High-resolution, full color images available online
Search, browse, read, and print yearbook pages
View college, high school, and military yearbooks
Browse our digital annual library spanning centuries
Support the schools in our program by subscribing
Privacy, as we do not track users or sell information
Page 17 text:
“
Angela Siemens Lois Braun ' rtyowi 7 e Sfaye The fire in the hearth burned low. The last rays of the sun forced their way through the dust-laden windows into a bare and dingy looking room—a ragged blind, a worn-out carpet, a cracked water pitcher in the corner, a few sticky, dirty dishes on a rickety box in a far corner of the room. The man at the window took no notice of his surroundings. He shivered involuntarily, turned his gray head slowly and looked at the dying fire, then at the empty fuel bin. He shrugged his shoulders and returned his gaze to th e window. He seemed oblivious to all around him. His gaze wandered searchingly, restlessly down the river bank . . . A young woman came down the road to the river. She held a child in her arms. Her eyes were filled with cold, dark bitterness. The woman reached the river and held back her child for only a minute. She glanced up at a distant stone cross gleaming in the evening sunlight just above the horizon. Her lips parted in a bitter mirthless laugh. Half an hour later when she came back, empty-handed, the man at the window was gone. Yesterday it had been the same; tomorrow it would start all over again. “They say we’re crazy,” he muttered. “Folks say we’re crazy. Hm. Say ... I think ... I wonder if . . . Hm. Say, Tommy. Get me my hammer, will you? Ah me, can’t even talk to yerself ’n they come cra wling all over you. Can’t even talk to yerself.” Dusk settled. The fire burned down till only the last glowing embers remained. In the gather¬ ing darkness a form could faintly be seen close in front of the hearth. Were it not for the frequent jerks of his shoulders, the figure would not have been noticed in the dismal darkness of the room. The man’s neck jerked nervously. That woman again. “Go” he whispered hoarsely. “Go away. I didn’t do it. You know I didn’t do it. Can’t you leave me alone?” The steps paused. There came again that bitter melancholy laugh borne on the voice of the night. With measured tread the steps went on, fainter and fainter till they were lost in the murmur of the night. The man did not move. His eyes pierced an object in the comer of the room. Angrily— “Tommy, I told you to get me that hammer. Lost, in the river? What river—Tommy, where are you? I didn’t do it, you know I didn’t do it.” There was no answer. The man’s breath came raspingly. He shivered. “Got to have a fire,” he muttered. “Where is it? Thought I had a fire. 15
”
Page 18 text:
“
He looked around and slowly raised himself. A branch tapped softly against the windowpane. He crouched low. “Go away, please, go away. Got to have a fire.” He clutched wildly at his shirt. “Where is that hammer?” Then, like the breath of a child, his mood changed. He got up as if in a trance. He walked to the window and threw it open. He stood there letting the cold night wind rush past him. He could see the river, its restless waves gleaming and flashing coldly, unrelentlessly as the moon¬ beams struck it. He stared at the river. Even in the moonlight it was brown and muddy. He laughed. “Huh. This old hammer. This old hammer,” he quavered. “It killed John Henry. This old hammer—it killed—John Henry. But it can’t kill me—it can’t kill me. Tommy,” he said, “Tommy, if they ask you any questions, tell them you don’t know, Tommy.” He was trembling violently now. Sweat stood out on his forehead and he clutched at the window sill. “Please, Tommy, tell them you don’t know.” A dark object was bobbing in the river. He started; jumped back. “In the river? Did you say river? It’s only my hammer, Tommy, get me my hammer.” He started for the object in the corner. “Did you hear?” he rasped. “I got to have my hammer.” The old man peered into the dark corner, sighed, and slowly turned around. He shuffled toward the door, opened it and looked out. Hollow, bitter, pitiful—that laugh. The night wind bore it with a sigh. It was only a faint whisper of a laugh soon lost in the moaning of the wind and the surging of the river. The man heard. He never once looked back at the empty house behind him. He reached the river. “Crazy,” he muttered. “Go away, I didn’t do it. Can’t even talk to myself.” He was standing on the footbridge leading across the foaming river. His ashen face was turned toward the west as he braced himself against the wind. The waves came surging down below him, sweeping around in muddy brown circles. An old rotted piece of timber floated by, tossed on the waves, now submerged, now sticking up like an arm outstretched for help. Blurred bits of foam flecked its edges as it rose and fell helplessly in the murky water. Mud swirled over the jagged rocks, dashing against them in furious revenge. “Can’t even talk to myself,” he repeated. The man on the bridge didn’t move. “I’ve got to get out of here,” he gritted. “Where’s God? I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t find it. I can’t find anything. I’ve lost it all—lost it all. I don’t want my hammer, Tommy, I don’t want it. Ain’t there a God somewhere? Can’t you find it, Tommy?” Desperately, he searched the river, the road, the sky. His eyes fastened on a gleaming object just above the horizon. Something clicked. “Thought I’d lost it. Tommy.” From some¬ where in the water it came. “Don’t you want your hammer, Tommy? Better wash it first. It’s muddy.” The wind and the waves could not cover it. Harsh, cynical, bitter—that laugh. Still he didn’t move. “Aren’t you going to tell me to go away. Tommy?” “Can’t talk to you right now, Tommy. But some day I’ll tell you, Tommy. Don’t you worry ’bout it. Got to go home now” . . . The man at the window shivered. He turned his head and looked at the hearth; it was cold. “Ever since that day,” he muttered. “Ain’t seen my hammer since.” Elizabeth Falk Grade XIa — Mark 90 Winter I heard the laughter of a child, a child at heart, in form— It echoed in the halls of dearth, in jocund manner borne. That chilly laugh, and flighty manner smote deep into my ’wakened soul; I saw how life, that willful potter, had turned its facile smile to stone. I searched its lines for deeper meaning— some reason for that lifeless laugh; But reason there could give no answer; The meaning lay in her captive heart— A stony heart that was bleak and lone. —Elizabeth Falk XII. 16
Are you trying to find old school friends, old classmates, fellow servicemen or shipmates? Do you want to see past girlfriends or boyfriends? Relive homecoming, prom, graduation, and other moments on campus captured in yearbook pictures. Revisit your fraternity or sorority and see familiar places. See members of old school clubs and relive old times. Start your search today!
Looking for old family members and relatives? Do you want to find pictures of parents or grandparents when they were in school? Want to find out what hairstyle was popular in the 1920s? E-Yearbook.com has a wealth of genealogy information spanning over a century for many schools with full text search. Use our online Genealogy Resource to uncover history quickly!
Are you planning a reunion and need assistance? E-Yearbook.com can help you with scanning and providing access to yearbook images for promotional materials and activities. We can provide you with an electronic version of your yearbook that can assist you with reunion planning. E-Yearbook.com will also publish the yearbook images online for people to share and enjoy.
