as he had witnessed that day. The miracle was that the tired, discouraged villagers woke up to see a bridge to the island. The ice floes in the river had jammed against the boulders and piled up, forming a natural pathway from the mainland. That night there was food enough in the little village, and warmth too. The face of the cure was like a light that night, as he gazed on the devout people, kneeling in thanks to their Lord. He had seen a miracle performed, a miracle of faith among his own people. To Annette that night, as she said her prayers by the bedside, it had been the obvious thing to happen. As she snuggled down in her cosy bed, she told herself that she knew it was going to happen. After all, It was such a pretty Rosary . Janet Chapman, V A Fry