Winthrop High School - Winthrop Winner Yearbook (Winthrop, ME)

Page 20 text:

is WINTHROP WINNER We'll be drowned, like rats! My God, what are we going to do ? Keep up your courage, snapped Mrs. Lyn: This can't last much longer. When Pa Lyn learned the substance of their conversation, he squared his shoulders. We can't let those kiddies starve, he said. Pa, what are we goin' to do ? 'Tm goin' to take some supplies down to 'em. I'll haul the rowboat down to the edge of the swamp with the team, then I'll row in. I'll leave the small boat for you - in case anything should hap- pen . . . 'Tm afraid- , murmured his wife. Shucks! It's a cinch. There won't be any current down there. If an old sailor like me can't handle a rowboat he ought to be in Davy J ones' locker. From the window a forlorn family, plus Sylvia, watched him start out with the boatful of provisions. The horses cringed against the wind and iiattened their ears, but the rugged figure in the wagon seat sat erect and sturdy, as he might have stood on the deck of a schooner in the old days, battling against a fierce nor'easter. He knew what faced him, through the driving sleetg treacherous, swirling iiood wa- ters, falling trees, perhaps death. He waved back cheerily at the group in the farmhouse window, and the wagon dipped down the knoll, out of view . . . It seemed to the silent group left be- hind that the rain and wind were pound- ing at the house, reaching at them with hungry, cold fingers. Mrs. Lyn tried the phone, after a while. He must have reached McBerry's by now! But only a queer humming sound greeted her ears. The line was dead! Most of the time Sylvia stood by the windows, watching those menacing gray waters, rising . . . The hands of the clock marched steadily onward. Darkness crept up, and with it a thunder storm. As though the Storm Gods were not sat- isfied with what they had already ac- complished. Lightning, thunder, and still that interminable rain. Then the baby began to cough. Little hacking coughs at first, then great, hoarse, convulsive ones. His face sud- denly grew purpleg he tossed in his crib. It's that croup, said Mrs. Lyn. Syl- via hung over the crib, frightened and inefficient, while the baby's mother heated grease on the stove, trickled it way back in the baby's throat. Watch- ing her, Sylvia decided that for a college graduate, there were a number of things she didn't know. But Junior didn't seem to grow bet- ter. He kicked and thrashed and his face was still that ghastly hue. Sylvia realized that Mrs. Lyn was trembling. He needs a doctor, quick! she gasped. If Doc Gray were only here. Kind old Doc Gray, only a half-mile away, but separated from them by that awful expanse of water! There are times when we make decisions like that. In a split second Sylvia had made hers. I'll get the doctor, she said. If only-someone-could, choked the mother. Sylvia cast a single glance at the piti- ful, twisted baby face. Running up- stairs, she put on her raincoat and over- shoes, pulled an old felt hat down over her coppery hair. Keep up your courage, she said to Mrs. Lyn. God bless you, my dear, sobbed the woman. Then the door was closed behind her, shutting her out in the rain and thunder and lightning. She found the other row- boat, with oars, in the boathouse, dragged it into the water. Then on the bank, looking across the awful expanse of the water, her cour- age faltered. A swell Sir Galahad you are! she scoffed herself, through chattering teeth. Could a girl manage a boat across that fury-ridden sea. alone, at night? Remembering the baby, she de- cided that a girl could, if she had to. Jumping into the boat. she thrust the oars into the locks-shoved away. She was scarcely away before she felt the tug of the black current, like a mon-

Page 19 text:

WINTHROP HIGH SCHOOL 17 If at first you don't succeed-! Young lady, are you aware of the fact that I received a S10 raise today? How's that for the climbing architect? Mr. San- derson unbent enough today to give me credit for originality and promise in ideas-now will you marry me ? Gee, that's swell! sparkled Sylvia. No, sighed Sylvia, But let's celebrate the raise. . . The movie-su, planned Gary. A big spread afterwards at the snootiest res- taurant in town-then we'll look in on Strand Pavilion. And then me stumbling into the house in the shady hours beyond mid- night, Waking Mrs. Lyn's baby, and old Mrs. Greeley across the road peeking out the window to see if you kiss me good-night? Sir-this is the country! He acknowledged the fact with a def- inite scowl. Will a ride and picnic sup- per be within the limits of country eti- quette? Say, a drive over to Andover? Gary, faltered Sir Galahad. An- dover is forty-three miles away. Forty-three miles, in this car? He looked keenly into her eyes. Okay, surrendered Sir Galahad, not too unhappily. A cool drive, hunger-tempting sand- wiches, and' Gary's eighty-ninth pro- posal were still on Sylvia's mind the next day as she pushed a second grade reader unwillingly through the story of the three goats who marched across the bridge. It was gray and desolate and very Aprilish. It was raining. It rained through noon hour and kiddies with muddy feet tracked across the floor and left wet mittens under the stove. It was raining when Garv's road- ster swung into the yard for her that afternoon, top up. It rained all night and Sylvia. tossing on a feather bed, heard Mrs. Lyn walking the iioor with Lyn, Jr., who had the croup. Wondered how her mother was getting along in town- After a dismal night Sylvia heard the rain pelting against the roof - Friday the 13th. Looking out, Sylvia saw that the yard was washed into a queer clay mud-puddle. H No school. Sylvia wandered around the house that morning, picked up a book, laid it down. Mr. Lyn came in from the chores, his nondescript slicker making him look wetter than ever. Rainin' calves and pitchforks! he grumbled, And the creek's risin', fast. Sylvia went to the window and a queer pang struck her as she looked down the pasture slope at the ugly swol- len waters of the stream. Why, the water is level with the bridge I she exclaimed. Yeah, I know, said Lyn. That was all anyone said. Saturday the bridge went out-Sylvia watched it go, a helpless splintered thing in the churning waters. the only link to the World and Gary. The waters now were up to the pasture gates. No- body needed to ask any questions then -everybody knew. Sylvia thought, If Gary were only here! At noon she tried to call her mother. The line was down, said the local operator, between there and town. Returning from a survey, Lyn re- ported that-the old sheep shed below the pasture had been destroyed, was float- ing downstream. Pa, said Mrs. Lyn, tremulously, We ought to get out of here. Lyn avoided her eyes. On this knoll -we should be safe enough. We should be safe enough, thought Sylvia, fighting down that queer sense of panic. If onlv there were a radio! She ran the old phonograph all after- noon, listening to the same cracked rec- ords, over and over . . . Anything to shut out the noise of pouring rain, of pouring creek waters! Mrs. Lyn called the McBerrys who lived down in the low swampy region of the valley, the only family in immediate danger. We're swamped, came Mrs. Mc- Berry's hysterical voice over the wire. Cut off. There's three feet of water in the cellar. We'l1 be afloat in a few hours. The-the food's given out. Dad tried to get us out in the fiivver, but the motor flooded before we had gone ten feet.

Page 21 text:

WINTHROP HIGII SCHOOL 19 ster laughing at her feeble efforts to battle it. For five minutes she struck sharply upstream, fighting it with all the strength of muscle she possessed. Her eyes were becoming accustomed to the dusk and she could see cakes of ice swirling swiftly downstream, could see also that she was losing ground. But even when she knew that she had lost, she battled with sheer grit. Then a huge something loomed up above the boat, struck it sharply. She felt the boat shiver, splinter, heave-then she was tossed into the chill spring waters of the creek. It seemed that she was whirled down for endless minutes, but she fought her way to the surface, in- stinctively flung out an arm -and touched the log that had crashed into the boat. Weakly, she dragged herself upon it. No use trying to swim in this cold, stormy water. The rubber rain- coat pulled at her as it Was, weighing her down. Water-soaked and shivering, she clung to the slimy surface beneath her. The log itself performed strange antics in the current, swapping ends in a whirlpool, bounding sidways as an ice floe struck it. Just then a sha1'p stab of lightning illumined the creek-a creek which by now resembled a river. Showed black ugly torrents everywhere-but only a few feet to the right, through the gray sleet, Sylvia saw the shore-line, slipping by like a friendly arm in the storm. So near, and yet so far, thought the girl in a strange Hash of humor. Then another ice floe boomed against the log, tossed it like a toothpick into the air. Sylvia hurtled through space. She was vaguely aware that she screamed twice before she struck-not an ice floe, or whirling flood waters, or another log -but MUD. Sticky, soggy, mud that meant one thing only-land. Relief surged through the girl-she had a hysterical urge to laugh aloud-only she couldn't, because her face was buried in the' mud, and she was too weak to laugh, anyway. Then a beam of light struck down- ward, piercing the curtain of rain. Sylvia-Sylvia, was that you? My God! He knelt beside her. Gary! Believe it or not, giggled the girl hysterically, trying to pull herself out of the mud. It IS me. Then remem- bering, she sobered. Gary-get Doc Gray. J unior-awful sick. A very old- fashioned thing to do, she thought. faint, as she drifted off. But everything was all right now, with Gary there . . . It was sunlight and very cosily warm and dry, when Sylvia began to know that she was still alive. She was in the middle of the featherbed in her room at the Lyns, and it felt surprisingly good. There were flowers on the dresser, the stand beside her bed, the windowsill. Medicine smells perireated the room. Staring out the window, with his hands thrust deeply into his pockets. stood a rather familiar figure. How long, asked Sylvia, Have I been absent? He whirled and came over to the bed and put his hands on her shoulders and -Sylvia drew a deep breath: You shouldn't do things quickly like that, she smiled, It might be bad--for my heart pressure! . Well, Doc Gray says you had a con- stitution like a horse to pull through anyway, grinned Gary. How's Junior? Out making mud pies. And Mr. Lyn? Strange intuition urged the question. Gary's pale face answered it. He-didn't come back, dear, he said quietly. T1'agedy lurked, after all, in the shadows of the sunny day. With the sudden, first terrified understanding of youth, Sylvia knew that you couldn't buck Fate. Suppose it had been Gary, down there in the dismal burying ground of the swamp? She shuddered with horror. How did you ever get me across? she asked quietlv. Then involuntarily, Poor Mrs. Lyn. I know. His understanding sym- pathy quieted her nerves. I was afraid you were hurt, but I couldn't stop to make any examinations. I dumped you